The uniform of the Zouaves, is a white turban decorated with red stuff, and in summer, white trousers and vest; in winter a kind of cloak made of cloth, a vest of red cloth with blue facings, and red trousers. The corporals are distinguished by two stars worked in silk on the breast. The sergeants have the stars of gold and silk mixed; the lieutenants have them worked in silver, the captains in gold; the superior officers have no further distinctive. mark. Each man is armed with a musket, a pair of pistols, and a yatagan, or Algerine sabre. One striking peculiarity of the Zouaves is their fondness for tame animals. The number of cats kept by the corps is most remarkable, it only in the camp but in the field; for the Zouave goes to the font of the battle with his cat perched on his knapsack, where, amid the roar of artillery and the charge of cavalry, poor puss sits at her ease, heedless of the din and unconscious of the danger! C. A. J. MORNING. THE morn is bright, the mountain's side CUNNINGHAM. How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, In full-orb'd glory, yonder moon divine, The desert-circle spreads, Like the round ocean girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night! SOUTHEY. SEBASTIAN GOMEZ; OR, THE YOUNG MULATTO. THE sun had but just risen on the beautiful town of Seville, and the greater number of its inhabitants were still buried in repose, when several young men, the youngest of whom might have numbered fifteen years, whilst the oldest could scarcely have been more than twenty, met one morning in the month of June of the year 1658, at the door of a handsome house in the square of the Petit Cloitre, Saint François : : "Antolinéz ;""Tobar;"" Villavicemio;" "Raba ;"" Mendés ;" "Souarès;""Cordova." Such were the names by which they addressed each other, as they exchanged the usual greetings of the morning, before knocking at the door, which was presently opened by an old negro. 66 Good-day, old Gomez," said the young men, all speaking at once; "is the master up?" "Not yet, gentlemen," replied the negro, in a low guttural voice. "And his son?" "The Signor Gaspard is smoking a cigar in the garden, with the Signor Menèses Ozorio,” replied the old man, speaking in the same drawling tone. 66 Why, Gomez," said Raba, "you speak as if you were half asleep, like your master." "Ah! Signor Raba, I don't feel more than half awake," said the negro, yawning, and rubbing his eyes as he spoke. "Idle fellow!" exclaimed the young men, as they rushed tumultuously into the studio of their great master, Murillo, one of the greatest of the Spanish painters, and whose sublime talent has secured for him an imperishable fame. "Idle !" repeated the negro as he slowly followed them; "idle! I don't know what it is to be idle; but I do know, that if I had been born a master, instead of a slave, I would have spent half my time in sleeping." "By St. James of Compostella!" exclaimed Souarès, who had approached his easel, and taken out his pallet and colours, “which of you gentlemen was the last in the studio yesterday?" "Why you must be half asleep, like Gomez,” replied Antolinéz, "or you would remember that we all went away together." "Gomez ! who was in the studio after we left?" inquired Tobar, as he examined the work on his easel; and apparently noticed something he could not account for. "Another trick of the Zombi's !"* muttered the old negro, with a look of fear. "The Zombi! the Zombi!" exclaimed Souarès indignantly, "if I could only catch your Zombi, I would see if a good stick over his shoulders would make him tell his real name. I should like to know who has played me this trick; my brushes are as dirty as if they had been just used, and I put them by quite clean last night; and who has sketched this head at the corner of my canvas?" "Why, it is the portrait of the monk Istaritz! look, gentlemen,' said Cordova, as he drew near, and looked at the head pointed out by Souares. "What a likeness! it is the monk himself!" observed the pupils as they eagerly advanced to look at the portrait, which had appeared no one knew how. "And here on my canvas is a child's head, and well done, too: see," said Dacosta, as he pointed to a cherub-like face, which formed a strong contrast to the stern, dark countenance of the monk, which had just caught their attention; "but, gentlemen, we have had enough of this, the joke is carried too far." "The Zombi again!" said Gomez, in a low voice. "By my faith, if Gomez' Zombi does all these figures, that no one knows anything about," said Villavicemio, " he might as well, as he is so busy, help me with the Virgin's head in the Descent from the Cross; do what I will, I cannot succeed with it, or give any of that pure and chaste expression which belongs to the holy mother of Christ. I have done a fresh one every day for the last week, and effaced it every evening!" As he uttered these words, the young man carelessly approached his easel, but he had no sooner cast his eye on the half-finished painting which it supported than he uttered an exclamation, and the colour rushed into his face as he gazed at the work he had left with such dissatisfaction the evening before. "Do look at Villavicemio, gentlemen!" exclaimed Raba, "one would think he was turned into a statue." As he remained silent, the pupils advanced one after another, and appeared little less astonished than Villavicemio himself at what they beheld. The Zombi, a superstition of the negro race, and to whom they attribute supernatural powers. In the centre of the painting, at the foot of the cross, and where the young Spaniard had only the evening before effaced the head of the Virgin, there was now another-but half-finished it is true; yet the perfect outline, the exquisite colouring, and chaste and beautiful expression, indicated that it had been executed by no common hand it seemed to throw the rest of the painting into the shade, and drew forth expressions of admiration from those who crowded round to look and wonder. "I cannot imagine who can have done this," said Souarès; "can it be Gaspard?" added he. "Here he is to answer for himself;" said a young man, as he entered the studio, laughing gaily, and followed by an elderly man, whom the pupils saluted by the name of Meneses Ozorio. "Ah! that cunning Gaspard!" said Raba, "he amuses himself all day, and paints at night." "Who accuses me of painting at night?" inquired Gaspard. "Look!" said his companions, pointing as they spoke to the figures, which had so mysteriously appeared on their different paintings since they had left them the evening before. looked attentively at each ere he replied. "Gentlemen! Gaspard has not done these." 66 By what do you judge, Signor Ozorio?" said Chevès. "That he is not capable of it." "What! not of doing this?" interrupted Tobar. "Not of doing it so well," added Ozorio. A shout of laughter followed this assertion. "Then you did it, Signor Ozorio," said all. Meneses "If I had done it, I should certainly not deny it," replied Ozorio ; "but I cannot lay claim to it; and I am not likely to get up and paint at night, nor to play you such tricks." "Then who has done it?" "The Zombi!" again suggested old Gomez. "To work, gentlemen, to work," interrupted Gaspard, “my father is up, and you know he is not long dressing; as for me, I am off," and so saying, he left the apartment accompanied by Ozorio. All now prepared for work, canvas was quickly placed on the respective easels, pallets and brushes hastily prepared; and at the repeated calls of "Sebastian! Sebastian !" a young mulatto ran hastily into the room, looking somewhat frightened, as he said in a timid voice "Here I am, gentlemen." "Sebastian, a fresh piece of canvas," exclaimed one; "Sebastian, |