At Sidi Bel Abbès, a town of 25,000 inhabitants, about half of whom are Spaniards, are the head-quarters of the famous Foreign Legion. The very name of this corps stirs memories of forlorn hopes and dare-devil enterprises. The inimitable Ouida, whose disregard of the grammatical niceties of her own and other tongues was a generation ago the delight of undergraduates; who could say of her high-born hero that he ignored the proud motto of his haughty race, _Pro patria et rege_, and acted on the principle, _Pro ego_; Ouida has pictured for us after her own fashion, in “Under Two Flags,” the life of a foreign adventurer in the French service during the earlier days of the occupation. The picture, if imaginative in details, is full of life, and it is no doubt true that many broken men of gentle birth and upbringing found in the campaigns on the verge of the Sahara an outlet for energies for which civilization had no use. To-day the Legion is composed largely of Alsatians, Germans and Poles, and is celebrated for its band. But it is still to the fore when stern work is on foot. The situation of Sidi Bel Abbès renders it very convenient in the event of trouble with Morocco, which is constantly recurring. The town and its environs are an agreeable exception to the surrounding country in being pleasantly wooded. The olive trees are most carefully pruned, all the centre branches being cut out, and the outer ones trained to form a cup. This system admits light and air to the fruit, and facilitates the gathering of the crop. Within a few miles of Tlemçen the scenery becomes more bold. The train climbs on to and encircles a rugged mountain range, traverses a great ravine, down which roars a graceful cascade, and emerges from a short tunnel into the noise and hubbub of Tlemçen station. The high road takes another course. It skirts the base of the rocky hills, and boldly ascends direct to the town, offering pleasant views of its walls and minarets. This is the habit of roads and railroads in many lands; the road approaches boldly to a frontal attack; the railroad creeps in stealthily or remains diffidently outside. So does the traveller by rail too often miss the beauty of the incoming.