The moment the halt took place, off came the boxes from the mule--a little portable table was set up--knives, forks, glasses and cups were laid out--a capacious coffee-tin was put upon three stones over a heap of bramble, and in three minutes each officer could take a cup of this refreshing drink after his hot march, with a biscuit and morsel of cheese, and a chasse of brandy afterwards. The men were equally alert in providing themselves with their favourite beverage. In a very short space of time two or three hundred little camp-fires were lighted, sending up tiny columns of smoke, and coffee-tins were boiling, and the busy brisk vivandière, with a smile for every one, and a joke or box on the ear for a favourite vieux moustache, passed along through the blaze, and filled out tiny cups of Cognac to the thirsty soldiers. Pipes of every conceivable variety of shape were lighted, and a hum and bustle rose up from the animated scene, so rich in ever-shifting combinations of form and colour that Maclise might have looked on it with wonder and despair. Regiment after regiment came up on the flanks of the Zouaves, halted, and repeated the process, the only remarkable corps being the Indigènes, or native Zouaves, dressed exactly the same as the French, except that jackets, trousers, and vest are of a bright powder blue, trimmed with yellow, and their turbans, or the folds of linen round the fez, are of pure white. [Sidenote: REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS.] In an hour or so the crest of the hill, which extended in undulating folds for two or three miles, was covered by battalions of infantry, and they might be seen toiling up the opposite ridge, till nothing was visible from one extremity to the other but the broken lines of these stalwart battalions. There was a ready, dashing, serviceable look about the men that justified the remark of one of the captains--"We are ready as we stand to go on to St. Petersburg this instant." There was a vivacity, so to speak, about the appearance of the troops which caught the eye at once. The air of reality about this review distinguished it from sham fights and field-days, and all holiday demonstrations of the kind. Before twelve o'clock there were about 20,000 troops on the opposite ridges of hills--an excellently-appointed train of artillery of nine-pounder guns, with appointments complete, being stationed in the valley below. The columns, taken lineally, extended upwards of eight miles. Strange as such a spectacle must have been to Turks and Greeks, there was scarcely a native on the ground. Whether fear or apathy kept them away, it is impossible to say; but Gallipoli, with its 15,000 inhabitants, sent not a soul to gaze upon the splendid spectacle. If Horace be right, the Gallipolitans have indeed discovered the secret of the only true happiness. They absolutely revel in the most voluptuous indulgence of the _nil admirari_. While six or seven French men-of-war