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then the captain having got in himself, we started for shore. We were packed like figs in a box,—they squeeze closer than herrings in a barrel I think,-Jews, Moors, Infidels, and Christians; and our progress through the heavy sea was a tedious one.

Suddenly I was alarmed by a hideous yelling and screaming close at hand, which was responded to by the boatmen. We stopped, and with some difficulty the boat was turned stern on to the land, which was, however, not yet visible. Then I perceived that we were surrounded by a swarm of brown half-naked monsters, of the wildest aspect, who clung to the boat, shouting and yelling in the most frightful manner. These proved to be amphibious Moors and Jews, who make it their employment to wade out through the surf to the boats, and carry ashore the goods and passengers, boats not being able to approach, sometimes in bad weather, within a hundred yards of the shore. Two of these, with frantic cries and gesticulations, held aloft a chair, into which I was informed I was to entrust myself to be carried ashore. It was almost an exact repetition of the getting from the steamer to the boat. In the rolling surf it was impossible to keep the boat steady for an instant, so I had to stand on the gunwale held by my fellow-passengers, and wait until the boat rolled to within sufficient proximity of the chair, when there was a general shout, I was let go, and dropped backwards into it. The bearers of the chair then turned,

and waded through the surf to the shore. They were stalwart fellows (Jews,-Moors will only carry goods and True Believers), but still the waves rushed in with such violence, that it was with difficulty they kept their footing; and though they held the chair high above their shoulders, I enjoyed a cold foot bath all the way. They shouted to me all the time what I concluded were words of encouragement and reassurance. At last we reached the beach, up which they ran, and deposited me beyond reach of the waves; then they seized the chair again, rushed back into the sea, and disappeared in the darkness.

;

In the days of my early youth I had heard a good deal, at missionary meetings, of "Afric's golden sands." I was on them now for the first time I couldn't see in the dark whether they were "golden" or not, but I could feel that they were horribly wet and cold, under my already wet and cold feet. Such as they were, however, I was glad to be on them, instead of being on the deck of the Wolf, or among the mysterious under-currents of the Straits.

CHAPTER VI.

TANGIER.

TANGIER is the principal seaport of the northern portion of the empire of Morocco, what was formerly the empire of Fez. Situated as it is, within or between two or three hours' sail of Europe, it possesses great advantages over every other town in Morocco; from which it might be expected that it would exhibit a commensurate superiority in its public and social conditions. It would not be unreasonable to look for some noteworthy effect of the advancing tide of western progress and civilization that washes its very shore, in its public and domestic institutions, and in the manners and habits of its people. But no such result is to be seen. Everything remains in the same state of primitive barbarism that it was centuries ago. Life seems to have stood still in Tangier. It has grown old, it is true, but it has not grown wiser or better. Or rather, it seems, not as if it had grown old, but as if it had never been young.

To an artist, and many artists visit Tangier, it must be an enchanting place; but it would disgust a thrifty farmer or an enterprising trader, and make every hair on the head of an inspector of nuisances stand on end.

However, as I am not a farmer nor an inspector of nuisances, and though not an artist either, have more

inclination and taste that way, I found much more here to delight and interest than to disgust me; at least as far as the outward aspect of things went. The picturesqueness of the town, the varied aspects of the people, their strange dress, the brilliant and bracing atmosphere, with the exceeding beauty and grandeur of the scenery of the surrounding country, more than atoned to me for the dirt of the streets and the laziness and superstition of the population.

The town is built on the slope of the inner side of the promontory that forms the western horn of the bay. The other side of this promontory is a steep precipice down to the sea. The top is a smooth grassy plain about a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide, called the Marshen. A curious feature of this place is a number of excavations from about one to three feet wide, and varying in length from two or three to seven or eight feet; hewn in the solid rock on the edge of the precipice. No human remains have been found in or near them, nor are there any inscriptions to give a clue to what they were intended for, but they are generally supposed to have been graves made by the Phoenicians. At present they are frequently used as washing troughs by the Moorish women, as after heavy rains they are generally half-full.

The houses of Tangier are all built square, are flatroofed, and have no windows. They are all whitewashed, and many have in the courtyard, or patio, round

which they are built, a fig-tree planted, whose outstretched branches, covered with wide leaves, afford a grateful shade in summer; the dark foliage, too, contrasting pleasantly with the white walls.

Descending from the Marshen, and entering the town from the top, the best view of it is to be had. A narrow paved path leads through a high gateway with a fine pointed arch, the picturesque beauty of which is in no way diminished by its half ruinous and crumbling condition. On passing through, the way for a time leads through large open spaces and narrow passages, all surrounded by high walls. Here is the Casaba, the Bashaw's harem, the prison, the old treasury house, and one of the principal mosques. All here is completely shut in from any view of the outer world. Turning down one of the narrow passages, however, and passing through another gateway, that opens on the brow of a steep hill, we come suddenly upon a view of wide extent and surpassing beauty. Beneath and immediately around lies the town, all glistening white under the sun's rays. Here and there among the houses, rises the tall minaret of a mosque, brilliant with its many-coloured mosaic; the broad waving leaves of a palmetto palm, or the dark foliage of a fig-tree. Underneath again is the bay, blue with a blueness that can only be compared with its own hue or that of the sky overhead, surrounded by its belt of shining yellow sands. Beyond the bay, to the right,

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