“In my turn I took a careful aim; I had not come to Africa to leave a wrong prospectus; and, having declared my game, I was bound to play it well. The first ball sped, and broke the seal. The second followed almost immediately, and cut the stick. The Arab threw his gun on his shoulder, and walked away, without claiming the six charges of powder he was entitled to. It was evident he felt crushed under the weight of his inferiority, and that, at that moment, he doubted of everything, even of the Prophet. He followed the circular road along the beach, leading to Tangiers, and reached the town, I am certain, without having once turned his head. Two or three Arabs, who in the meanwhile had crossed the Oued, and who had witnessed the trial of skill, departed as silently, and almost in as great consternation, as their countryman. All Morocco was humiliated in the person of its representative.” Mr Urquhart and Mr Dumas each made some stay at Tangiers, but, as will easily be understood, they employed their time very differently, and have scarcely an idea in common on the subject. The one talks politics, dissects languages and makes antiquarian investigations; the other, after the shooting match above detailed, and some rather high-flown attempts at description of scenery, goes fishing and boar-hunting, attends a Jewish wedding, and purchases half the stock in trade of David Azencot, an honest Israelite, and a wealthy dealer in sabres, burnous, scarfs, lamps, chibouks, and a thousand and one other Moorish curiosities. The Scot is didactic and dull; the Frenchman frivolous, but amusing. Of course they both visit Gibraltar, and devote a chapter to that remarkable fortress; and here we must say that M. Dumas carries it hollow, as far as pleasant tone and good taste go. As is customary with him, he is flippant and good-humouredly impertinent; but he shows himself grateful for a hospitable reception, and does not rake up old stories to the disadvantage of the dead. He begins with the notable discovery that Gibraltar has a foggy atmosphere. The English, he says, being used to a fog in their own country, have manufactured one, by the help of sea-coal, upon the coast of Spain. The English, he affirms, strive against and vanquish nature herself. “They have produced dahlias that smell like pinks, cherries without stones, gooseberries without grains, and they are now rearing oxen without legs. Behold, for instance, those of the county of Durham; they have but one joint, and walk almost upon their belly. Soon they will have no joints at all, and will walk quite upon their belly. Thus it is with the fog. There was no fog at Gibraltar before it belonged to the English; but the English were accustomed to fog, they missed it, and they made it.... On entering Gibraltar, I felt that I quitted Spain. Tangiers, which we had just left, was much more Spanish than Gibraltar. Hardly had we passed the gate, when we were transported into England. No more pointed pavements,