The remaining sights of Constantine which would appeal to the casual traveler are not numerous and can be visited quite easily in a single day. From the northwestern angle of the plateau rises the _kasbah_, or citadel, now used as barracks and military hospital; a massive structure dating from Roman times and preserving in its more modern portions numerous remains of other Roman edifices. The Great Mosque, or, as it is called by the natives, the Djamaa-el-Kebir, occupies the site of what was probably an ancient pantheon; like other Moslem places of worship in Algeria it is inaccessible to unbelievers. Hard by the palace, facing on a spacious square, stands the cathedral, formerly a mosque bearing the romantic name of Suk-er-Rezel, Market of the Gazelles, but now known as the Church of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. In the Mairie, a pretentious and highly ornate building decorated in beautiful native marbles and containing some interesting paintings of the military operations which ended in the capture of the city by the French, is a small and mediocre museum, its shelves and cases crowded with the usual collection of coins, vases, inscriptions, and fragments of sculpture. It is well worth visiting, however, for the sake of one real gem—a superbly executed statuette of a winged victory, twenty-three inches in height, which was discovered by excavators beneath the _kasbah_. Some hundreds of feet beneath the Hôtel de Paris, accessible by numerous flights of steep and slippery stone steps, is a very remarkable grotto, one of a series of caves and passageways which honeycomb the rock on which the city stands, and which, in the old days, were used by the inhabitants as storehouses and places of concealment. The Arab town, or such part of it as has not been swept away by the march of progress, is tucked away behind a fringe of modern buildings, which is, perhaps, as well, for it reeks with noisome smells and possesses no architectural merits whatsoever. Its streets are steep and tortuous, the upper floors of the houses being built out on supports which look like inverted steps, thus bringing them so close together that their owners can almost shake hands from their second-story windows across the intervening thoroughfare. Here and there, set into the masonry, one recognizes a column, a capital, or a slab of marble looted from some Roman building, but, generally speaking, the _quartier indigène_ is squalid and uninteresting.