But on coming down from the heights of the Grand Kabylia, as we did, the approach to Algiers is extremely disappointing, for the road, which is of rough _pavé_, crossed and recrossed by tracks on which clatter hooting electric trams, leads through the sordid and unlovely suburb of Mustapha Inférieur, a noisy industrial district teeming with foundries, factories, belching chimneys, and monotonous rows of workmen’s dwellings. It is the difference between approaching New York by sea or entering it through Harlem. Viewed from the deck of a steamer some distance out from shore, Algiers seems to be a great triangle of dazzling white framed in vivid green, the quays forming the base of the triangle and the _kasbah_ its apex, with the verdure-clad hill-slopes of the Sahel for a background. For sheer loveliness its only rival among the seaports of the Nearer East is Constantinople, which is in a class by itself. But, as in the case of all Oriental cities, distance lends enchantment, for, as the steamer draws nearer, what had appeared from a distance to be wholly picturesque becomes in part prosaic, the modern French town, built on the level ground beside the sea-shore, masking to a considerable extent the ancient city of the deys, which climbs the steep hill behind the European quarter to the _kasbah_, or citadel, four hundred feet above the waters of the harbor. Upon disembarking one has the uneasy feeling that somehow he has made a mistake, that he is not in Africa after all, for the streets and buildings which confront him are all aggressively modern, without a trace of that colorful Orientalism which the posters and pamphlets of the tourist companies had led him to expect. On the quays are the landing-stages, the custom-house, and the railway station, while, lined up outside, are taxicabs, private motor-cars, and luxurious motor-buses belonging to the various hotels. We are in Africa, at the gateway to the Magic East, yet a camel would be as much out of the picture here as at the Grand Central Terminal in New York. Forty feet above the quays, supported by a series of massive arches of masonry and reached by means of ramps, is the imposing Boulevard de la République, bordered on the landward side by rows of arcaded office-buildings and on the seaward side by a fine promenade, which forms a great balcony as it were, nearly three quarters of a mile in length, overhanging the Mediterranean.