It is the fourth day of our voyage, and we are in sight of the high land of the Torres Vedras, at the mouth of the Tagus. Far, far away in the background, like a magnificent panorama, rise the high, time-worn summits of the Sierras of Spain. On approaching near enough to distinguish objects we discovered several large baronial castles, or convents, perched high up on bold pinnacled crags, in positions most inaccessible and impregnable. One goes back, in fancy, to the feudal days, and recalls those heroes of our boyish imaginations to the times when "Knights were bold and barons held their sway," with all the consequent ills of that system of government. Our sails are filled with the balmy breath of Portugal's orange groves as we continue our southward way. Cape St. Vincent soon rises, Dungeness-like, right ahead, and we call to mind that this was the scene of one of England's great naval victories. These rocks, so still and peaceful now, have resounded to the din of deadly strife, when, in the year 1797, a Spanish fleet, of twenty-seven sail, tried to wrest the dominion of the seas from its lawful holders, the English fleet, under Sir John Jervis, numbering only half that of the enemy. Next, never to be forgotten Trafalgar is reached. Trafalgar, glorious Trafalgar! a household word so long as England shall endure. How our thoughts love to dwell on the deeds you witnessed our fathers do, every man of whom was a hero. And now arrives Sunday, August 11th, on which day, after having been favoured with exceptionally fair weather, Gibraltar, with its mighty rocky fortress, heaves in sight. Before we arrive at the anchorage I would beg a slight indulgence of my readers whilst I twist a yarn about "Gib.;" and as, I think, much of the interest attaching to a place or object is due to a knowledge of its previous history, I purpose to give just a rapid and cursory glance at a few of the leading events connected with the past of the places we visit. Gibraltar is of Moorish origin, having been named after the famous Saracen chieftain, Tarik, who made this rock the starting point of his conquests in Spain. Hence it was called Gib-el-Tarik--the hill of Tarik--further Europeanized into the modern Gibraltar. This magnificent natural fortress rises perpendicularly to a height of 1300 feet from the purple waves of the Mediterranean. It and the peak Abyla, on the opposite (African) coast, were styled by the Greeks, in their poetical language, "the pillars of Hercules;" whilst the strait between is said to have been executed by the same man of muscle, to wile away the tedium of an idle hour. The remnants of this now almost-forgotten race--the Saracen--are still to be found on the northern seaboard of Africa, in the kingdom called Morocco, where they strive to eke out a scant existence from the arid plains of that parched and burning clime.