We had already perceived that, although no longer in Europe, we were yet under the shadow of European manners and customs. High above the city walls we espied, as we neared the shore, several conspicuous inscriptions, announcing the titles of various places of entertainment. In the centre the ‘Hôtel de France’ gave promise of culinary skill; but we preferred the ‘Royal Victoria Hotel,’ whose title, in quite gigantic letters, first attracted our notice, and which had been well recommended for cleanliness and comfort. Our subsequent experience justified the choice, and we had every reason to be satisfied with the attention we received from the intelligent and obliging coloured proprietor, Mr. Martin. Tangier stands on the western side of a shallow bay, on rocky ground that rises steeply from the shore. Westward the hills gradually rise in swelling undulations towards the Djebel Kebir, or Great Mountain, covered with dwarf oaks and flowering shrubs, that ends in the promontory of Cape Spartel. On the opposite, or eastern, side the shores of the bay are low and sandy, but are backed by the rugged range of the Angera Mountains, culminating in the Ape’s Hill opposite Gibraltar. As seen from the sea the town has a singular, though not an imposing, appearance. Cubical blocks of white-washed masonry, with scarcely an opening to represent a window, rise one above another on the steep slope of a recess in the hills that faces the NE. A few slender square towers belong to as many mosques of paltry proportions. Numerous consular flagstaffs remind the European that he still enjoys the protection of his own government, and on the summit of the hill a massive gaunt castle of forbidding aspect shows where he might expect to lodge if that protection were removed, and he were to give offence to the native functionaries. Zigzag walls encompass the city on all sides, pierced by three gates, which are closed at nightfall. The stranger, who knows that Tangier is one of the most important towns of Marocco, and the residence of the representatives of the chief civilised States, is apt to be shocked when he first sets foot within its walls. The main street is as rough and steep as the most neglected of Alpine mule-tracks, and disfigured by heaps of filth—importunate beggars of revolting aspect, led about by young boys, assail him at every step—there is no bazaar, as in eastern towns, and the miserable shops are mere recesses, where, in an unglazed opening, little larger than a berth in a ship’s cabin, the dealer squats surrounded by his paltry wares.