Early on the morning of the 20th we were awakened by the news that the long expected French steamer, _Vérité_, of Marseilles, had arrived, and would depart in the afternoon on her voyage to the Atlantic ports of Marocco and the Canary Islands. We were fully prepared to depart; the expected autograph letter of the Sultan had been delivered to Sir J. D. Hay, and by him to Hooker; our heavy baggage had already been forwarded to Mogador, and we lost no time in completing our preparations, and bidding farewell to those whose kindness and hospitality had made our stay at Tangier so agreeable. In quitting Martin’s Hotel, the solitary inconvenience that we could call to mind was the swarms of flies that invade the rooms, not more abundant, however, than in many valleys of Switzerland and North Italy; and we carried away from Tangier the impression that even on the Mediterranean shores there are few spots that combine such advantages of climate, natural beauty, and material comfort. We found the _Vérité_, though boasting a French name, to be a nearly new Clyde-built steamer, owned by a Marseilles Company and commanded by Captain Abeille of that port, far better fitted up than most of those that ply along this coast. The passengers were few, and, as these disembarked at the intermediate ports, we at last became the sole occupants of the state cabin. On a fine evening, with the gentle heaving of the broad Atlantic billows to tune all to harmony, we passed the headland of Cape Spartel, and received the first rays of the great lanthorn as they shot out seaward when lighted for the night.