At 5 A.M. on April 26 we at length reached the port of Mogador. Before many minutes a boat was alongside, and we were warmly welcomed by a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Carstensen, the British Vice-Consul, brother-in-law of Sir J. D. Hay. He was, indeed, no stranger; for, as a correspondent and active contributor to the Royal Gardens at Kew, he had long been in friendly relations with the chief of our party. To his energetic good offices and hospitable attentions we owe deep obligations, and it was with sincere regret that we subsequently heard of his premature death in 1873. At an early hour we were comfortably established in the British Consulate, where our host and hostess received us as old friends, and we were soon engaged in discussion as to the arrangements for the prosecution of our journey, in all of which Mr. Carstensen’s familiarity with the country and perfect command of the language were of the utmost value. Having received previous notice of our arrival and of the objects of our journey, he had already prepared the way, and thus very much abridged the delays that are inevitable in such a country. The first step necessary was to call on the Governor and present to him the Sultan’s letter. We were courteously received by El Hadj Hamara, a well-looking man of middle age, in a small plain room, whose only furniture consisted in cushions laid round the walls. After shaking hands in European fashion, we proceeded to seat ourselves, cross-legged—no doubt looking very uncomfortable during the experiment—while the Sultan’s letter was produced. This was written on a small sheet of inferior paper, folded to the size of a note, and sealed with coarse sealing-wax. It was received by the Governor, the seal reverently applied to his forehead, and then broken. After reading aloud the few lines of writing, the Governor handed the letter to Mr. Carstensen, who proceeded to translate literally for our benefit. It ran thus: ‘On receiving this, you will send the English hakeem and his companions to the care of my slave, El Graoui, to whom I have sent orders what he is to do.’ It should be explained that El Graoui, spoken of as the Sultan’s slave, was the Governor of the portion of the Great Atlas that is practically subject to the Imperial authority, and precisely the person whose favour and assistance it was essential for our objects to secure. To strangers unused to the style of the Marocco Court, the Imperial letter did not seem a very promising document; but it was evident that, so far as the Governor of Mogador was concerned, it conveyed the impression that we were to be treated with respect and attention; and this was doubtless confirmed by the arrival of a courier from Marocco, bearing a letter from the Sultan’s eldest son, then acting as viceroy in the southern provinces of the empire, with orders to take every care for our safety and comfort during the journey to the capital.