One day there came to our hotel a typical representative of "Padgett, M.P." He was a member of the House of Commons who, having a couple of days to spare at Gibraltar, had run across the Straits to learn all about Morocco in the space of four-and-twenty hours. In the smoking-room after dinner he aired his opinions with all the confidence begotten of his Parliamentary dignity. He denounced the French, who knew nothing, he declared, about colonisation, and whose government of Algeria was a disgraceful failure. He lauded the noble character of the Arabs, and declared that Morocco needed no improvement, and, consequently, called for no interference on the part of any European Power. Captain W., who had very strong opinions as to the corruption of the Moorish Government, listened for some time in silence to opinions which were eminently distasteful to him. But at last his patience gave way, and he addressed the astonished M.P. in the following words: "You think you know everything about Morocco, sir, although you only landed on its soil this morning. There is one thing, however, that you evidently don't know, and that is, that if I chose to spend a couple of dollars I could have your throat cut before to-morrow morning; and you've talked such nonsense, sir, that I don't know whether that wouldn't be the best thing for me to do." I never saw a Padgett, M.P., collapse more completely than did this unfortunate specimen of the race under a retort which, however wanting in urbanity, was not without very considerable provocation.