It was in August, 1907, one Tuesday morning, that I landed from a P. & O. steamer at Gibraltar. I had not been there before but I knew what to expect. From a distance of many miles we had seen the Rock towering above the town and dwarfing the big, smoking men-of-war that lay at anchor at its base. Ashore was to be seen ‘Tommy Atkins,’ just as one sees him in England, walking round with a little cane or standing stiff with bayonet fixed before a tall kennel, beside him, as if for protection, a ‘Bobbie.’ The Englishman is everywhere in evidence, always to be recognised, if not otherwise, by his stride--which no one native to these parts could imitate. The Spaniard of the Rock (whom the British calls contemptuously ‘Scorpion’) is inclined to be polite and even gracious, though he struggles against his nature in an attempt to appear ‘like English.’ Moors from over the strait pass through the town and leisurely observe, without envying, the _Nasrani_ power, then pass on again, seeming always to say: ‘No, this is not my country; I am Moslem.’ Gibraltar is thoroughly British. Even the Jews, sometimes in long black gaberdines, seem foreign to the place. And though on the plastered walls of Spanish houses are often to be seen announcements of bull fights at Cordova and Seville, the big advertisements everywhere are of such well-known British goods as ‘Tatcho’ and ‘Dewar’s.’ I have had some wonderful views of the Rock of Gibraltar while crossing on clear days from Tangier, and these I shall never forget, but I think I should not like the town. No one associates with the Spaniards, I am told, and the other Europeans, I imagine, are like fish out of water. They seem to be of but two minds: those longing to get back to England, and those who never expect to live at home again. Most of the latter live and trade down the Moorish coast, and come to ‘Gib’ on holidays once or twice a year, to buy some clothes, to see a play, to have a ‘spree.’ Of course they are not ‘received’ by the others, those who long for England, who are ‘exclusive’ and deign to meet with only folk who come from home. In the old days, when the Europeans in Morocco were very few, it was not unusual for the lonesome exile to take down the coast with him from ‘Gib’ a woman who was ‘not of the marrying brand.’ She kept his house and sometimes bore him children. Usually after a while he married her, but in some instances not till the children had grown and the sons in turn began to go to Gibraltar.