This gate, or rather Barbican, is a massive structure of sand-stone. The outer front (at right angles to the inner) is built against: the inner stands in its beauty, neither disfigured nor concealed: it is covered with the richest of those figures with which we are familiar, under the name of Moresque, or Arabesque; not moulded in stucco, but carved in stone. All is in ruins, or utterly effaced and levelled, that this circuit of walls was raised to protect. From the platform commanding the entrance of the river, we obtained a perfect idea of the place; and after enjoying for a while the view landward, and the lashing of the sea upon the bar, we proceeded towards the encampments, which lay to the south, to visit the walls of the city. They might seem the ruins of some unheard-of Carthage, rather than of an upstart village on the extreme border of the world. Running in all directions, it is puzzling to make out what they exclude or what they enclose--they are now close--now far off--here intersecting a field--there skirting the horizon. They are of Tapia; some parts are forty feet in height, apparently of excessive thickness, and with square solid towers. At one place they resembled the land wall of Constantinople. The space between the first and second wall is filled with orange-groves or gardens; the produce of some of them is 3,000 dollars (600_l._), which would be doubled if the bar were passable. On our way back we were stopped in one of the streets by some horsemen, galloping and discharging their muskets. A little farther on I came suddenly upon Sir F. Palgraves’ likeness, leading a laden ass: a servant was walking behind him doing nothing. The wealthiest disdain not to perform, like the patriarchs, the humblest offices; and I was told that the late governor might have been seen leading his own mules to water. As we were passing through a narrow lane, the guard stopped and muttered, “_El Caïd!_” I looked, expecting to see the great man’s _cortège_, and it was some time before I distinguished the personage pacing along alone, wrapped in his haïk. The soldiers inclined, and saluted in a manner new to me. He stopped for a moment, uttered a few words, and passed on. It seemed as if I had met the proconsul of Mauritania Tangitana. The fasces only were wanting to the Roman toga and the Roman port. On returning home I made inquiry concerning him. The answer was, “He is a just man.” I asked, how then he came to be governor? the answer was, “He was appointed by the Town.” Supposing that my ears had deceived me, I repeated the question, and was answered a second time, “He was appointed by the Town.” The story is as follows:-- A REVOLUTION IN BARBARY.