St. Paul de Loanda, in the Portuguese colony of Angola, is the only place on the entire west coast of Africa that looks like a real city. It is several centuries old, and from the sea the appearance is not unlike the Mediterranean cities of North Africa. But as soon as one goes ashore this illusion is dissolved. What makes it unlike any other settlement on the west coast is chiefly its roofs of red tile instead of corrugated iron, with its superheated appearance, that is used in all places recently built. The city is also lighted by oil lamps. The harbour being one of the best, I went ashore with the captain and after a walk about the town we played a few games of billiards with the British consul. I had then been several years on the coast and this seemed like a brief return to civilization. The night coming on brought with it more civilization. A native band played, by ear, two or three tunes, and played them well—considering. It is said that they have played those same tunes since the band was organized, and no one now living remembers when that was. A mouldering church, _Our Lady of Salvation_, which stands on the beach, is two and a half centuries old, and is a work of art, containing interesting and historical scenes in blue and white tiles. From this place in the dark age of slavery thousands of slaves were shipped across the Atlantic; and the Roman Catholic bishop sat on the wharf and baptized them, not individually, but in shiploads. Surely _Our Lady of Salvation_ might have been called _Our Lady of Sorrows_. There were very few passengers on board, but there were a number of dogs. The captain had a weakness for dogs. The breed of the dog made no difference. Whether they were useful or useless, whether sound and healthy or dreadfully diseased and scarcely able to walk, he loved them all without partiality or discrimination. Men further up the coast who had European dogs that were particularly mangy or threatened with rabies would give them into the captain’s care and he would take them for a health-change down the coast. At one time there were nine dogs living on board. He never seemed to realize that in this, as in all other things, tastes differ; and that a certain dog, an English mastiff, as ugly as the rest of its kind, might not be entirely welcome to share my soup at the table just because it was welcome to his.