intruders; at length the intervention of the lieutenant of the watch drew forth, after protracted discussion, one priestly occupant from P.'s berth, behind whom lay secreted a good-natured-looking burly monk, with moustache and flowing beard-a true Friar Tuck. Then it transpired that every one had got into the wrong berth, and a general action of ejectment was instituted. A young lady was nearly expelled from a mattrass on the floor of the ladies' cabin by a youthful Jesuit, who insisted upon priority of claim. I indignantly protested, and offered my cabin to the lady, whereupon the young disciple of Loyola quietly suggested that it was unnecessary to disturb her, and promptly ensconced himself in my niche. After a speedy expulsion of the ecclesiastic, I was permitted to remain unmolested; while under and on the tables, arranged like the cargo of a slave-ship, lay packed the majority of the passengers. The more fortunate of ourselves baked in our berths till morning, many, I trust, with consciences less troubled than their stomachs.

The rest of the voyage was on a calm sea and without incident. A Sunday on board a foreign ship realises the sensation of solitude in a crowd. Seated on the taffrail for quiet reading, I found myself by the side of an American, the correspondent of a New York paper, and a freethinker. Sceptics, it is to be hoped, are not more common in America than in France, but they are certainly more obtrusive. A Frenchman seems scarcely to take the trouble to think at all: the other appears uneasily anxious to confirm himself in unbelief by discussion, and is careless of offending the convictions of those whom he meets, by propounding his theories in their baldest form. My companion held universal redemption, and ridiculed the great doctrines of Christianity,

asserting Scripture to be a mere Jewish history, exaggerated by national prejudices. I attempted to meet him by metaphysical and à priori arguments, when P., joining in, silenced if he did not convince him by Scriptural quotations. "Fools make a mock at sin."

The course of the steamer lay close by the island of Minorca, and we peered with our glasses into the magnificent harbour of Mahon, once an advanced post of England, and now eagerly coveted by our Gallic neighbours. Its acquisition will be one great step towards the realization of the French lake, lying as it does half way between Europe and Africa, and within 50 miles of the direct course of all vessels up the Mediterranean. We were reminded that autumn was now setting in by the numerous flocks of migratory birds which passed us on their way southwards, chiefly familiar English summer visitants, whitethroats and warblers, and many short-toed larks and pipits.

Early next morning we dropped anchor in the port of Algiers, so familiar by description to every reader. The first glimpse vividly recals the tales of our childhood. That white triangular patch, cut as it were out of the mountain side, and fringed with the richest and darkest verdure, might be still the nest of corsairs and the hopeless prison of Christian captives. But on entering the harbour all such pictures of the imagination vanish before healthier realities. A stupendous breakwater and mole, the work of the French Government, now rapidly approaching completion, offers a safe refuge for the finest navy that ever floated on the Mediterranean; and in lieu of the ensign of the pirate craft, the bright tricolor of France and the flags of many a peaceful trader flutter from a triple row of masts. One old corsair, carefully repaired from time to time, till her

timbers are now probably not more original than those of the "Victory" at Portsmouth, alone remains in the inner harbour, supporting an imperial pennant; an historic remnant of that extinct trade which provoked English chastisement, and palliated French conquest. The deep trenches and massive earthwork batteries, which form the modern enceinte, do not catch the eye, while the crumbling Moorish walls still mark the limit of the inhabited portion of the town. The French extensions have been only on the water's edge, where handsomely built fauxbourgs have spread themselves like wings on each side. In fact, the ground-plan of Algiers is not unlike a bird spread out, the old city representing the body, and the long mole which runs out to the Admiralty, once an island, forming the neck and head.

After much wrangling and deafening vociferations of the Moorish or Koulougli boatmen, we were landed on the Pêcherie, our passport receipts having been handed to us as we descended the ship's side. We mounted the long steps leading to the grand square, flanked by the now neglected batteries, which once formed the defence of the city, and which shattered with terrific effect the fleet of Lord Exmouth; and reaching the summit of the steps, found ourselves in the small square of the Place Mahon, now merely the cab-stand of Algiers, but interesting as being exactly on the site of the ancient Christian slave-market. What strange untold romance of misery-hopeless misery-of crime, rapine, and lust, lies for ever buried beneath that spot! Adjoining this is the grand square, now rejoicing in the appellation of "Place du Gouvernement," but preserving, in the half-obliterated titles of "Place Royale," "Place Républicaine," a record of the political inspirations which Algiers has successively received from the centre of French civilization.

When we arrived, a fair was being held preparatory to the annual "course," and the square was filled with booths crowded with showy and tinselly Parisian manufactures. French, Spaniards, and Jews jostled each other in gay holiday attire; and Bedouins, shrouded in their white burnouses, flitted silent and majestic like ghosts amid the throng. The old palace of the Deys had just been demolished, and the opening afforded a splendid view of the upper or Moorish city, rising with its white and flat-roofed houses, tier above tier, over the plain, far as the eye could reach in the clear moonlight. In front, leaning over the parapet, we enjoyed a commanding view of the port and roadstead, with Cape Matifou at the further extremity of the bay. Almost in the centre of the square stands a colossal equestrian statue of the late Duc d'Orléans, from the design of Marochetti, erected in 1842 by the civilians and army of Algeria, now only an historic monument of a dynasty which has passed from power and from memory. The revolutionary government of 1848 sent orders to have this statue destroyed, but the population of Algiers, and even the military, rose en masse, and by force prevented the officials from carrying out their intentions. On the pedestal are two spirited bas-reliefs, one representing the forcing of the pass of the Col de Mouzaïa, the other the capture of the citadel of Anvers. On the opposite side of the steps of the Pêcherie, on the site of the forum of the Roman city of Icosium, stands the Grand Mosque Djemmâa Djedid. It has a handsome minaret at the west end, and a crescent-surmounted dome over the centre. The story is told that the architect was an Italian captive, to whom the Dey promised freedom if he should succeed in erecting the most handsome mosque in El Djedzar. During its

construction it was remarked to the Dey that the edifice was in the shape of a cross, upon which on the day of its completion he beheaded the unfortunate designer. Close to the entrance is a Mohammedan tribunal, where the kadi may be daily seen administering the justice of the Koran, and settling the disputes of the wrangling daughters of Moslem, who recount their grievances from veiled lips through a small lattice window.

Lower down the street is the Grand Mosque or Djemmâa Khebir, a very handsome edifice, with a row of light marble columns supporting the arcade of the street in front, but without the great dome which relieves the other mosque. The arches of the interior are partly Saracenic and partly semicircular. Europeans and even females are freely permitted to enter any of the mosques in Algiers on taking off their shoes at the entrance, where an attendant supplies them with slippers. The effect of the rows of light shafts and arches is fine, but the interior has a bare appearance, being without any other furniture than the lamps slung from the roof, a wooden pulpit near the centre, and the floor laid with matting and ragged Turkey carpets here and there. These two mosques are the cathedrals of two different sects of Mussulmans-the Maleki, to which belong most of the Turks and Moors of Algiers; and the Hanefi, which numbers amongst its adherents all the Algerian Arabs. They differ in their ritual, but not in their doctrines; and, unlike the other Mohammedan sects, do not anathematize each other. There are also small mosques belonging to the sect of Ali, and the "Khramsine" or fifth sect, who are looked upon as heretics, and are as bitterly hated as the Shafi and Wahabi of Arabia.

Let us return to the Grand Place, ascend the hill but