Although there are plenty of schools in Cairo, such as they are, only boys are taught to read and write in them. Girls, even among the wealthy classes, are not taught, as a rule, the simplest rudiments of education. They, however, acquire some accomplishments of a domestic character,—such as sewing, embroidery,—and often play upon some simple musical instrument of a string character. We saw in Mustapha's house a mandolin which was evidently used by the women of the harem.

The Mosque of Mehemet Ali, with its tapering minarets overlooking all Cairo, was found to be quite a modern edifice, scarcely more than half a century in age, but it is a very remarkable and beautiful structure, and of great cost. The spacious building is lined throughout with Oriental alabaster, and the exterior is of the same costly finish. There is the sarcophagus of Mehemet Ali, the most enlightened of modern Egyptian rulers, before which lamps are burning perpetually. The interior of this mosque in its combined effect seemed to be the most effective, architecturally, of any temple of the sort which we had visited. There is a height, breadth, and solemn dignity in its aspect, which earnestly impresses one. The exterior is much less striking, but yet admirably balanced and harmonized. The lofty situation of the mosque commands one of the most interesting views that can well be conceived of. The city, with its countless minarets and domed mosques, its public buildings and tree-adorned squares, its section of mud-colored houses and terraced roofs, lies in the form of a crescent at the visitor's feet, while the plains of Lower Egypt stretch far away in all directions. The tombs of the Memlooks lie close at hand, full of suggestiveness, as also does the lonely column of Heliopolis, four thousand years old, marking the site of the famous "City of the Sun." Beyond and towards the sea is the land of Goshen, where the sons of Jacob fed their flocks. A little more westerly in the mysterious Nile is seen the well-wooded island of Roda, quietly nestling in the broad bosom of the river. The grand Aqueduct, with its high arches reaching for miles, reminds one of the Campagna at Rome; while beyond loom up the time-defying pyramids, the horizon ending at the borders of the great Libyan Desert. Far away to the southwest a forest of palms dimly marks the site of dead and buried Memphis, where Joseph interpreted a monarch's dream. Twilight was approaching when we were there The half-suppressed hum of a dense Eastern population came up from the busy, low-lying city, and a strange, sensuous flavor of sandal-wood, musk, and attar of roses floated upon the golden haze of the sunset, indelibly fixing the Oriental scene on the memory.

A visit to the Shoobra Palace, in the environs of Cairo, took us over a fine road and through a shady avenue of sycamores and lebbec-trees, the latter remarkable for its umbrageous character. This is the favorite drive of the citizens at twilight, where every known modern style of carriage may be met, from the Khedive's equipages, four-in-hand, and those of the ladies of his harem, to the single English gig or dog-cart. There are also the light American trotting wagons, elegant European barouches, mingled with equestrians upon spirited Arab horses; also people mounted upon nice donkeys,—for some of these animals are highly bred. Again, richly caparisoned camels from the Khedive's stables occasionally heighten the Eastern aspect of the scene, which recalled the Maidan of Calcutta most vividly. The roadway is not devoid of pedestrians, who come to see and to be seen. In short, the Shoobra Road is the Rotten Row of Cairo. Even here fashion steps in after her arbitrary manner, and establishes Friday and Sunday afternoons as the "swell" days for riding or driving on the avenue. But we started for the Khedive's Palace, and have stopped to gossip by the way.

The Summer Palace at Shoobra is surrounded by beautiful gardens, to visit which a permit is required from city officials; but not being thus prepared, a little silver was found to be equally effective with the obliging custodian. The apartments of the palace are numerous and elegantly furnished, in a mixed Turkish and European style, with divans, lounges, chairs, tables of inlaid marble, and massive curtains mingled with silk and satin hangings. The grand drawing-room was furnished in gold and white satin; the ladies' parlor in green satin and silver; each anteroom in different colors; all gorgeous, and a little fantastic. The great number of mirrors was almost confusing; and French clocks, two in some rooms, stared at one from all directions. The mirrors produced a serious danger by their reflected perspective, and one was liable to walk boldly into them. In the centre of the palace was an area open to the sky, upon which doors and windows faced, after the Moorish style, as at Cordova and Toledo, in the centre of which was an artificial lake formed by a huge marble basin, the whole surrounded by corridors of white marble. Here were placed divans, lounges, and luxurious chairs, besides many choice plants in richly ornamented porcelain vases, evidently forming the domestic lounging place of the family. We observed an American piano in a cozy little room opening upon this corridor, and a billiard-table in another. In the extensive grounds surrounding the palace, landscape-gardening and modern floral effects have been finely carried out by a skilled foreigner, who had been imported for this special purpose from Versailles. The variety of fruit was really remarkable, embracing orange, lemon, banana, fig, peach, and pear-trees, and a great variety of choice flowers were in their glory. The peach-trees,—it was late in February,—well-divided about the long, broad paths, were in full splendor of blossom, dotting the whole view with huge clusters of pink flowers delightful to the eye. The walks were clean, nicely cared for, and the shrubbery admirably trimmed, though there was no attempt at Chinese grotesqueness in shape and figures. Nature was permitted to follow her own sweet will as to form and luxuriousness of growth, filling the air with a mingled perfume of roses, heliotrope, and lemon-verbena. As we left the grounds each was presented with a bouquet by the disinterested (?) gardener.

The exhibition of Egyptian antiquities in the Cairo Museum is the most extensive and complete collection in existence, affording historic data of priceless value to the antiquarian. Here we have tangible history taking us back four thousand five hundred years before the coming of Christ, representing not only the art and culture, but also the religion of those remote periods, even to the days of Menes, the first recorded king. A wooden statue over four thousand years old, recovered from Memphis, launches one's imagination upon a busy train of thought. Here were curious tables, papyrus, bronze images, mummies, sculptures from stone, objects relating to domestic life, arms, rings, combs, vases, and many other articles which were in use four thousand years ago. By the Boulak Museum it is easily proved that the glory of Egyptian art belonged to the age of Cheops, its decadence to that of Rameses II. The collection, as we have intimated, throws a light upon Egyptian life and history for nearly five thousand years before the Christian era, but it is only a dim light. There can be but little consecutive reading of these isolated mementos. They afford us information as to generalities only, yet add link after link to a chain connecting those long past centuries with the present time.

The Mosque of Amer, some twelve centuries in age, though little more than a ruin, is still of considerable interest to the traveler. One enters the walls of an oblong court, the east end being formed of a gallery with columns inclosing the sanctuary. The north and south sides are inclosed by piazzas with many noble columns. There are two hundred and fifty of these, formed of single stones of granite and porphyry, which are known to have come from Memphis and Heliopolis. The whole deserted temple constitutes the most important monument of Arabian architecture in Cairo. Seen as it was in the dull gray of early morning, before the sun had fairly lighted the well-preserved minarets, it presented a solemn picture of faded glory. It is quite as much in their suggestiveness as in what they exhibit to the eye, that these decaying monuments interest and instruct us. The mosque was erected by the general whose name it bears, and was one of the few that escaped, five centuries later, the fire by which the Saracens burned Cairo to prevent its falling into the hands of the invading Christians.

Let us not forget to mention a brief visit to those strange fanatics, the whirling dervishes, in witnessing whose singular movements one is at a loss whether to sigh or to laugh. To the young the performance suggests that of the circus, and until wearied of the monotony of it, is perhaps as amusing; but to this more thoughtful observer it is melancholy to see men so debase themselves. The ring in which these people whirl about was full of deluded men, on the day of our visit, self-proclaimed disciples. About twenty of them commenced at a signal to turn rapidly about on their heels and toes, without a moment's pause, for a period of some thirty or forty minutes, to the monotonous notes of a fife and a sort of Chinese tom-tom, until finally their brains became addled, and they fell to the ground in a species of trance, their active devotion being supposed to have thus successfully terminated. The howling dervishes, seen in another temple, form a different branch of a similar style of worship or fanaticism; if possible, still more senseless than that already described. The bodily motion of the howlers is different, and is accompanied by a hoarse, disagreeable howling, like that of a pack of half-starved wolves, except that it is done to a certain musical accompaniment, enabling the participants to keep time, both as to the motion of the body and the hideous noise which they make. The motion is that of throwing the head and upper portion of the body forward, and bringing it back with a sudden jerk, which would, under ordinary circumstances, break a man's neck, but these creatures are used to it. The dervishes wear their hair long, which adds to their crazy appearance, by covering their faces with it during the jerking process, the hair flying back and forth with each movement. What the ecstatic point is in this ridiculous performance was not apparent, and they did not tumble down overcome by unconsciousness. It is supposed that all travelers visit them, but we came away more punished than entertained or interested in the senseless exhibition.

A week was all too brief a period to pass in the Queen City of the East, but at its close we started by rail for Ismailia, the little town which is located exactly midway on the great canal between the two seas, at the Bitter Lakes, through which the canal runs. It is a pretty and attractive place of four or five thousand inhabitants, and is a creation of the last sixteen years. Here we observed gardens filled with flowers and fruit trees; vegetation being in its most verdant dress, promoted by irrigation from the neighboring fresh-water canal. The place has broad macadamized streets, and a capacious central square ornamented with large and thrifty trees. It was here that the representatives of all nations met on the occasion of the inauguration ceremony on the completion of De Lesseps' grand canal. We took a small mail steamer at Ismailia through the western half of the canal to Port Said, which is the Mediterranean terminus of the great artificial river. It was a night trip, but had it been by daylight would have afforded us no views. We passed onward between two lofty hills of sand, the sky only visible overhead, and no vegetation whatever in sight; no birds, no animals, nothing to vary the monotony, but an occasional dredging machine, when we stopped at what are called watering-stations. The reader needs hardly to be told that this successful enterprise of cutting a canal across the Isthmus of Suez has proved a vast and increasing advantage to the commerce of the world. Large as it is, and under the best of management, it has already proved insufficient for the business which it has created, rendering a second parallel water-way imperatively necessary, plans for which are now under consideration. At present, so large is the demand upon its facilities that "blocks" and serious delays are of daily occurrence. That there will be ample and remunerative business for two canals is easily demonstrable by the statistics of the original company, which show a most remarkable annual increase. It is a singular fact worthy of mention, that, with all our modern improvements and progressive ideas, the Egyptians were centuries before us in this plan of shortening the path of commerce between the East and the West, or, in other words, of connecting the Red Sea with that of the Mediterranean across the Isthmus and through the Gulf of Suez.

Government engineers determined the difference of level between the two seas by careful processes, and the investigation showed that there was hardly a perceptible variation between the Mediterranean and the arm of the Indian Ocean formed by the Red Sea. The same fact has been scientifically settled regarding the Isthmus of Panama; while measurements along the Pyrenees have established the same level between the waters of the Mediterranean and the Bay of Biscay. The traveler in navigating these several waters cannot but realize an interest in such important physical facts.

The only business of Port Said is that connected directly or indirectly with the transshipment of vessels to and from the Red Sea by way of Suez. The town contains nothing of interest, and is a mere sandy plain. The languages spoken are French and Arabic. There are, counting the floating population, some eight thousand people here, not more, composed of every possible nationality; while the social status is at as low an ebb as it can possibly be. The region is perfectly barren,—like Egypt nearly everywhere away from the valley of the Nile, which enriches an extent of ten or twelve miles on either side of its course by the annual overflow, to an amount hardly to be realized without witnessing its effect. The question often suggested itself as to how camels, donkeys, and goats could pick up sufficient nourishment, outside of this fertile belt, to sustain life. Through that part of the desert which we passed in coming from Suez one looked in vain for any continuous sign of vegetation. A peculiarity of the land is the entire absence of woods and forests; hence also the absence of wild beasts, only hyenas, jackals, and wolves being found. Here and there, at long intervals, an oasis was observed like a smile breaking over the arid face of nature upon which a settled gloom rested nearly all the while. Once or twice there was seen a cluster of solitary palms by a rude stone wall, hedged in by a little patch of green earth, about which a few camels and goats were quenching their thirst or cropping the scanty herbage. Some Arabs, in picturesque costumes, lingered hard by. The tents, pitched in the background, were of the same low, flat-topped, coarse camel's hair construction as these desert tribes have used for thousands of years. Such groups formed true Egyptian pictures, which are so often seen delineated on canvas.

Egypt has only her ruins, her antiquity, her Biblical associations to give her interest with the world at large. Japan is infinitely to be preferred in any light of contemplation; China, even, rivals her in all natural advantages; and India is much more inviting. In looking at Egypt we must forget her present and recall her past. The real Egypt is not the vast territory which we shall find laid down by the geographers, reaching to the Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, and embracing equatorial regions; it is and was, even in the days of the Pharaohs and Ptolomies, the valley of the Nile, from the First Cataract to the Mediterranean Sea, hemmed in by the Libyan and Arabian deserts. From hence came to the rest of the world so much of art, science, and philosophy; and here were built those time-defying monuments which to-day challenge the wonder of the world.

The native Egyptian, the fellah, he who tills the soil, who cultivates by irrigation and gathers the rich crops of the valley, is of a fine and industrious race, well-built, broad-chested, and always of lithe frame, altogether a fine looking and vigorous figure. He has a manly, oval face, a broad brow, and a bronzed complexion, with brilliant eyes, fine teeth, and naturally luxuriant beard. He is the same figure his ancestors were six thousand years ago, as represented on the tombs and temples of Thebes, and on the slabs of Gizeh in the Museum at Cairo. He still performs his work in the nineteenth century just as he did before the days of Moses, scattering the seed and working the shadoof. He is little seen in the cities; his place is in the field; there he lives and thrives. Though his native land has found such various masters in Greek and Roman, Arab and Turk, he has never lost his individuality. He has ever been, and is to-day, the same historic Egyptian. If he were a horse in place of a man, we should say of him that he was of a pure, uncontaminated breed. The women when young are very handsome, beauty being the first present Nature gives them and the first she takes away. They are exquisite in form, and with a most graceful gait, common to nearly all Eastern women, who, from childhood, carry jars of water upon their heads, thus inducing the perfection of carriage. It made us feel almost angry to see them tattooed, their nostrils and ears pierced with rings, and awkwardly bedecked with cheap jewelry, like their cruder sisters of the Malay Archipelago. These women are frequently mothers at the age of fourteen, and work as industriously in the field as at the domestic hearth. The words "domestic hearth" are used in a conventional manner, as their houses generally consist of one room, devoid of windows, and a door so low as to render it necessary to stoop in order to enter. This door is the only piece of wood in the structure, which is composed of sun-dried clay. These dens, so utterly unfit for human beings, are dark and dirty, but the people live and sleep much in the open air. Such abodes are the natural outgrowth of degradation and ignorance.

We waited four days at Port Said for the arrival of the P. and O. steamship Rome, as she was detained by one of the numerous "blocks" in the canal, but finally embarked on her for Malta and Gibraltar. The Rome is a five thousand-ton ship, and the favorite of this company's extensive fleet. Four days' sail, covering about a thousand miles, over the erratic waters of the Mediterranean, now calm and now enraged, brought us in sight of Malta. The city of Valetta lies immediately on the shore; and when we dropped anchor in the snug little harbor, we were surrounded by lofty forts, frowning batteries, and high stone buildings of various sorts. There are two harbors, in fact, known as Quarantine Harbor and Great Harbor. The Rome lay in the former. The island is about twenty miles long and half as wide, and had a place in historical record nearly three thousand years ago. We were not prepared, upon landing, to find so large, and fine a city, numbering, as Valetta does, at least a hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. The houses are all large stone structures, many of which are architecturally noticeable; fronting thoroughfares of good width, well-paved, and in fine order, an aspect of cleanliness and freshness pervading everything.

Few countries have known so many changes among their rulers as has this Mediterranean island. Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Goths, and Arabs succeeded each other before our era, followed by German, French, Spanish, and English rulers. During the sovereignty of the Grand Masters it suffered the curse of the Inquisition, until the Knights were deposed by the French, and that hateful and bloody agent of the Romish Church was expelled. Not more heterogeneous are the nationalities under which the island has been held than is the character of its dialects; indeed, we have never seen written Maltese, which, as spoken by the populace, is a mixture of Arabic and Eastern dialects. Italian, French, and English are equally in use, but the latter, being now the official tongue, takes precedence among the educated classes.

The garrison is formed of some three or four thousand British troops. Many of the streets run up the steep hill-side on which the town stands, and are flanked by broad stone steps for foot passengers, the roadway being quite inaccessible for vehicles. The principal thoroughfare is the Strada Reale, nearly a mile long, flanked by fine and attractive stores, shops displaying choice fancy goods, jewelry, silks, and laces; also by dwelling-houses and hotels; in short, forming a busy and handsome boulevard. All the dwelling-houses over the stores are ornamented by pleasant iron balconies, where the residents can sit and enjoy the cool evening breezes after the hot days that linger about Malta nearly all the year round. It was observed that the town was lighted by a complete gas system. There is a large and imposing stone opera house, of fine architectural aspect, ornamented with Corinthian columns, a wide portico, and broad steps leading up to the same. A visit to the Church of St. John was very interesting. It was built a little over three hundred years since by the Knights, who lavished large sums of money upon its erection and elaborate ornamentation. Statuary and paintings of rare merit abound within its walls, and gold and silver ornaments render the altar a work of great aggregate value. The entire roof of the church, which is divided into zones, is admirably painted by figures of such proportions as to look of life size from the floor, representing prominent Scriptural scenes. The excellence, finish, and naturalness of the figures challenged special attention; it was difficult not to believe them to be in bas-relief. On inquiring as to their authorship, we were told that they were the work of Mattia Preli, an enthusiastic artist, who spent his life in this adornment, refusing all remuneration for his labor, content to live frugally that he might thus exemplify his art and his devotion. He certainly excelled any artist with whom we are acquainted in causing figures painted on a flat surface to appear to the spectator far below them to stand out with statuesque effect. In this Church of St. John, the Knights seemed to have vied with each other in adding to its ornaments and its treasures, so that the rich marbles, bas-reliefs, and mosaics are almost confusing in their abundance. The floor is closely ornamented with inlaid marble slabs, which cover the tombs of the most distinguished Knights of the order of St. John.

The famous Dome of Mosta, a hamlet some three or four miles from Valetta, was pointed out to us. It seems curious that this village church should be crowned by a dome larger than that of the Pantheon or St. Peter's, but such is the fact. It is built of the yellow stone of which the whole island consists. We did not visit Mosta, but were told that it was a small and miserable place. The story of the church is this: An ancient edifice of the same character stood upon the spot, but a new one of larger dimensions was needed to accommodate the people. It was essential that it should be on the same site, but the old one could not be removed until the new one was ready. To meet this difficulty the modern structure was built over the old one, and so this remarkable dome was erected without scaffolding within. Its proportions did not seem particularly fine, but the size is most remarkable. It may be mentioned, however, that Malta has some ten or more beautifully-formed domes, looming up into the azure which hangs over the Mediterranean.

We were told that snow is not known in Malta, but that ice sometimes forms during the coldest nights of winter, though only in thin layers, the climate appearing to be very similar to that of southern Italy. It was early in March, but the trees were in full bloom, and a pleasant appreciation has led the citizens to plant and cultivate fruit trees and flowers in abundance. Among the fragrant blossoms, quick to catch the eye, were those of the peach, pear, orange, and apple. Indeed, Valetta seemed to be clothed in blossoms, and in the case of the orange-trees the ripe fruit was also to be seen in rich yellow plumpness. There must be a prevailing refinement of taste in this island city, otherwise the abundance of flowers offered on the Strada Reale would not find purchasers. Several kiosks were observed erected along the main thoroughfare, whose occupants were busy making up button-hole bouquets, as well as arranging larger ones in picturesque combinations. There is a place near the harbor named Casal Attand, that is, the "Village of Roses." Casal, in Maltese, signifies village; and there is also Casal Luca, the "Village of Poplars;" and still another, Casal Zebbug, the "Village of Olives." A simple but very appropriate system of nomenclature.

There are three islands in the Malta group: Malta, Gozo, and Comino, the two latter being so small as to be of comparatively little importance, and the circumference of the whole, judging by the scale of the maps, must be less than a hundred miles. The trade of the place is small, though it exports some fruits, olives, and laces, the latter a specialty. Visitors always leave more or less money in exchange for small mementos of the island, and thus aid in the support of the various fancy goods stores, photograph, and jewelry shops on the Strada Reale. The Palace of the Grand Knights of Malta, whose interesting story has so long entered into history and romance, is the most inviting object to the traveler,—in its associations quite as interesting as any modern palace. One enters the lofty corridors with a throng of historical recollections crowding upon the memory. It is a large stone building, rather imposing in its exterior, and within is divided into roomy vestibules, picture-galleries, banqueting hall, hall of justice, hall of council, chapel, and several other state apartments. The council chamber is hung in Gobelin tapestry of great original cost and beauty, imported from France nearly three centuries ago. These remarkable hangings are crowded with colossal figures representing scenes in India, Africa, Europe, and America, in the latter of which were some manifest crudities. The whole is in a singularly good state of preservation, both as regards color and texture.

The Armory of the Knights is a large hall in the same building, wherein is preserved the armor and weapons as worn by them in actual service, besides specimens of guns and cannon of very peculiar mechanism. Here, too, is an interesting series of portraits, representing the various Grand Masters of the order of St. John. Some of the fire-arms challenge attention, from the fact that they so closely resemble designs and samples to be seen in Venice, showing that the principle of the modern revolver was born and partially carried out centuries before the ingenious American, Colonel Colt, perfected a weapon which has since become universal. The same remark will apply to the principle of breech-loading fire-arms, examples of which may here be seen three hundred years old. One very singular cannon was observed, actually made from closely woven rope, so strong and compact as to be capable of bearing a discharge with gunpowder, and which had once seen service in battle. The rusty old lances, broken spears, and dimmed sword-blades, hanging on the walls, shadowed by the tattered remnants of battle-flags bearing the bloody marks of contests in which they had taken part, were silent but suggestive tokens of the Crusades. There are many relics preserved in this hall besides the weapons and armor, consisting of written documents and illumined books; indeed, the place is a veritable museum in itself, though containing nothing except such mementos as relate to the history of this most ancient and long-sustained order of Knights of the Church. This hall is sure to remind the visitor of the Tower of London.

We strolled through the elaborate divisions of Fort St. Angelo, which has existed as a fortification for a thousand years, and from its overhanging battlements obtained a pleasing and comprehensive view of the island and its surroundings. Malta, like Gibraltar and Aden, is principally important as a fortified station, and from this occupation derives its main support. The system of armament and the garrison here maintained are complete and effective. The lofty fort upon which we stood is very commanding, in a military point of view, as well as affording a grand prospect. Valetta lay far below us, with its white buildings and thrifty, business-like aspect, its many blossoming trees giving bits of delicate color here and there. Both harbors, with their crowded shipping and many stately warehouses, were in view. In Great Harbor there floated three frowning, black-hulled, iron-clad monsters, whose open ports and protruding cannon showed their warlike purpose. At intervals the strains of a marine band came from on board one of them.

The blue Mediterranean stretched far away to the horizon, dotted here and there by the picturesque maritime rig of these waters, its placid surface, now serene and quiet, radiating the afternoon light like a liquid sapphire. A myriad of row-boats shot hither and thither over the waters of the inner harbor, painted and emblazoned after the gaudy Maltese fashion. One or two long lines of dark, curling smoke floating among the distant clouds, pointed out the course of the continental steam-packets bound east or west. The atmosphere was soft and summer-like. The hum of the busy town, far below us, came up on the air like the drone of insects, mingled with the soft chimes from the Church of St. John. It must have been some fete-day in Malta, as other bells joined in the chorus, which floated with mellow cadence on the atmosphere. We had observed the Maltese women in church costume, making them look like a bevy of nuns, hastening through the streets during the day, and doubtless it was some special occasion which drew them, with their prayer-books, to the several altars. Is it not noticeable everywhere that it is the women who respond to these church requirements, while the men coolly smoke their cigars, or gossip about business on the Exchange?

From our lofty perch on the battlements of Fort St. Angelo, we saw the signal for sailing displayed by the Rome, and knew that it was time for us to hasten on board, and so turned our faces towards the landing-place. For a few shillings, flowers enough to beautify our cabins were purchased on the way, forming a floral display as pleasing to the eye as it was grateful by its perfume. Flowers, "the air-woven children of light," are always beautiful, but especially so at sea,—no greater contrast being possible than that between these winsome blossoms and the cold, fretful element which surrounds the ocean-bound ship.



CHAPTER X.

Voyage through the Mediterranean.—Gibraltar on Sunday.—Beautiful Alameda.—Visit to the Famous Fortress.—Wild Monkeys.—Cannon and Flowers.—Tangier.—Morocco.—Straits of Gibraltar.—A Moorish City of To-day.—Local Scenes.—A Private Museum—The Governor's Palace.—Rusty Keys.—The Typical Moor.—The Slave Market.—Oriental Tableaux.—Visit to Washington Mount.—A Cup of Moorish Coffee.—From Gibraltar to Malaga.—Spain.—The City of Raisins and Sweet Wine.

The sonorous puff of the steam-winch told us that the anchor had already parted from its hold of the land, the ship glided slowly through the deep waters like a huge sea-monster, the tremulous vibration of the hull caused by the regular plunge of the screw was resumed, and we laid our course once more westward. A gale of wind welcomed us back to the sea, and the heavy weather forced the ship on a southerly course. In our passage from Malta to Gibraltar, a distance of about a thousand miles, we sighted the shores of Africa, the headlands of Tripoli, and the coast of Morocco, reaching our port of destination at last, prepared to testify to the treacherous and restless nature of this great inland sea.

We landed at Gibraltar on Sunday, March 11th, and in our walk from the shore to the quaint old tavern known as the King's Arms,—combining much comfort with its dinginess,—we found the day was but partially observed as one of rest. The stores were mostly open, and the numerous bar-rooms noticeably so, after the usual style in Roman Catholic countries. The first impression was, that we were within the precincts of a large fort or military cantonment, every other person being in uniform, while sentries and cannon were as plenty as at Woolwich or West Point. England here supports a garrison of from four to six thousand men at a vast expense, but it is undoubtedly quite necessary for her to do so, as it is also important to keep a well-organized garrison at Aden, Prim, Singapore, and Ceylon. The highway to her possessions in India is too important to trust in other hands. Hence her late demonstration in Egypt, and the favor with which government looks upon the proposed new canal, to be constructed nearly parallel with that now existing, and which will be virtually an English enterprise, in spite of M. de Lesseps' ingenious devices and finesse.

The people of Gibraltar are of a mixed nationality; those of Penang and Singapore are scarcely more so. Here we have English, Portuguese, Moors, Spaniards, Italians, with some Maltese. The occupation of these people is almost entirely that of sailors, and after deducting the garrison, they form three fourths of the population. They are of rather a quarrelsome disposition, especially as the large number of bar-rooms is a constant temptation to drink; but the police arrangements are excellent, and all are kept in due subjection by the ready arm of discipline. The place is virtually under martial law at all times, and in dealing with the class of humanity which naturally congregates here, this system has special advantages. There is no compounding of felony, no compromising with crime. If the laws are outraged, the offender knows he will be instantly arrested and punished, without any fear of popular sympathy. It is not the severity, so much as the certainty of punishment, which causes the reckless and abandoned element of society to respect good and wholesome laws. Punishment of crime is swift and sure at Gibraltar.

The military, warlike aspect of everything is partially relieved by a very spacious public garden and promenade combined, located at that portion of the place known as Europa Point, just outside the gates of the city proper on the seaward side. These gardens being upon a sloping hill-side are terraced, or divided into three plains, about which are planted, with regularity, a variety of fine and thrifty trees, as well as many beautiful flowers, the whole forming a charming Alameda. The broad graveled paths are bordered by sweet-scented geraniums, the scarlet and pink growing wild; verbenas, coronella, and roses of many species, mingle artistically with the statues and fountains interspersed about the grounds. To all of this, just across a stretch of blue water, Africa forms a background. The military band plays here once or twice each week, adding to the natural attractions of the spot; but there is such an almost entire absence of social life, or refined society at the rock, that we imagine few people, except children and nurses, improve the advantages of the Alameda. A walk through the principal street, known as Waterport Street, lined with low drinking places, taverns, or lodging-houses, junk stores, and cigar shops, would not lead one to expect the population to be of the sort to appreciate good music, or to enjoy a quiet promenade in well-kept grounds. Of course there are exceptions to this deduction, and there are a few delightful people, appreciative and cultured, at Gibraltar; but it must seem like being buried alive to make one's residence in such an unattractive place.

Through the kind assistance of the American Consul we obtained a special permit to visit the fortifications, particularly of that portion which forms the lofty and impregnable citadel. It is difficult to decide in this most remarkable fortress whether nature or art has done the most to render it what it seems absolutely to be, impregnable,—the strongest citadel in the world. The improvements in modern gunnery have lately caused important additions and alterations to be made. A hundred-ton gun was landed fresh from England while we were at the rock. One natural cave which was visited, in the system of fortified apartments, with port-holes commanding a broad sweep, was large enough to contain a regiment of soldiers; and the entire rock, fifteen hundred feet high, seems honey-combed with small connected caves, supplied with cannon commanding all approaches, by land or sea. We asked the officer who accompanied us how it would be possible for men to work these heavy guns in such circumscribed space as characterized many of the galleries. "Why?" he asked in turn. "Because," we added, "of the concussion, reverberation, and the density of accumulated smoke." He smiled, and replied: "There is something in that!" The fact is, the deafening reechoing of sound would prove fatal to gunners in a very short time, if suffocation itself did not ensue. We were told that all recently constructed batteries at the rock are left open to the sky, which would seem to indicate that the government engineers recognize these simple facts.

The largest cave, called St. Michael's, is eleven hundred feet above the sea level, with lofty halls sixty feet high and two or three hundred feet long. Here many fossil human remains have been found from time to time. The fortress is constantly so provisioned with stores, and such arrangements are perfected for a water supply, that with but a few days', nay, possibly a few hours' notice, it could be put in a condition to withstand a year's siege. Donkeys were employed to ascend the steep and winding path which leads to the top of the lookout station, for it is a tedious climb. Wherever soil could get holding place upon the face of the cliff, wild flowers had burst forth and were thriving after their own lovely fashion. Here were daturas and daphnes mingled with heliotrope; the latter so overgrown as to be a small tree rather than a shrub. Stooping down to gather some of these, we looked into a cannon's mouth, a screened battery,—screened by heliotrope and blooming heath! Further up we came upon the face of the rock looking towards the south-east, where the wild monkeys claim undisputed possession: their home for centuries past. They are quite a recognized institution here, though they must be satisfied with very frugal fare, the stunted vegetation affording but small variety. It may be doubted if they are very gentle or amiable creatures; for when it was discovered that they were becoming gradually extinct a few years ago, some were imported from Africa to recruit their numbers; but no sooner were the foreigners let loose near the spot, than the Gibraltar monkeys resisted the intrusion, and soon killed every one of the new-comers.

On the north side of the rock we visited some half-artificial, half-natural galleries, from whence scores of grim muzzled guns of heavy calibre command the Neutral Ground, which, so far as England controls it, is also entirely undermined, ready to be sprung upon the approach of an enemy on the land side. On our winding way to the summit, or signal station, we often found the path lined with asphodel and palmitos, while at the very top, where the signal sergeant has a small house, was a pretty sheltered garden of pansies, tulips, pinks, and roses, daintily arranged by some woman's hand. The remarkable view from this elevation was of vast extent, and truly magnificent; especially to seaward, where the straits were plentifully sprinkled with the white wings of commerce, full-rigged ships assuming the proportions of sea-gulls, and steamers only visible by the dark line of smoke trailing in their wake. At the foot of the rock, on the Spanish side, lay the town, a thick mass of yellow, white, and red houses; and nestling near the shore was quite a fleet of shipping, looking like maritime toys. The mountain ranges of Ceuta and Andalusia, on opposite continents, were mingled with soft, overshadowing clouds, while over our heads was a glorious dome of turquoise blue such as no temple reared by man could imitate.

One of the few fragments of antiquity, which meets the eye of the tourist at Gibraltar, is the remains of the ancient Moorish castle located on the west side, about half way up the steep acclivity of the fortifications. A crumbling wall extends, after a crooked fashion, down from the main structure towards the shore. Where everything else is so trim and orderly, this famous remnant of the barbaric ages seems strangely out of place; but it would be a positive sacrilege to remove it. It has stood some stout blows and heavy shot in its day, and they have left their deep indentures on the moss-grown, crumbling stones. The Moors held sovereignty over the Rock for more than seven hundred years, and the old tower stands there as a sort of black-letter record of these ages. The merciless finger of Time has been more fatal to it than shot and shell.

We embarked on the small coasting steamer Leon Belge for a passage across the Straits of Gibraltar, which separate Europe from Africa, landing at Tangier, Morocco, the distance being some seventy or eighty miles. The sea is always rough between the two continents, quite as much so as in the channel between France and England. Our little craft was neither very steady nor very dry under the experience. As we drew away from the Spanish shore, the long range of Andalusian mountains stood out, compact and clear, with their snow-white summits sparkling in the bright morning sun. On the lowlands, sloping to the water's edge, the fields were robed in a soft green attire, and dotted with herds of goats and cattle. Old stone watch-towers lined the shore at regular intervals, and coast-guard houses sheltering squads of soldiers, for this region is famous as the resort of smugglers. On the opposite coast of Africa the Ceuta range grew every moment more distinct; the loftiest peaks were also mantled with snow, like the white flowing drapery of the Bedouins. Still further on, dazzlingly white hamlets enlivened the Morocco shore, with deep green tropical verdure in the background, while Ceuta attracted more than ordinary interest. It is a Spanish penal colony, surrounded by jealous, warlike Moors, slave-traders and smugglers. If we are to believe the stories told by our captain, it must be one of the most dangerous and uncivilized spots on the face of the globe.

Tangier stands on the western shore of a shallow bay, upon a sloping hill-side, but is not at all impressive as one approaches it. The windowless houses rise like cubical blocks of masonry one above another dominated by a few square towers which crown the several mosques, while here and there a consular flag floats lazily upon the air from a lofty pole. The rude zigzag wall which surrounds the city is seen stretching about it, and this is pierced by three gates which are carefully closed at night.

Cairo is Oriental, but Tangier is much more so. Here we seem at one step to have passed from modern civilization into barbarism. There is no European quarter in Tangier; every evidence of the proximity of the opposite continent disappears; the distance might be immeasurable. It is Moorish from one end to the other; the very atmosphere and prevailing odors announce it. It has little, narrow, dirty, twisted streets, through which no vehicle could pass, and only accessible for donkeys, camels, and foot passengers; there is no such thing as a wheeled vehicle in the place. The women veiled, but scantily clad in some thin white texture, move about like uneasy spirits, while one meets constantly an humbler class, clad in a short blue cotton skirt, with little naked brown babies astride of one shoulder. The men, with scarlet turbans and striped robes, lounge about with their bare heels sticking out of yellow slippers. There is no spirit of hospitality here, no welcome to be read in those frowning bearded faces. Strangers are not liked, and are only tolerated for the shekels that can be extracted or robbed from them. Now we meet a wild, tawny Arab, a straggling son of the desert, his striped abba, or white bournous, hanging in graceful folds about his straight figure; and now a Nubian with only a waistcloth. Jews with dark blue caftans and red sashes; and Jewesses in bright purple silk, with uncovered, handsome faces. Here and there is seen a Maltese or Portuguese sailor, hiding on account of some crime by which he has outraged the laws on the opposite continent. The Jews, though numerous, are hated and oppressed, being the descendants of those exiled from Europe in the Middle Ages. The variety of races which one meets in these contracted passage-ways is curious, represented by faces yellow, bronze, white, and black. Add to all the crowd of donkey-boys, camels, goats, and street peddlers, crying, bleating, blustering, and braying, and you have a modern Babel of sights and sounds such as greet the stranger in the streets of this Moorish capital.

After strolling for a while through the steep, ill-paved lanes, which were a perfect exposition of crookedness, we were brought by our guide to the house of the Belgian Consul, a curious structure in the Moorish style, more of a museum than a dwelling-house. Here, the resident official, who has long filled the post, has gathered about him a collection of articles, antique and modern; but all representative of Morocco and its surrounding countries. The collection was of warlike arms of all sorts, domestic implements, armor, dress ornaments of both sexes, saddlery, pipes, rude native pictures, precious stones, and the like; the whole forming a special historical record which would be highly valuable in any European centre. It is surprising, when one indulges in a specialty, what a valuable collection can be gathered, and of what general interest it is sure to prove. From this Oriental museum we were taken to the Governor's Palace, where we met his Excellency, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small court, at the entrance of the ancient and dilapidated structure. He was surrounded by a dozen most rascally-looking be-turbaned councillors, who, after we had been shown over the palace, were none of them above taking a shilling fee. The building was very queerly cut up, with tiled roofs at all sorts of angles, bay windows, projecting apartments, as though hung in air, and ample space for the harem, with its bathrooms, reception rooms, and many cozy nooks and corners whose use was quite past finding out. Besides there were ugly dungeons in the basement, entirely underground, like those of the Doge's Palace at Venice; and in strong contrast to which there were courts of greenery, where the thick, glossy leaves of the orange-trees set off the fragrant blossoms in a most artistic manner, and where the rank, neglected, undergrowth but half hid what must in former times have been a beautiful flower garden. There was still a heavy myrtle border, and here and there a sweet little flower struggling for existence. The denizens of the harem must once have tended and petted these flowers; but the cold, stone-latticed apartments were all vacant now, the floors damp and slippery with moss and dirt. Desolation was clearly written upon the walls.

This Governor's Palace is anything but a palace now. A portion of the building was improved as a dwelling for his Excellency, who sat soberly and silently discussing his long-stemmed pipe with Oriental indifference, as we came through the outer court on our departure. In visiting the several divisions of the palace, there had been found one section where the keys were missing, and this led to some delay while the custodian tried to procure them, the door being finally forced open by a slight physical effort. On coming out a number of rusty keys were observed upon the wall, causing us to remark that the missing one might be among them; whereupon the guide told us that these were of a different character,—keys brought from Spain when the Moors were expelled thence, and now held sacred as heir-looms. This was only a casual remark, but yet one which came back to us with special emphasis, as will by and by be explained.

As we were about to mount our donkeys a dignified individual took the guide, with whom he was evidently acquainted, one side for a moment. He would have been noticeable anywhere as a man of character, a typical Moor. Mixed as the population of Tangier is, still one easily individualizes the several races, and above all cannot fail to admire the noble, manly specimens of Moorish blood. They are naturally broad, yet light, with figures faultlessly straight without stiffness; the arms are set well back and are carried with peculiar grace, while a general dignity of bearing is always observable. The eyes are large and receding, the nose aquiline, features regular, with a rather large mouth and brilliantly fine teeth. We could not but look critically at the Moor who was engaged for the moment with our guide, for he was a good representative of that proud race which in its glory built palaces like the Alhambra, and such mosques as that at Cordova.

Our leisure moments here were passed in strolling through the queer native bazars; examining the mosques, from the towers of which at sunset we heard the Muezzin call to prayer; and in visiting the slave market, just outside of the city walls, where business is prosecuted though not so extensively as heretofore. These slaves are mostly prisoners of war, sold by native chieftains in Guinea to Morocco merchants, who drive them, chained together in long strings, from market to market until disposed of for the harems or as laborers. The sales take place always on the Sabbath, regarded as a sort of holiday. The average price of the women and girls is from fifty to sixty dollars, according to age and good looks. The men vary much in price, frequently selling at much lower figures, according to the demand for labor. About the large open space near the slave mart were congregated groups of camels and their Bedouin owners, who had just arrived from the interior, bringing native goods, with dried fruits, to market, forming an assembly such as can only be found on the borders of the desert, and which, indeed, would be utterly out of place except beneath the glow and shimmer of an African sun.

There were men, women, children, and animals, each little group a family, picturesque in their squalor and their coarseness. Their brown, flat tents were of the same shape and material as those we had seen between Suez and Ismailia. Naked children and half-clad mothers peeped at us out of their canvas homes, or raised their heads above the awkward saddles and trappings of the kneeling camels, behind which they reposed. The docile, uncouth, buff-colored beasts were soberly chewing their cuds, and resting after their long and weary journey. It was a striking scene, which an artist would have traveled far to sketch, lying under a warm, hazy, atmospheric covering, so peculiar to Egypt and Africa, with the rough, red stone walls of the city for a background, and the arched Moorish gateway at the side. Here and there were to be seen dapple-gray horses of unmistakable Arab breed, animals which any rich European would have been proud to own. In one instance, seeing a fine full-bred mare and her foal lying down amid a family group, the children absolutely between the mother's legs, who was untethered, and the colt also extended on the ground with them, at our request the guide asked of the sober old Arab, who sat cross-legged, smoking by the entrance of the tent, what he would sell us the horse and colt for. "Tell your chief," was his answer, "there is not enough money coined to purchase them." This was a good and independent response. "But," added the guide, "he will sell you his wife, or any of the children!" We were contented with purchasing some fresh dates from an itinerant, who cried them in good, sonorous Arabic, "O dates, in the name of the Prophet!" and got most iniquitously cheated, both in quality and in price, according to the guide.

At sunrise, on the morning following our arrival, mules were ready at the door, and we started off, laughing merrily over the crude saddlery and other untoward fittings of the animals. Ladies' side-saddles are yet a myth in Morocco. We were bound for Washington Mount, a league or two outside the city walls, where the American Minister, several foreign consuls, and a few rich merchants of European birth make their homes, in handsome modern villas, surrounded by perennial gardens and orchards. The vegetation was often so rank as to overhang the narrow and steep roads up which we wended our way. They were so thick with agave and prickly pear, that we could hardly keep upright in the saddle. The trefoil, honeysuckle, myrtle, and white convolvulus grew in rank profusion, with occasional pale pink, single-leaved roses. Over the hedges in the private grounds, though it was early in March, we saw the orange-trees and pomegranates, the former laden with large, yellow fruit, and the latter blushing crimson with flowers among companion palms, figs, and olives. On the way through the meadow, before coming to the ascent, the ground was enameled with a pale blue daisy, which the guide told us was perennial here. After an hour's ride, emerging upon the high, open plateau, there burst upon our eyes a most enchanting view. The far-reaching waters of the Mediterranean seemed to surround the land upon which we were. Looking off towards the Spanish coast, a few white sails intervened to give character to the maritime scene; while a large steamship was making the passage of the straits, leaving behind her a long line of dense smoke. How suggestive was that expanse of waters, the most interesting of all known seas: its shores hallowed by associations connected with the entire progress of civilization; the cradle, as it has been aptly called, of the human race, the battle-field of the world, and still the connecting link between Europe, Asia, and Africa.

All around us, upon the sloping hill-side, were delightful villas, painted in bright colors, and half buried in thrifty foliage, each located in an atmosphere redolent of fruits and flowers; its front ever open to that glorious sea-view. The broad piazzas of these smiling homes were hung with hammocks, telling of luxurious out-door life. Family groups could be seen taking their morning coffee on the verandas; and the voices of many children rang out clear and bird-like, floating up to the eyrie where we were perched. Down towards the shore lay brown, dingy, dirty Tangier, with its mud-colored groups of tiled roofs, its teeming population, its mouldy old walls and arched gates, and its minarets, square and dominant. On our way back, we again passed through the slave market, and saw a freshly arrived caravan pitching their tents after a long and weary journey. A snake-charmer was busy amusing an idle group of boys and girls in one of the small squares, and a group of dancing girls, with tambourines and castanets, looked wistfully at us, hoping to get an audience; but our yet unhonored breakfast awaited us, and the mountain excursion had imparted healthful appetites.

It was quite the thing to patronize one of the little dingy cafes, and so we patiently endured the punishment of drinking an egg-shell cup of a muddy compound called coffee, but nothing short of compulsion would have induced a repetition of the same. A dose of senna would have been ambrosia compared to it. In passing through a narrow court we saw a group of children sitting cross-legged, in a circle, on the floor of an open house, with books in their hands, presided over by a sage-looking Moorish party, with long, snow-white beard, and deep-set dark eyes that seemed to burn like gas jets. The guide explained that it was a native school; and the children, who were all talking aloud at the same time, in a drawling, sing-song tone, swaying back and forth incessantly, were learning their lessons. When we inquired what special branch was being taught them, he answered: "The Koran; they learn it from the beginning to the end." "And is that all the instruction imparted to them?" we asked. "Of course," he replied; "what else do they require in Morocco?"

The houses were more like toys than dwelling-places, they were so very small, rarely of more than one story, the walls whitewashed to such a degree as to be almost blinding. Now and then the monotony was broken by an arabesque window, but, as a rule, there were none opening outward; like all Moorish houses, they had a small inner court upon which doors and windows opened, thus avoiding being overlooked, and promoting the seclusion of the harem, which seems to be the first and foremost idea of the Eastern people. Nearly the last sound that greeted our ears as we walked down over the irregular pavements, and through the narrow lanes towards the pier from whence we were to embark, was the rude music of the snake-charmer; and the last impressive sight was that of a public story-teller, in one of the little squares, in earnest gesticulation, as with a high-pitched, shrill voice he related to a group of women, who were squatted in their white haiks, and men of the desert in their hooded gehabs, what the guide told us was a chapter from the "Thousand and One Nights!" We embarked once more on board the little Leon Belge for Gibraltar, well pleased with our brief visit to the curious Moorish capital.

The Sultan of Morocco is supreme, and holds the lives and fortunes of his subjects at his will. He is judge and executor of laws which emanate solely from himself. Taxation is so heavy as to amount to prohibition in many departments of enterprise. All exportation is hampered, agriculture heavily loaded with taxation, and only so far pursued as to supply the barest necessities of life. Manufacture is where it was centuries ago, and is performed with the same primitive tools. The printing-press is unknown. There are no books; the language itself is such a mixture of tongues and so corrupted as to have hardly a distinctive existence. The power of the sultan sucks the life-blood out of the people, who obey the local sheikhs; above them are the cadis, controlling provinces; and still higher the pashas, who are accountable only to the sultan. And yet the Berbers, so-called, who form the basis of the native population, outnumbering the Moors, Arabs, Jews, and Negroes, and who live mostly in the nearly inaccessible mountains of the Atlas, are so independent, savage, and turbulent, as to nearly defy the imperial authority, yielding only so far to its control as they deem advantageous to themselves. The Arabs occupy the plains and are nomadic; the Moors possess the wealth of the land and control most branches of trade, making their homes in the cities, and are the direct descendants of the Moors of Spain. Strange there should be such a spirit of detestation existing towards every idea associated with civilized and Christian life, but so it is at Tangier.

From Gibraltar to Malaga by sea is less than a hundred miles eastward along the coast. We embarked on board the English steamer Cadiz. Fortunately the trip is a short one, for the boat was filthy, and had just been transporting cattle from England to the Rock. The water was rough enough to make the few passengers, except ourselves, quite seasick; which, in the contracted accommodations of the Cadiz, made matters far from agreeable. To add to the discomfort there was a steady downpour of rain during the trip; but we were no strangers to such contingencies, and made the best of it. The irregular Spanish coast was in sight through a veil of mist nearly all the way until we landed, after a slight skirmish with the custom-house officers, at Malaga, March 15th. It is commercially one of the most important cities of Spain, and was once the capital of an independent state, with plenty of ancient lore hanging about it, as it was a large and prosperous Phoenician capital centuries before Christ. The older portions of the city have all the Moorish peculiarities of construction,—narrow streets, narrow passages, small barred windows, and heavy doors; but the more modern part of Malaga is characterized by broad, straight thoroughfares, and elegantly built houses. This is especially the case with the Alameda, which has a central walk lined on either side with handsome almond-trees, edged by plats of flowers, and green shrubs intermingled, besides which there are statues and a fountain of an elaborate character at the end of the walk. On either side of this promenade is a good roadway, flanked with houses of pleasing architectural effect, lofty and well relieved.

There are several fine open squares in Malaga, some of which contain statues and ornamental trees and flowers. The discovery, not long since, of Roman antiquities in the environs has created a warm interest among archaeologists. The trade of the city in wine, dried and green fruit, is large; and we were told that nearly nine tenths of the forty thousand butts of sweet wine, sold here for foreign use annually, were exported to the United States. On the whole, we were agreeably disappointed at the thrifty and business-like aspect of the city. There are no picture-galleries or art treasures to examine; but the people of new localities are always an interesting study, and the shops were decidedly the best we had seen since we left America. There is a grand cathedral, which is considered almost the only place worth exhibiting to strangers. It is of rather modern date, having been commenced in 1528, and is of mixed style, its facade constituting almost its only feature of remarkable beauty.

The old Moorish castle, crowning the seaward heights, has been converted into a modern fortress, and is well worth visiting for the superb view to be obtained from the battlements. Few people now come to Malaga except for a special purpose. In a sanitary point of view, as a resort for consumptives, it has long enjoyed a reputation which it certainly does not merit to-day, whatever it may have done in the past. First, it is much too cold and damp for delicate lungs. Again, it has not one comfort or social attraction to interest the visitor in search of health. Moreover, its sewerage is shamefully defective. Indeed, in the older parts of the town, the surface gutters receive and convey all the accumulated filth, so that the atmosphere is most unfavorably influenced. The published mortuary statistics have been unfairly given, as the mortality is larger in percentage than in any other part of Spain, which, as a rule, is far from possessing a healthy climate. We doubt if physicians any longer advise their patients to resort thither, certainly they would not do so if possessed of personal experience of the place.

The present population is a little over a hundred and twenty thousand, and is made up of a community of more than average respectability, though it would appear that there is an unreasonable percentage of beggars to be met with. In and about the cathedral of Santa Barbara the visitor finds this nuisance extremely annoying. Malaga has one of the largest bull-rings to be found in Spain. We were shown all over its various offices with evident pride on the part of the custodian. All contingencies, are here provided for. One apartment, with the necessary appliances, is arranged as a surgery, so that if the picadors, chulos, or matadores (bull-fighters) be any of them seriously wounded, the surgeon, who is always in attendance, can at once proceed to business. Another large apartment is fitted up as a Roman Catholic chapel. If any of the bull-fighters are fatally injured and about to die, here the priest, as regular an attendant as the surgeon, can administer the last rite, shrive the sufferer of all sin, and start him on his triumphant way to other, and, it is to be hoped, happier hunting-grounds. At the bull-ring the populace, to the number of from fourteen to fifteen thousand, assemble nearly every Sabbath during the season, to witness this most cruel of all sports. No seat is left unoccupied, and, as we were informed, the day before the exhibition tickets are nearly always sold at a premium. The devotion of the Spaniards to this national sport is universal, from the grandee to the peasant. More than once has the attempt been made by the throne to bring the cruel business into disrepute, but it has been found unavailing. The taste is too deeply rooted in the masses of the people. We were told subsequently, at Madrid, that an attempt to suppress the bull-fights in Spain would be more likely to lead to a revolution than would the most stringent political measure that could be named. The cry of the mob is "Bread and bulls," which is very significant to those who have studied Spanish character.

The English cemetery, laid out upon a terraced hill-side just out of the city borders and overlooking the harbor, is a very interesting resort, admirably kept and appropriately ornamented with choice trees, shrubs, and flowers, tropically luxuriant from its southern exposure. In the squares, streets, and market places of Malaga, women sat each morning weaving fresh-cut flowers, fragrant clusters of rose-buds, mignonette, pansies, violets, and geraniums, pretty little clusters of which they sold for about one shilling, and found ready purchasers. One may be sure there is always a refined element in the locality, whether otherwise visible or not, where such an appreciation as this is manifested. The bull-fight may thrive; the populace may be, as they often are in Malaga, riotous and mischievous; education may be at a very low ebb, art almost entirely neglected; but where a love of nature, as evinced in the appreciation of beautiful flowers, is to be found, there is still extant on the popular heart the half-effaced image of its Maker.

The Spanish heart is by no means all bad. That the bull-fight fosters a spirit of cruelty among the masses no one can doubt, and that cruelty is a characteristic of the Catalan race is also only too well known. No other people would tolerate such cruelty; and that it is a disgrace to the nineteenth century every intelligent person outside of Spain will admit.

It is a very interesting fact, but seldom realized, that Spain in the time of Julius Caesar contained nearly eighty millions of inhabitants, but to-day it has less than eighteen millions. In glancing at the map it will be perceived that Spain is a very large country, comprising nearly the whole of the southern peninsula of Europe (Portugal being confined to a small space), and extending north and south over six hundred miles. It is about double the size of Great Britain, and is rich in every known mineral, though she is poor enough in the necessary energy and enterprise requisite to improve her extraordinary possibilities. In many sections of the country great natural fertility is apparent, but nature has to perform the lion's share of the work. We were told by intelligent residents that many parts of Andalusia, for instance, could not be exceeded for rural beauty and fertility in any part of Europe, though we saw no satisfactory evidence of this; indeed, what we did see led to a contrary conclusion. In the environs of Malaga and the southern province generally, there are orange, lemon, and olive groves miles in extent; and the Moors had a poetical saying that this favored region was dropped from paradise, but there is more of poetry than truth in the legend. What is required is good cultivation and skilled agricultural enterprise. These would develop a different condition of affairs, and give to legitimate enterprise a rich reward. The sugar-cane, the grape-vine, the fig-tree, and the productive olive, mingling with the myrtle and the laurel, gratify the eye in and about the immediate district of Malaga; but as one advances inland, the products become natural or wild, cultivation primitive and only partial; grain fields are sparse, and one is often led to draw disparaging contrasts between this country and those of more ambitious and industrious agricultural nations.

While the more practical traveler is filled with a sense of disappointment at the paucity of thrift and vegetation, the poet and the artist will still find enough to delight the eye and fire the imagination in Spain. The ever transparent atmosphere, and the lovely cloud effects that prevail, are accompaniments which will hallow the desolate sierras for the artist at all seasons. The poet has only to wander among the former haunts of the exiled Moors, and view the crumbling monuments of his luxurious and artistic taste, to be equally absorbed and inspired.



CHAPTER XI.

From Malaga to Granada.—Military Escort.—A Beautiful Valley.—A Dream Realized in the Alhambra.—The Moor in his Glory.—Tangible Poetry.—A Brief Legend.—The Generalife.—The Moor's Seat.—The Home of the Gypsies.—A Gold Bearing River.—A Beautiful Residence.—Early Home of the Ex-Empress Eugenie.—City of Granada.—Spanish Beggars.—The Remarkable Tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella.—French Vandals.—The Cathedral.—Precious Relic.—The Cartuja.—Love of Music.

The distance from Malaga to Granada is about seventy miles, but in Spanish style it requires eight or nine hours to accomplish it. Needless delay is the rule here, and forms a national infirmity; but in the present instance we did not feel in special haste, nor regret the snail's pace at which the cars were run, as the road lay mostly through a very beautiful valley, lined on either side by high hills extending back until they terminated in lofty, snow-clad ranges. The contrast between these ice-crowned elevations not very far away, and the orchards of oranges and lemons in full bearing so near to us, was certainly striking. The dull, dusty green of the olive orchards, of which there were more than of all other trees combined, gave a rather sombre appearance to many miles of the route; but the cheerful light verdure of the occasional grain fields and pastures afforded relief to the eye.

There were but few people to be seen, quite unlike European agricultural districts generally, where human life is ever so conspicuous. The cultivated spots seemed to be very far away from the hamlets whence the owners must come for field labor. It was obvious that for some strong reason the populace, sparse at best, herd together. There were no isolated farm-houses or huts. The cultivators must ride or walk long distances to reach the field of labor. Perhaps mutual protection, as in the olden time, was the inducing cause of the country people thus keeping together, and the necessity of congregating for mutual support in an exigency has by no means entirely ceased. Now and then the cars would dart suddenly into a dark tunnel, when we skirted the mountain sides, to emerge again upon a scene of redoubled sunlight, for a moment quite tantalizing to the vision, reminding one forcibly of some Swiss and Italian roads where car-lamps are burned all day. As occasional bands of brigands appear, and, stopping the trains, rob the passengers, government kindly complimented us with an escort of a dozen soldiers, and we were told that these redoubtable warriors now accompany each train, besides which two or three good-looking high privates, in neat uniforms, were observed at each of the stations where we stopped, marching up and down before the train and eying the passengers, as though they half suspected us of being banditti in disguise. It is clear that the administration is endeavoring to render traveling safe throughout the country, and if they would only render it comfortable and expeditious at the same time, the reform would commend itself to universal approval. Punctuality is not a Spanish word, being neither practiced nor understood from Malaga to Burgos. You take your seat trustingly for some objective point, but when you will reach it is a profound and subtle mystery which time alone can solve.

Perhaps no one ever read Washington Irving's description of the Alhambra without experiencing an ardent desire to visit Granada. Although that exquisite pen-portrait reads more like romance than veritable history, yet it is minutely correct and absolutely literal, teeming with local color and atmospheric effect like the canvas of a Claude Lorraine or a Bierstadt. As we approached the ancient city, all early recollections of the glowing text were revived; nor had months of constant travel rendered us so blase but that an eager anticipation thrilled every nerve. The train crept slowly along in the twilight with provoking deliberation, until we were finally deposited in the depot of the gray old capital, so intimately connected with the most romantic chapters of Spanish history. How vividly the days of Ferdinand and Isabella flashed before the mind's eye, mingled with which was the abortive career of Charles V. Here set the sun of Moorish glory. This was Granada, and here, close at hand, was that embodiment of poetry, the Alhambra.

The city once contained over half a million of people, but to-day it has scarcely sixty thousand,—like everything else material in Spain, growing smaller by degrees and beautifully less. After leaving the centre of the town, we drove some distance until the ground began to rise sharply, and we passed through a dense grove of tall elms planted many years ago by the Duke of Wellington. These trees have grown in such a rank, wild fashion, hung with ivy from the highest branches to the low interlacing stems, as to recall a Singapore jungle or the densely wooded district near Jeypore, in India. The trees have never been trimmed or thinned out since they were planted, and cannot, therefore, become individually grand, but they appear all the more natural for this seeming neglect. Presently the hotel, named the Washington Irving, was reached, an extremely neat and comfortable establishment. It was necessary to suppress our ardor and impatience, as night had settled down over Granada; and there being no moon, nothing could be seen to advantage outside of the house. We retired early, more fatigued by the slow, dragging railroad journey of seventy miles than after accomplishing the same distance over the primitive roads of California, behind four dashing horses in a jolting stage, between Madeira and Coarse Gold Gulch.

It is not for us to describe in detail so well-known a monument as this royal palace of the Moors, those regal sovereigns who had not only a love for the beautiful in art, but also the means of indulging it. With all preconceived ideas it was still a revelation, and, next to the Taj at Agra, the most poetical embodiment of architecture we had ever seen. Surprises met us at every turn within its enchanting precincts. The names of its various halls and courts, the Hall of Justice, Court of Blessings, Hall of the Abencerrages, Court of the Lions, Hall of the Two Sisters, etc., were all familiar, but only so in pictured dreams. Here was the tangible reality; it was no disillusion. As we passed from court to court, from hall to hall, lingering here and there, how the very atmosphere teemed with historical reminiscences of that most romantic period of history, the mediaeval days, when the Moors held regal court and lorded it in Andalusia. A lurking sympathy stole over us for that exiled people who could render life such a terrestrial paradise. Surrounded by fruit, flowers, and dark-eyed houris, the Mohammedan but typified his idea of a higher heaven. In the Alhambra he might have closed his eyes to the outer world, and fancied that he was already in that sensuous and perpetual home which the Arabian poets so glowingly describe. It is difficult to realize that the Moors possessed such admirable architectural skill, and produced such splendid palaces, centuries upon centuries ago; and quite as remarkable that Time, the great iconoclast, should have spared for our admiration such delicate, lace-like carvings and such brilliant mosaics. Magnificence with them was an art in itself, and, combined with beauty, was one of their highest aims. Minuteness of finish and perfection of detail were lavished with Oriental profuseness. If we carefully examine the fret-work upon the walls of the various corridors and apartments, it becomes evident that it represents flowers and geometrical lines, though at a casual glance it has rather a confused appearance. The various spaces are filled with lines from the Koran; the words "There is no conqueror but God" occurring many hundred times in the various parts of the structure, in the delicately lined work over the horse-shoe arches, upon the plainer side walls and over latticed jalousies, and along the architraves.

Out of a gracefully arched window, with stucco work framing it about like curtains of crystallized lace, from whence the beauties of the harem must have often gazed upon the court below, we looked upon a setting of leafy verdure in white marble, surrounded by fountains, like an emerald set in diamonds upon a lady's hand. We looked from the boudoir of the Sultana, the Chosen of the Harem. Here were thriving orange and fig-trees mingled with glistening, dark-leaved myrtles, which were bordered by an edging of box so high and stout of limb that the main stems were more like trees than shrubs. The guide told us they were centuries old. Here were also clusters of hawthorn in blossom, and little patches of blue star-like flowers looking up from the ground like human eyes, as though having hardly the courage to assert themselves amid the more pretentious bloom. The sun lay warm and lovingly in this fragrant area of the grand old palace, and the air was very soft and sweet. It was the same scene which had gladdened witching eyes centuries ago, when the notes of the lute mingled with the careless, happy voices of the beauties of the harem.

The guide had twice to summon us before we left the spot. Then we climbed up the winding, marble steps, lighted here and there by little loop-hole windows, to a balcony that commanded a view far and near over the village-dotted plain of Granada, backed by the snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada. The city, in all its brown, turreted, and tiled confusion of buildings, lay in the foreground. The Darro and the Xenil, joined together, were seen winding their silvery way through the verdant fields, where broad patches of yellow grain added a thrifty aspect to the view. Quaint little hamlets clustered together; mulberry and olive groves, a tall hay-stack here and there, and groups of domestic cattle, enlivened the whole. It was an exceptional picture for Spain, and would convey the idea of a well-cultivated and thriving agricultural country; but it was natural irrigation, not the hand of industrious labor, which was here so agreeably represented.

One never wearied in wandering about the courts and luxurious apartments; luxurious, not because of their furniture, for there was none; but because of what they suggested, for the possibilities they presented, and the exquisite architectural workmanship displayed in each detail, and everywhere. It was like enchantment verified. Nothing seemed too extravagant to the imagination thus stimulated. If we had suddenly come upon a throng of the dark-eyed favorites of the harem diaphanously clad, on their way to the marble baths, with Nubian slaves perfuming their way by burning incense, it would not have seemed to us at all strange.

Alhambra signifies "Red Castle," and the vermilion-tinted structure, with its outlying towers, was thus appropriately named. In the days of its glory it was half palace, half fortress; indeed, a city within itself, capable of accommodating quite an army, and containing within its walls an immense cistern as a water supply, armories, store-houses, foundries, and every appliance of a large military cantonment. A considerable portion of the far-reaching walls are still extant, as well as the outlying towers; and all are remarkable for the excellent engineering skill displayed in their construction. Under good generalship, and properly manned, the place must have been impregnable to attack with such arms as were in use at the period of its completion. For a long time after the expulsion of the Moors, the Castilian monarchs made it their royal residence, and held high and regal court within its splendid walls; but they finally deserted it, and left desolate those unequaled halls and courts. The place was next infested by a lawless community of contrabandists and banditti, who made it, for a long period, their headquarters, whence to sally forth and lay the neighboring plains under contribution, on the principle that might makes right. Then came the French as conquerors, who expelled the lawless intruders, perhaps themselves quite as deserving of the title; but they did a good work by clearing what had become an Augean stable of its worst filth, and partially restoring the choicest work of the Moorish builders. To-day the Spanish government guards with jealous care a monumental treasure which cannot be equaled in historic interest elsewhere in the kingdom.

Visiting the Court of the Lions on the last day of our stay at Granada, watching its beautiful shadows, columns, and fret-work, with its mammoth vase of Oriental alabaster fed by water brought from the mountains through the old Moorish aqueduct, it seemed as if so much of tangible poetry could nowhere else be found. Over a hundred light and graceful columns of marble surround this one court, supporting arches of perfect loveliness, and a Moorish arcade of aerial lightness and beauty. The rich stucco and the arabesque decorations of the inner walls and ceilings, finished in gold and blue, the original colors still there after centuries of exposure, together form perhaps the gem of the Alhambra. Yet one hesitates to pronounce any one hall, chamber, or court as excelling another where all are so transcendently beautiful. The characteristic embodiment of the architecture seemed to be its perfect harmony throughout. There are no jarring elements, no false notes, in the marvelous anthem which it articulates. It does not impress one as representing power or grandeur, but rather sensuousness and human love. The inspiration it imparts to the thoughtful beholder is less of awe than of tenderness, and exquisite poetical delight, causing one, as he gazes upon its accumulated loveliness, almost to tremble with excess of gratification.

Many of the outlying towers of the main structure, now partly isolated by the crumbling of the connecting walls and passages, are well worth attention. We visited them with great satisfaction, but they have been too often described to require special mention here. The guide related a legend connected with one of them which was new to us. It related to that known as La Cautiva, the inner walls of which are famous for their Moorish tracery. Here, it seems, a lovely Christian maiden was imprisoned, whom Yousuf I., then reigning monarch, desired to add to his harem. In vain were her pleadings, and her assurance that she was the affianced bride of a noble knight. The king still importuned the maiden, though fruitlessly. She would not for one moment listen to his suit. Finally, pressed to the last extreme of resistance, she sought protection in death, and threw herself from the lofty battlements of the tower upon the jagged rocks at its base. Here her mangled body was found by her knightly lover, who had come, but too late, with a band of daring followers, to rescue his beloved. His revenge was swift and terrible. In the little mosque hard by Yousuf I. paid the penalty for his persecution of the gentle maiden, for there he was killed by the disconsolate knight while he was kneeling in prayer.

Crossing the glen beyond the tower of La Cautiva and ascending the hill beyond we came upon what is called the Generalife, the summer palace of the Alhambra, with which, in the olden time, it was connected by an underground passage, which is still traceable though filled in by decay and debris. This structure has been scarcely less noted than the main edifice, but one is rather disappointed at its simplicity and want of finish as compared with the Alhambra itself. The view from it is so fine that one feels amply repaid for the visit, though probably but a very small portion of the original structure remains, since it is now nothing more or less than a moderate-sized white villa, located in a wilderness of laurel, myrtle, and cypresses. Through its court-yards and gardens rushes a branch of the gold-bearing river, the Darro, spending itself in scores of fountains, tiny falls, cascades, and lakes. The grounds are full of venerable cypresses of great age and beauty, the only ones we had seen in Spain except in the English burial-ground at Malaga. Nor had we observed any elms except those of the grove planted by Wellington.

The gardens of the Generalife form its principal attraction, and the number of exotic trees and plants gathered here is remarkable. The place is now owned and cared for by the Genoese family of Grimaldi, who keep a few people on the premises to protect the property and cultivate the gardens. We were told the owner had never visited Granada. Passing through a small rear door of the Generalife, the guide conducted us by a steep path to what is called the Moor's Seat, the apex of the neighboring heights, and between which and the mountain range of snow-clad peaks lies the heavily-wooded valley of the Darro on one side, and on the other the wide-spread vega of Granada. The view includes some fifteen villages, dotting plains more fertile than any other we had seen in the country. The atmosphere was clear, rendering the comprehensive view very fine, taking in as its foreground both the Alhambra and the Generalife. The visit to the Moor's Seat was not hurried. Time was taken to impress the outspread picture it afforded lastingly on the memory, for we could not reasonably expect to ever behold it again.