Chapter III

Sail to Algeciras — Vegetation of the neighbouring hills — Comparison between the opposite sides of the Strait of Gibraltar — Return to Tangier — Troubles of a botanist — Fez pottery — Voyage in French steamer — Rabat and Sallee — Land at Casa Blanca — Vegetation of the neighbourhood — Humidity of the coast climate — Mazagan — View of Saffi.

With the previous permission of the Commandant, we sailed from Ceuta in the Government felucca on the morning of the 15th, and had a pleasant run before a south-west breeze, which took us before noon to Algeciras. Our intention had been to return the same day to Tangier, but we found that the ordinary steamer had been taken up to carry sight-seers to a bull-fight at Seville. Resigning ourselves to the delay, we found fair accommodation in an inn upon the quay, and started for a walk over the wooded hills behind the town, not sorry to have an opportunity of comparing the vegetation of the opposite shores at this point where Europe and Africa so nearly meet.

The general aspect of the floras is nearly identical, but there is enough of difference to show that for a long period a barrier has existed sufficient to limit the diffusion of many characteristic species. Of these we found three on the hill near Algeciras—_Rhododendron ponticum_, _Sibthorpia europæa_, and _Helianthemum lasianthum_, a fine species with large yellow flowers, approaching a Cistus in stature and habit. A much longer list of European plants that have not passed into Africa might be made if all the known species found between Gibraltar and Trafalgar were taken into account; but it might with some reason be objected, that our knowledge of the African side of the Strait is too incomplete to speak confidently on this point. On the other hand, however, we may with some certainty assert that comparatively many well-marked species found on the southern side of the Strait are limited to the African shore, and have not been able to spread into Europe. From the accessible materials we find at least thirty-eight species belonging to this category, of which the large majority are species spread over a wide area in Northern Africa.

In attempting to draw inferences from these facts, it is necessary to bear in mind that the region where they occur—the southern part of the Iberian peninsula, and the opposite corner of Marocco—is remarkable for the variety of its flora, and for the large number of distinct species, each inhabiting a very restricted area. To those who suppose that the presence of numerous plants in two neighbouring districts, which are limited to one or the other, but are not common to both, is to be regarded as evidence for the existence of a physical barrier between them, an objector might reply that we have no more right to affirm that it is the prolonged existence of the Strait between Europe and Africa that has prevented the extension of so many species from one continent to the other, than we have to maintain that two neighbouring mountain groups, such as the Sierra Nevada of Granada and the Serrania de Ronda, each possessing a number of peculiar species, must have been formerly isolated by the sea, as otherwise the species would have been intermixed.

In answer to this objection, it may, with some plausibility, be urged that a large majority of the species with restricted areas are mountain plants; that there is much reason to believe that most of these peculiar species did originate within insulated areas, at a time when these were separated by the sea from neighbouring masses, where the conditions of life for each organism must have been somewhat different; and that in a few instances local peculiarities of soil, either chemical or mechanical, may explain the fact that a particular species is limited to a very small district. These considerations do not, however, fully explain the known facts regarding some regions of the earth possessing an exceptional number of peculiar species confined to small areas, the most remarkable of which are Asia Minor, South Africa, South-western Australia, and that which we are now discussing; and in weighing the evidence afforded by the floras of the opposite coasts as bearing on the probable duration of such a barrier as the Strait of Gibraltar, it is best to leave out of account all species that are not known to be widely distributed. Here our very limited knowledge of the flora of North Marocco opposes a considerable difficulty. Subject to such light as future observation will throw upon the subject, it may be said that, so far as mere botanical evidence goes, we should infer that the barrier was not present at the time when the great majority of the existing plants spread into this region; but that it has been established long enough to oppose a limit to the further diffusion of many species that otherwise would, in all probability, be found on both sides of the Strait, thus indicating a period geologically recent, but very ancient as compared with the historic record.

On the following morning we crossed the bay to Gibraltar, and, still finding no means of conveyance to Tangier, endeavoured to console ourselves by botanising on the ‘Rock.’ Later in the day the impatience natural to the British traveller induced us to open negotiations for the hire of one of the numerous tug steamers that make handsome profits by helping becalmed ships through the Strait. The first demand of one hundred dollars helped to moderate our ardour; and, though the more reasonable sum of forty-five dollars was afterwards named by another merchant, we finally decided to remain a second night in Europe, and await the ordinary steamer on the following day.

It is well known that all the rules which prevent unauthorised persons from prying into the arcana of a fortress are strictly enforced at Gibraltar; and on this account a naturalist wishing to explore the rock should always apply for the previous permission of the Governor. Not intending to remain more than a few hours, we had declined the hospitable invitation of Sir W. F. Williams, and not thought of obtaining an order to authorise our unrestricted rambling over the rock. Towards evening Ball had started with his tin box to examine the steep eastern face that looks towards the Mediterranean. While scrambling about in search of plants, he became aware that his movements were watched by two Irish soldiers, both decidedly the worse for liquor, and as he returned towards the path the word ‘spy’ was emphatically pronounced more than once. Anticipating any further unpleasant remarks, he addressed them some ordinary question, with a fair infusion of that national accent that is unmistakable to the Hibernian ear. The effect was immediate: the men were delighted to recognise a countryman; question and answer rapidly succeeded, and the only difficulty was to resist their pressing invitation to adjourn to a neighbouring wine-shop, where the poor fellows’ remaining intelligence would have been finally quenched in the compound of grape-juice and ardent spirits that is sold at Gibraltar as Spanish wine—not much worse, perhaps, than the mixture that is drunk at home by not a few persons boasting a refined taste under the name of pale sherry.

It seems natural to ask whether it is or is not true, as one is often assured, that correct plans of all the chief fortresses in Europe are to be found in the War Office of each of the chief States; for in such case the attempt to maintain secrecy as against the ignorant curiosity of travellers seems to be a puerile occupation for the military authorities in command.

The rock of Gibraltar and the sandy tract called the Neutral Ground produce many rare and interesting-plants; but these are already well known to botanists, being separately described in Kelaart’s _Flora Calpensis_, and further illustrated in a work of first-rate authority, Boissier’s _Voyage Botanique en Espagne_. The only tree that seems to prosper thoroughly on this barren sun-baked headland is the Chinese _Phytolacca arborea_, which was planted some fifty or sixty years ago in the Alameda and elsewhere, many of which have attained a great thickness. They remind one of the stunted clustered columns of some mediæval churches, each of the very numerous branches developing a projecting cylinder of woody trunk covered with grey bark.

The so-called Club House, which ranks as the head inn, being already full, we put up at the Fonda Española, and had no cause for complaint, either as to food or accommodation. On the morning of the 17th we had notice that the steamer for Tangier was to start at noon; and, after laying in additional stores of drying paper, and enjoying a delightful morning stroll along the road to Europa Point, we were ready at the appointed time.

After more than the usual delay, we at length set our faces towards the African shore with a fresh SW. breeze in our faces. Few places in the world can show a greater variety of fine atmospheric effects than the Strait of Hercules. To-day the horizon behind us was clear, while the hills that bound the entrance from the Atlantic were veiled in thin haze; and, as the sun sank low, a strange purple hue suffused one-half of the sky. The skipper managed to arrive late in the roads at Tangier, and we found that, although a bribe to the official of the port might obtain admission within the walls, our baggage could not be landed until the following morning. We therefore decided to sleep on board the little steamer, and at length, on the morning of the 18th, we returned to breakfast at the Victoria Hotel.

Maw had made good use of his time. In a first excursion to the ‘Lakes’ he had failed to find a beautiful iris, which we had first admired on Sir J. D. Hay’s dinner-table, and which we had taken to be the _Iris tingitana_ of Boissier and Reuter. Not easily foiled from his purpose, Maw returned two days later, and succeeded in his object. Subsequent examination has convinced us that the plant growing near the lakes is a luxuriant form of the _Iris filifolia_ of Southern Spain, though intermediate between that and _I. tingitana_. The latter may perhaps be an extreme form of the same plant, but is yet little known, and had not, as far as we know, been brought into cultivation until carried to England by Maw. Our plant, which is one of the most beautiful of a beautiful group, is figured, under the name _Xyphion tingitanum_, in the 98th volume of the ‘Botanical Magazine,’ No. 5981. Nothing can surpass in the scale of rich sombre decoration the gradations of dark purple and brown velvet that enrich the petals.

One of the troubles that most try the patience of a botanical traveller here awaited us. As we had already assured ourselves, the spring climate of North Marocco is delightful to the human frame. The sky had been clear, the air warm, and only one or two slight showers of rain had fallen since we first landed on the coast; but the breezes, whether they travel eastward from the Atlantic, or westward from the Mediterranean, are laden with aqueous vapour nearly to the point of saturation, and nothing dries spontaneously by mere exposure to the air. Although our system of drying our plants by ventilating gratings makes it quite unnecessary to change the paper in such a climate as that of the Alps, or most parts of Europe, we now found that all the collections left at Tangier were suffering from damp, many specimens covered with mildew, and some hopelessly destroyed. Many hours on this and the following day were consumed in the endeavour to remedy the mischief. So far as structure is concerned, damp, when not too long continued, does not disorganise the tissues; but it finally removes the remaining freshness of colour which makes the beauty of a well-dried specimen.

In the course of the day we made some purchases of Fez pottery, of which a large store is kept by a Jew dealer. This ware, which combines elegance and variety of form with vigorous geometrical designs and rough execution, is now well known to the devotees of the prevailing fancy for ceramics, who pay in London or Paris many times over the original price. Through the kindness of the British Consul, Mr. White, we obtained some small specimens of a very scarce variety of unglazed pottery, of which the decoration consists merely in dots of black and red, forming various patterns. These were said to be the handywork of two potters of Fez, who both died during the last cholera epidemic.

During our seven days’ absence from Tangier, the vegetation had advanced very rapidly, and many plants had come into flower during the interval; so that we found abundant occupation, even in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. If we had wanted further evidence as to the character of the climate, it was afforded by the fact of our finding the British royal fern (_Osmunda regalis_), on bare sandstone rocks, close to the sea. In our proverbially damp climate it requires boggy or marshy soil to grow freely; but then, in spite of proverbs, we have fits of dry weather during the spring, and every now and then prolonged summer droughts, that forbid delicate ferns to flourish in exposed situations.

Early on the morning of the 20th we were awakened by the news that the long expected French steamer, _Vérité_, of Marseilles, had arrived, and would depart in the afternoon on her voyage to the Atlantic ports of Marocco and the Canary Islands. We were fully prepared to depart; the expected autograph letter of the Sultan had been delivered to Sir J. D. Hay, and by him to Hooker; our heavy baggage had already been forwarded to Mogador, and we lost no time in completing our preparations, and bidding farewell to those whose kindness and hospitality had made our stay at Tangier so agreeable. In quitting Martin’s Hotel, the solitary inconvenience that we could call to mind was the swarms of flies that invade the rooms, not more abundant, however, than in many valleys of Switzerland and North Italy; and we carried away from Tangier the impression that even on the Mediterranean shores there are few spots that combine such advantages of climate, natural beauty, and material comfort.

We found the _Vérité_, though boasting a French name, to be a nearly new Clyde-built steamer, owned by a Marseilles Company and commanded by Captain Abeille of that port, far better fitted up than most of those that ply along this coast. The passengers were few, and, as these disembarked at the intermediate ports, we at last became the sole occupants of the state cabin. On a fine evening, with the gentle heaving of the broad Atlantic billows to tune all to harmony, we passed the headland of Cape Spartel, and received the first rays of the great lanthorn as they shot out seaward when lighted for the night.

At seven o’clock next morning the engines were stopped, and going on deck we found ourselves lying some way off the shore, opposite the mouth of the river Oued Bouregrag, that divides Sallee from Rabat. The latter, as seen from a distance, is a place of somewhat imposing appearance. The chief mosque has a great square tower, rivalling those of Seville and Marocco; and a pile of modern masonry, on a scale unknown elsewhere in modern days in this country, marks the large barrack where the Sultan’s body-guard is lodged when he pays his annual visit to the coast. Carpets are made here, and also a peculiar sort of unglazed pottery, coarse in texture, but admirable in form, and singular in ornamentation.[1] Over against Rabat, on the north side of the river, is Sallee, once a famous place, the last outpost of Roman civilisation, and afterwards the home of pirates who were dreaded throughout the Mediterranean and along the coasts of France and England. Looking at the bare coast, and the paltry groups of mud boxes that make up a Moorish town, and knowing that the bar at the river’s mouth allows, except at spring tide, the passage only of ships of small tonnage, it seemed scarcely credible that the European Powers should so long have allowed such a nest of hornets to flourish at their very gates. When one reads that up to the middle of the last century it was not a very rare thing for the ‘Sallee rovers’ to lie under Lundy Island, and cut out Bristol merchantmen, one asks what the British navy was about, that the malefactors and their ships were not swept from the sea, and Sallee itself utterly destroyed. The false humanity that caused in our time such bitter lamentations over the chastisement of Bornean pirates had not been yet invented.

We lay for the greater part of the day within some two or three miles of the shore, but the Atlantic rollers were too heavy to allow a nearer approach, or permit the landing of cargo. This happens too frequently to excite remark; and these great waves, originating in the passage of cyclones in the mid-Atlantic, often arrive so suddenly in the calmest weather as to create a serious danger for the seaman. At the least it is prudent to keep up a sufficient pressure of steam in the boiler to make it easy to gain the offing on the shortest notice; and we heard of several cases where the coast steamers had called in succession at all the Atlantic ports of Marocco without being able to communicate with any one of them, and cargo and passengers had been carried on to the Canary Islands with the uncertain prospect of being landed on the return voyage. Fogs offer another serious impediment to navigation on this coast. During the summer the low country for a distance of eight or ten miles from the shore is not rarely covered during the morning with a thick mist that clears away before mid-day. At such times ships dare not approach the sandy coasts, and, when the sky clears, the scarcity of landmarks makes it extremely difficult for the seaman to ascertain his exact position. As the same difficulty prevented us from touching Rabat on our return voyage, we can add nothing to what has been told by preceding travellers. Counting Sallee as a suburb of the larger town, the population is estimated at 40,000, or more than all the other Atlantic ports put together. The inhabitants are said to suffer from three scourges—prolonged droughts, the invasion of locusts, and, worst of all, the annual visits of the Sultan, whose body-guard of several thousand soldiers has to be fed at their cost.

To the naturalist a stay of some days at Rabat might be of great interest if he were able to accomplish a visit to the famous forest of Mamora, which fills a large part of the space, some twenty miles in width, between the mouth of the Bouregrag and the larger river Sebou that carries to the sea the drainage of the high mountains near Fez. The scene of most of the wonderful tales that circulate among the people of North Marocco—adventures with lions, robbers, and other wild animals—is laid in the forest of Mamora; but excepting one solitary plant, brought thence by the Abbé Durand—a very distinct species of _Celsia_—nothing is known of the fauna and flora of the forests of this part of Marocco. These appear to cover a considerable tract parallel to the Atlantic coast, and probably consist mainly of the cork oak, which in any other country might become a considerable source of profit. Eastward of the forest the country south of the Oued Sebou is a marshy tract, breeding endemic fevers that are said to extend to Sallee and Rabat.

In the afternoon the swell became more moderate, and a boat came out with passengers, including the family of Mr. Dupuis, the British Vice-Consul at Casa Blanca. It was decided that it would not be safe to land cargo, so the captain resolved to start without further delay and run for Casa Blanca—the Dar el-Beïda of the Moors. The sun had set, and night was closing in as we approached the low shore, where a few white houses mark a station which has risen to some little importance owing to the preference shown for it by French merchants, who carry on a considerable trade with the interior.

We accepted a courteous invitation from Mr. and Madame Dupuis, and, landing early on the morning of the 22nd, went to breakfast at their house. A less attractive spot than Casa Blanca it is difficult to imagine. A featureless coast of low shelves of red sandstone rock overlaid by stiff clay, stretches on either side in slight undulations, nowhere rising more than a couple of hundred feet above the sea. Not a tree gives variety to the outline or shelter from the blazing sun. The attempts made by the few residents to cultivate the orange and other useful trees have met with little success; and the eye seeks in vain the gay shrubs that adorn the southern shores of the Mediterranean. The Cistuses, Genistas, heaths, Arbutus, and myrtle, as well as the more sober prickly oak and laurel, are all absent, and the arborescent vegetation is almost limited to stunted bushes of lentisk some three or four feet high.

As we strolled for several hours over the surrounding country, we at once perceived the influence of new climatal conditions. It was not that many new species marked the passage from one botanical province to another, for to our disappointment we found very few that we had not already gathered in North Marocco, and, excepting one rare _Celsia_, none that were not already well known. As elsewhere, _Leguminosæ_ were predominant, and especially trefoils and medicks; grasses were both numerous and varied in species; and _Umbelliferæ_ were represented by many conspicuous plants, of which _Ferula communis_, growing to a height of ten or more feet, is especially notable. In the absence of more substantial materials, the thick stems are used for fences. The contrast offered by the vegetation of this coast with that of the Mediterranean shores is caused altogether by climatal conditions, which allow one set of species to flourish while the rest are more or less rigidly excluded.

The information received from our obliging hosts respecting the country and the native population agreed well enough with what we heard elsewhere. The prejudices of the natives are not so strong as to make them indifferent to the advantages of trade with the intrusive Christians who are settled on the coast; and the unfortunate issue of the last war with Spain has taught them the prudence of avoiding wanton provocation. Whatever may be the case with the tribes farther inland, the people of the coast provinces are quite disposed for commercial intercourse; but the jealousy of the authorities makes enterprise of all kinds too unsafe to be risked by an ordinary native of the country. Some of the provincial governors who live near the coast carry on trade with European merchants; but for the rest such business as exists is in the hands of the Jews. The only interference of the Government, which is at least ostensibly dictated by a regard for the welfare of the people, relates to the corn trade. In favourable years Marocco produces much more grain than the population can consume, but drought and locusts often destroy the crops throughout large districts. The permission to export corn is therefore given or withheld by sovereign order according to the reports received at head-quarters. It is needless to point out how much the uncertainty thus produced must interfere with the profits of cultivation.

At Casa Blanca our skipper took on board a considerable quantity of maize for the Canary Islands, and a good many bales of hides and wool for Marseilles; and we found the decks in some disorder when we returned on board our steamer in the evening. All next day—the 23rd—we remained in the roads of Casa Blanca, uncertain at what moment we should continue our voyage. The time did not hang heavily on our hands, for we had as much work as we could accomplish in getting our collections into tolerably good order. We here had to deal with an enemy that was new to all of us, excepting Hooker, and which for the next week was to cause more trouble and anxiety than any one not a naturalist can easily realise. Nothing is more common with us at home than to grumble at the dampness of the climate; and, as far as the effects on the human animal are concerned, our complaints are perfectly just. Air at 50° Fahr. cannot at the utmost carry more than about 4½ grains of aqueous vapour to the cubic foot; but at that temperature it produces, when nearly saturated, that feeling on the nerves of the skin, familiar to every inhabitant of these islands, which is the ordinary forerunner of colds, sore throats, rheumatism, and many another ailment. But the botanist, to whom the condition of his drying paper is even more important than that of his own body, finds an easy remedy for the inconvenience. By exposing his damp paper to a temperature of from 80° to 90° in the sunshine, or before a fire, he readily obtains a satisfactory degree of relative dryness, and in a very few days his specimens are in a state to put away, and with ordinary care need give him no further trouble. But the case is very different where the ordinary temperature of the air in the shade is about 75°, as was the case here, not to speak of 85° which is the common limit in the tropics. To the human body there is nothing unpleasant in the effects of such air when nearly saturated with vapour, and so long as the temperature remains habitually between 70° and 80° it is decidedly favourable to health, if not to vigorous exertion. But a cubic foot of air at 77° contains nearly 10½ grains of vapour, and when at all near to the point of saturation it has no perceptible drying effect on surrounding objects, and a moderate increase of 10° or 12° Fahr. in temperature has but a slight effect in increasing its desiccating power. We were first struck by remarking the very long time required to dry the decks as compared with what is usual in the Mediterranean, and we had still more painful experience of the difficulty of drying our paper. We were now the sole occupants of the saloon, and our captain left us free to use every part of the steamer; the deck was soon turned to account, cords were stretched across the rigging, even the neighbourhood of the boiler was invaded, but with indifferent success. Few readers may care to sympathise with the distress of a naturalist who looks on his specimens, not only as scientific documents bringing some additions to our knowledge of the structure and relations of the organised world, but as things of beauty giving delight to the senses of form and colour, when, after much pains and care, he finds the flowers change their hues and drop off, the leaves turn black, and when mould, the sure sign of decomposition, begins to encrust the stems and fruits.

At 1 A.M. on the morning of the 24th we were again under steam, and soon after daylight speed was slackened as we lay off Mazagan. The abruptness of the transition from deep blue water in the offing to a somewhat milky green where the ship gets into shallower water here attracted our notice. It is of common occurrence even on coasts where there is reason to believe that the bed of the sea shelves vary gradually away from the shore, and one might expect a gradual change of tint; but no satisfactory explanation occurred to us.[2] It was some time before the land came in sight, and we were able to make out the square tower of the Portuguese fort that marks the position of Mazagan. The town stands on a slightly projecting point of land facing northward, and therefore especially exposed to the north-east breeze that prevails throughout the spring and summer. We lay all day rolling heavily, and the surf, breaking in hills of foam upon the shore, was too high to allow of the landing of cargo; but in the afternoon a small boat put off with provisions. Amongst these was a large freshwater fish, a species of shad, that had been caught in the Oued Oum-er-bia which runs into the sea some five miles east of Mazagan close to the site of Azemour, a ruined town once of some importance. The freshwater fish of the streams from the Atlas may probably offer many objects of interest to the ichthyologist, but do not seem likely to add much to the resources of the cook. We were told that the fine-looking animal which was displayed at table is considered a delicacy; but we found the flesh insipid and cottony, and during our subsequent journey we failed to find any fish worth eating.

Neither on this occasion nor on our return did we see any trace of the ruins of Azemour or of the great river Oum-er-bia. This is apparently the chief stream of Marocco. It drains the northern declivity of the chain of the Great Atlas for a distance of 150 miles, and nearly the entire of the extensive mountainous region, a still unknown network of high ridges and deep valleys, that covers nearly half the space between the main chain and the Atlantic seaboard. Like all the other rivers of this country the volume of water varies to an extent unknown in Europe. In dry seasons, when a large part of the waters that descend from the mountains is diverted into irrigation channels, and never reaches the sea, the main stream runs over a shallow bed fordable in many places; but after heavy rains the swollen waters have such a rapid current that we were told of travellers being detained a week or ten days waiting for the opportunity of crossing it. Lieut., afterwards Admiral, Washington[3] estimated the breadth of the river where he crossed it, near Azemour, at 150 yards, and found it much the same at about eighty miles from the sea on the return journey from Marocco to the coast.

Mazagan, though a small and poor-looking place, bears many traces of its European origin, as we remarked when we landed here on our return voyage from Mogador. It was built by the Portuguese in 1566, and held in spite of frequent assaults by the Moors for more than two hundred years, having been finally surrendered in 1770.

SAFFI]

We left the roads at 9 A.M. on the 25th, and were glad to see for the first time the land rising in bold cliffs. The headland seen a few miles south-west of Mazagan is Cape Blanco; but this projects little from the general outline of the coast, which shows a tolerably uniform direction, rising gradually towards the south-west, till we reach Cape Cantin, the chief headland of this part of the Atlantic seaboard. The summit is apparently about three hundred feet above the sea, and the calcareous strata nearly horizontal. Here the coast line, which from Cape Blanco had kept the direction from north-east by east to south-west by west, turns abruptly to the south. The cliffs recede a little at first and form a slight curve, then rising to a second headland some two hundred feet higher than Cape Cantin. Beyond this the shore again recedes, and the land subsides, where a slender stream has cut its way through the plateau inland, and affords space for the little seaport town of Saffi, or Asfi of the Moors. The coast line again rises on the south side of Saffi, forming a steep escarpment some three or four hundred feet in height, called the Jews’ Rock, about four miles from the town.

Saffi is by far the most picturesque spot on the west coast of Marocco. The extensive fortifications of the Portuguese, high walls and square towers, spreading along the shore and up the broken declivity on which the town is built, with several steep islets, whose rocks have been gnawed into uncouth shapes by the Atlantic waves, produce, as seen from the sea, a striking effect. Though fully exposed to the west, this port is better protected from the north-east winds than any other on the coast, except Mogador. Behind it lies the fertile province of Abda, famed for its excellent breed of horses, and it is the nearest port to the city of Marocco—about one hundred miles distant—but the want of secure anchorage for shipping neutralises these natural advantages.

Our stay on this occasion was short, and soon after dark we were again in motion. We spent pleasantly enough our last evening on board the _Vérité_. Though he took little pains to conceal his strong prejudices against the English nation, our captain was thoroughly good-natured and obliging towards the individual Englishmen with whom he was associated. No doubt our scientific pursuits recommended us to his good offices, for the slight smattering of scientific knowledge acquired by half-educated persons in most Continental countries has the effect of awakening some interest in such pursuits. It may, indeed, be doubted whether, at least in France, the teaching of physical science goes far enough to convey any accurate knowledge, even of an elementary kind; but, at all events, the national temperament leads Frenchmen to expose their deficiencies more than other people readily do. An Englishman who knows that he is not well grounded in a subject holds his tongue, or if pressed by questions will probably exaggerate the extent of his own ignorance, where a Frenchman will gaily lay down the law and span over the gaps in his knowledge by startling bridges of conjecture. Our worthy skipper amused us not a little when, in conversation on the climate of this coast, reference being made to the rainless zone of the Peruvian coast, he explained that in that country the moisture of the air is absorbed by the gases that accompany earthquakes, thus accounting to his own satisfaction for the meteorological phenomenon. But the full vehemence of his nature was reserved for matters of much more immediate interest. He had left Marseilles after the Communist rising in that city had been suppressed, but while the miserable tragic farce that was to end in the horrors of May, 1871, was being enacted in Paris. He could not allude to the subject without a degree of fury that to us seemed utterly unreasonable. But it is easy for people at a distance to treat such matters with calmness, and there were not many Englishmen on the spot who at the time were able to share the noble calmness of Lord Canning during the Indian Mutiny.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Some fine specimens have been exhibited at the South Kensington Museum, by our companion, Mr. Maw.]

[Footnote 2: Professor Tyndall has shown that the differences of tint in seawater depend upon differences in the amount and dimensions of the particles of solid matter held in suspension; but the abruptness of the transition from one tint to another has, we believe, not been fully explained.]

[Footnote 3: ‘Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,’ vol. i., pp. 132-151.]