at the house of the judge before the sheep dies, that the people of Tangier will have good luck; but, if the sheep should be quite dead, and not moving a muscle, then it will bring them bad luck, and the Christians are likely to come and take away their country from them.  The drollest part of the ceremony is, that the boys should scamper after the butcher, pelting the sheep, and trying to kill it outright, thus endeavouring to bring ill-luck upon their city and themselves.  But how many of us really and knowingly seek our misfortunes?  On the occasion of this annual feast, every Moor, or head of a family, kills a sheep.  The rich give to the poor, but the poor usually save up their earnings to be able to purchase a sheep to kill on this day.  The streets are in different parts covered with blood, making them look like so many slaughter grounds.  When the bashaw of the province is in Tangier, thousands of the neighbouring Arabs come to pay him their respects.  With the Moors, the festivals of religion are bona fide festivals.  It may also be added, as characteristic of these North African barbarians, that, whilst many a poor person in our merry Christian England does not, and cannot, get his plum-pudding and roast-beef at Christmas, there is not a poor man or even a slave, in Morocco who does not eat his lamb on this great feast of the Mussulmans.  It would be a mortal sin for a rich man to refuse a poor man a mouthful of his lamb.

Of course there was a sensation among the native population, and even among the consular corps, about my mission; but I have nothing very particular to record.  I had many Moorish visitors, some of whom were officers of the imperial troops.  I made the acquaintance of one, Sidi Ali, with whom I had the following dialogue:—­

Traveller.—­“Sidi Ali, what can I do to impress Muley Abd Errahman in my favour?”

Sidi Ali.—­“Money!”

Traveller.—­“But will the Emir of the Shereefs accept of money from us
Christians?”

Sidi Ali.—­“Money!”

Traveller.—­“What am I to give the minister Ben Dris, to get his favour?”

Sidi Ali.—­“Money!”

Traveller.—­“Can I travel in safety in Morocco?”

Sidi Ali.—­“Money:” 

Indeed “money” seems to be the all and everything in Morocco, as among us, “the nation of shopkeepers.”  The Emperor himself sets the example, for he is wholly occupied in amassing treasures in Mequiney.  Another acquaintance of mine was a little more communicative.

Aged Moor.—­“What can I do for you, stranger?  You are good to me, every time I call here you give me tea with plenty of sugar in it.  What can I do for you in my country?”

Traveller.—­“Tell me how to get on in my mission?  How can I see Muley
Errahman?”

Aged Moor.—­“Now I am bound to give you my best advice.  First then, take plenty of money with you.  All love money; therefore without money you can do nothing.  Muley Abd Errahman loves money, and money he must have.  And the minister loves money, and the minister must not be forgotten.  The minister is the door to the Emperor.  You cannot get into the house but through the door.  Out of the towns and cities, the Emperor has no power; so that whenever you travel out of these places, remember to give the people money.”