Five days' journey from here--say two hundred miles--are the ruins of an

ancient city, of whose history there is neither record nor tradition.

And yet its arches, its columns, and its statues proclaim it to have been

built by an enlightened race.

The general size of a store in Tangier is about that of an ordinary

shower bath in a civilized land. The Muhammadan merchant, tinman,

shoemaker, or vendor of trifles sits cross-legged on the floor and

reaches after any article you may want to buy. You can rent a whole

block of these pigeonholes for fifty dollars a month. The market people

crowd the marketplace with their baskets of figs, dates, melons,

apricots, etc., and among them file trains of laden asses, not much

larger, if any, than a Newfoundland dog. The scene is lively, is

picturesque, and smells like a police court. The Jewish money-changers

have their dens close at hand, and all day long are counting bronze coins

and transferring them from one bushel basket to another. They don't coin

much money nowadays, I think. I saw none but what was dated four or five

hundred years back, and was badly worn and battered. These coins are not

very valuable. Jack went out to get a napoleon changed, so as to have

money suited to the general cheapness of things, and came back and said

he had "swamped the bank, had bought eleven quarts of coin, and the head

of the firm had gone on the street to negotiate for the balance of the

change." I bought nearly half a pint of their money for a shilling

myself. I am not proud on account of having so much money, though. I

care nothing for wealth.

The Innocents Abroad