their ablutions at the fountains; but even that we
took that glimpse was a thing not relished by the
Moorish bystanders.

Some years ago the clock in the tower of the
mosque got out of order. The Moors of Tangier
have so degenerated that it has been long since
there was an artificer among them capable of curing
so delicate a patient as a debilitated clock. The
great men of the city met in solemn conclave to con-
sider how the difficulty was to be met. They dis-
cussed the matter thoroughly but arrived at no solu-
tion. Finally, a patriarch arose and said:

"Oh, children of the Prophet, it is known unto
you that a Portuguee dog of a Christian clockmender
pollutes the city of Tangier with his presence. Ye
know, also, that when mosques are builded, asses
bear the stones and the cement, and cross the sacred
threshold. Now, therefore, send the Christian dog
on all fours, and barefoot, into the holy place to
mend the clock, and let him go as an ass!"

And in that way it was done. Therefore, if
Blucher ever sees the inside of a mosque, he will
have to cast aside his humanity and go in his natural
character. We visited the jail, and found Moorish
prisoners making mats and baskets. (This thing of
utilizing crime savors of civilization.) Murder is
punished with death. A short time ago three mur-
derers were taken beyond the city walls and shot.
Moorish guns are not good, and neither are Moorish
marksmen. In this instance, they set up the poor
criminals at long range, like so many targets, and
practised on them--kept them hopping about and

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