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bosom of the future, so that the houses on the Place Bresson (Hôtel d'Europe and others) are for the present actually facing the sea.

On the south-west side of Place Bresson, a whole modern suburb of Algiers creeps up the steep hill-side; but leaving this for awhile, let us retrace our steps under the shady arcades of the Rue Bab-Azoun, until we come to a flight of stone steps on the left. This leads into the Place de Chartres, the chief market of Algiers, which is well worthy of a visit, not only for the picturesque groups which may often be found there, but actually for the sake of seeing the things exposed for sale. The bushels of green peas, the piles of French beans, the forests of fresh salads, the myriads of eggs-these, all in the midst of what should be winter, to say nothing of the flowers, brilliant in tint and odorous, which one must come early in the morning to see, or they will all be gone.

Naturally, the Algerian housewife does her marketing early, before the heat of the day-which by nine o'clock makes a sunny market-place unpleasant. It is then that great bouquets of roses-January roses, worth half-acrown each, in Covent Garden-may be bought for a franc, enormous bunches of violets, as big as a plate, for half that sum, and vegetables, to those who know how to buy them, at proportionate prices.

It need scarcely be said that an Englishman or Englishwoman purchasing, pays the price of his or her nationality, yet even so, the cost of nearly all articles of food in Algiers, is, compared with England, extremely low.

The moment a stranger enters or approaches the marketplace, he is surrounded by a number of little bare-legged

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bright-eyed Arab boys, each with a soft palmetto basket, or, perhaps, two or even three slung on his arm and over his shoulder.

"Porter quelq'chose, porter quelq'chose, Anglais ?" they cry in chorus, recognising one's nationality in a moment; and it is difficult to select one from among the number of eager little applicants.

These boys are proverbially honest. The present writer was accompanying a French lady on her marketing expedition, one morning during the past winter. A small Arab was already well laden with poultry, fruit, and other delicacies. The housewife stopped at a fresh stall to make purchases, the bargaining taking some considerable time, as it seems always to do in sunny southern lands. All at once the stranger, ignorant of the ways and manners of the natives, observes with some alarm, that the small Arab has disappeared. "Oh," says the French lady, smiling, "there is no fear; he will come back; we shall see him again presently." A curious fact which actually takes place. "They are quite to be trusted, these boys," adds the habituée of the place. "Often I have given them their four sous and sent them home with my purchases quite alone, while I pay visits or go to some other part of the town, and I have never found the least thing to be missing." It is to be feared that a like confidence could scarcely be placed in the integrity of a London street boy!

We turn back again down the steps, and by the Rue BabAzoun find ourselves once more in the Place du Gouvernement.

A flight of broad steps, upon and over which, Arabs, wrapped in their white burnous, lounge and bask in the

brilliant sunshine, leads, at the spot where the tramways start, from the higher level of the boulevard, to the quay.

Without quite descending we turn to the left, and find ourselves under the arches in the Pêcherie, or Fish-market. This also is a sight worthy to be seen by those curious in such matters, especially in the early morning or late afternoon, when the hauls of fish have just been brought in.

It is a most extraordinary collection of monsters, and impresses one vastly with the sense of being in strange latitudes. All the fish-from the great sea-wolf, which, cut into slices, looks like very coarse beef-steak, and tastes, we are told, like pork, to the tiny sardine lying in silver heaps on the ground—are unfamiliar to our northern seas, and in taste, we must admit, very inferior.

We turn from the Pêcherie into a small passage lined with oyster and fruit stalls. A few steps bring us to the door of the mosque Dja-ma-el-Djedid (the new), more commonly known as the Mosque of the Pêcherie. It is a building, which from its prominent position and peculiar style of architecture, has attracted us from the first moment of setting foot in Algiers, or indeed even before, since its gleaming white cupola close to the water's edge, forms one of the most striking and picturesque objects, in the view we have of the town from the sea. It is whitewashed to a dazzling whiteness, and has scarcely any exterior windows, and those of the very smallest size, after the true Eastern style; but it is built curiously enough, considering its purpose, in the shape of a Latin cross, with one central dome, a smaller one at each of the four corners, and a tall, graceful minaret rising from the north-west side. With

THE FISH-MARKET.

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regard to its form, a legend is extant. It is said that the architect was a Christian slave, a Genoese, forced by his Moslem tyrants to a work uncongenial to him. He revenged himself by perpetuating in the Mahomedan temple the symbol of his own faith, and suffered death by impalement in consequence.

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The interior is extremely plain, and those who enter a mosque for the first time, will certainly be struck, not only by the severe simplicity of the building, but also by the evident devotion of the worshippers. The whole atmosphere of the place is intensely solemn and quiet, and impresses the beholder very much more than many Christian places of

worship, as a house of prayer-a building set apart and dedicated to God.

Here, at least, are no gaudy effects, no tinsel-covered images, nothing to offend, nothing to prevent the prayer of the most Christian soul from ascending to the footstool of the Maker. The chief glory of Mahomet lay in this, that he was an iconoclast, a breaker-down of idols; the strength of his teaching in his constant proclamation of the "one God." And there can be no doubt that it is this grand and never-forgotten principle, which has not only proved the vitality of the Mahomedan faith, but which makes Christianity, in the form in which it is so often encountered by Mahomedans, an offence and a stumbling-block.

The Algerians make no objection to strangers entering their mosques; but it should be distinctly understood that it is not permitted to walk on the matting or carpet with which the floors are covered, without removing the shoes.

In Mahomedan countries the Divine command given to Moses still holds good. Nor may the visitor set his shoes down on the floor except with the soles put together, as the Arabs do. A breach of these rules is considered not only sacrilegious, but is also an offence against good manners, since no Eastern thinks of entering a matted or carpeted room, without leaving his slippers at the door.

The Mosque de la Pêcherie is covered only with matting, which does not extend quite to the end of the building, so that it can be seen tolerably well without this process, which to European notions has certainly something of discomfort about it. Mats are also hung round the lower part of the columns supporting the gallery of painted wood

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