After strolling for a while through the steep, ill-paved lanes, which were a perfect exposition of crookedness, we were brought by our guide to the house of the Belgian Consul, a curious structure in the Moorish style, more of a museum than a dwelling-house. Here, the resident official, who has long filled the post, has gathered about him a collection of articles, antique and modern; but all representative of Morocco and its surrounding countries. The collection was of warlike arms of all sorts, domestic implements, armor, dress ornaments of both sexes, saddlery, pipes, rude native pictures, precious stones, and the like; the whole forming a special historical record which would be highly valuable in any European centre. It is surprising, when one indulges in a specialty, what a valuable collection can be gathered, and of what general interest it is sure to prove. From this Oriental museum we were taken to the Governor's Palace, where we met his Excellency, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small court, at the entrance of the ancient and dilapidated structure. He was surrounded by a dozen most rascally-looking be-turbaned councillors, who, after we had been shown over the palace, were none of them above taking a shilling fee. The building was very queerly cut up, with tiled roofs at all sorts of angles, bay windows, projecting apartments, as though hung in air, and ample space for the harem, with its bathrooms, reception rooms, and many cozy nooks and corners whose use was quite past finding out. Besides there were ugly dungeons in the basement, entirely underground, like those of the Doge's Palace at Venice; and in strong contrast to which there were courts of greenery, where the thick, glossy leaves of the orange-trees set off the fragrant blossoms in a most artistic manner, and where the rank, neglected, undergrowth but half hid what must in former times have been a beautiful flower garden. There was still a heavy myrtle border, and here and there a sweet little flower struggling for existence. The denizens of the harem must once have tended and petted these flowers; but the cold, stone-latticed apartments were all vacant now, the floors damp and slippery with moss and dirt. Desolation was clearly written upon the walls.