ich you must be, or
you would not be entrusted with this mission--comply with the orders of
the Sultan's message, given to you by me and your Consul.

"Any thing which you want for yourself or your private use, I will give
it you, even to the whole of this city of Mogador. But for myself I
cannot comply with the prayers of the address, or receive it from your
own or the Consul's hands."

The message of the Sultan alluded to, was in substance to give up the
attempt of abolishing slavery in Morocco, and not to think of going to
the South, but to return at once to England.

The Governor was greatly pleased with the sound of his own voice, and
the skill of his argumentations, and has the character of being a
loquacious and reasoning diplomatist.

This was the public or day side of the mission; there was also the night
side; for where the curiosity of the Moor is excited, it must be
gratified, by fair or other means. It was not surprising, therefore,
that the wily Shereef should wish to know what this Address of an
English Society was, or could be; and if possible to obtain a copy,
although for the sake of the people it was found necessary to repudiate
altogether its acceptance. Accordingly, the next day, Cohen told me a
friend of the Emperor's was anxious to have some conversation with me,
and he begged me to take with me the Address.

It was past ten at night, when alone, with my Moorish guide, I found
myself treading the long narrow streets of Mogador.

The wind howled and the watch-dogs barked; it was so dark that we could
scarcely grope our way, no human being was about; we went up one street
and down another, stealing along our way; as if on some house-breaking
expedition; and I began to feel suspicious, fearing a trap might be laid
for me. Still, I had confidence in the honour of the Moors, I said to my
guide.

"When shall we reach your master's?"

_Guide_.--"God knows; be quiet!"

We continued going through street after street. It was now bitter cold,
and a few drops of rain fell from the cutting wing of the north wind.

To my Guide again.

"Where is the house?"

_Guide_.--"Follow me, don't talk!" After we had passed other streets,
"Is this the street?"

_Guide_.--"Eskut! (hold your tongue)."

We now entered a low dilapidated gateway, with a broken panelled door,
groaning on its hinges.

Again I questioned my guide. "Who lives here?"

_Guide_.--"Mahboul Ingleez (mad Englishman) hold your tongue!