r years, and made a struggle to renew its old strength and resume
its old practices; but, fortunately for mankind, the reigning Dey in
1827 struck the French consul on the face with his fan. The French
thereupon declared war and blockaded the town, but it was not till 1833
that they set themselves vigorously to effect a conquest. In that year
they landed an army in Algeria at Sidi Ferruch, and swept everything
before them. The history of this conquest--and of the subsequent wars
of France in Algeria--is full of the deepest interest and most romantic
incidents. The barbarians did indeed show fight, and fought bravely,
but they might as well have tried to drive back the sea as to check the
disciplined battalions of France. In a brief but brilliant campaign
they were utterly defeated, the Dey capitulated, the gates were thrown
open, and the French marched in and took possession.

From that day to this they have held it, and the Pirate City is now a
charming town--with a French foreground, a Moorish middle-distance, and
a bright green background--in which, along with Frenchmen, Turks,
Kabyles, Negroes and Moors, and amid orange-groves, date-palms, cacti
and prickly pears, the invalids of Europe may enjoy summer heat in
winter days, and sit outside in December dreaming peacefully, it may be
almost sceptically, of other days, when the bastinado and the bow-string
flourished in the land.

Less than sixty years ago the Algerine corsairs were the pest of the
civilised world and the terror of the Mediterranean. Now, their city is
one of our "summer retreats," a sort of terrestrial paradise, and those
who resort to it find it difficult to believe that the immediate
forefathers of the fine-looking fellows who saunter about the French
boulevards and Moorish streets were the ruthless pirates which history
too surely proclaims them to have been.

But what of the various characters whom we have thus summoned from the
"vasty deep" of memory, to play their little part in this veracious
tale?

Of some we know not the end. Of others it would be almost well that we
did not. A few terminated their career happily.

Poor Bacri fell a victim to the avarice of Omar, who desired to possess
himself of the Jew's wealth. Being an autocrat, he easily found means
to accomplish his purpose. He invited Bacri to the palace, conversed
affably for a time, and then bowed him out with a smile. On the stair,
as he descended, the Jew was met by