"The Earth is a peacock: Morocco is the tail of it" Moorish Proverb...

Isabel Savory Isabel Savory...

This book contains no thrilling adventures, chronicles, no days devoted to sport. It will probably interest only those minds which are content with "the C Major of this life," and which find in other than scenes of peril and excitement their hearts' desire. Such as care to wander through its pages must have learnt to enjoy idleness, nor find weeks spent beneath the sun and stars too long—that is to say, the fascination of a wandering, irresponsible life should be known to them: waste and solitar

Tangier—Country People—The Pilgrimage to Mecca—Moorish Prisons—We Ride to Cape Spartel—Decide to Leave Tangier and Push Inland. The vague and hazy ideals which the white light of an English upbringing relegates to dreamland and dismisses as idle fancies, rise up in the glare of African sunlight, alive, tangible, unashamed; the things that are, not the things that might be:—the vivid colouring, the hot crowding, the stately men and veiled women, the despotism and stoicism, the unchanging pictures

Camp Outfit—A Night at a Caravanserai—Tetuan—The British Vice-Consul—Moorish Shops—We Visit a Moorish House and Family. Tetuan —the tiger-cat! so curiously beautiful. Recollections of it hang in the gallery of one's memory, not so much as pictures, but as Correggio-like masses of vivid colouring and intangible spirals of perfume.   The place we had set our hearts upon visiting, to begin with, was the northern capital, Fez—only to find, on going into particulars, that insurmountable barriers bloc

Difficulties of "Lodgings" in Morocco—A Spanish Fonda—A Moorish Tea Party—Poison in the Cup—Slaves in Morocco—El Doollah—Moorish Cemetery—Ride to Semsar—Shopping in Tetuan—Provisions in the City. This by God's grace is El Moghreb —Morocco—and here a wise man is surprised at nothing that he sees and believes nothing that he hears.   It is not easy to find a lodging in Morocco: there are no dâk bungalows —no large white English residences, with the familiar and hospitable Burra Sahib , a retinue o

The Fast of Rámadhan—Mohammed—His Life and Influence—The Flood at Saffi—A Walk Outside Tetuan—The French Consul's Garden-House—Jews in Morocco—European Protection. Manage with bread and butter till God brings the jam. Old Moorish proverb.   We had not been long at the fonda before the Fast of Rámadhan began. Rámadhan, ordained by Mohammed, takes place in the ninth month of every Mohammedan year, and lasts for twenty-eight days, during which time the Faithful fast from dawn, when it is light enou

Plans for Christmas at Gibraltar—A Rough Night—The Steamer which would not Wait—An Ignominious Return to Tetuan—A Rascally Jew—The Aborigines and the Present Occupants of Morocco—The Sultan, Court, Government, and Moorish Army. Why curse? Mektub. (It is written.)   In spite of the attentions of Amanda, as December drew on and the weather showed no signs of clearing, we began to hanker after a week at Gibraltar, which should combine Christmas and the purchase of camp outfit for use when the rains

We Look Over a Moorish Courtyard House with a View to Taking It—We Rent Jinan Dolero in Spite of Opposition—An Englishman Murdered—Our Garden-House—The Idiosyncrasies of Moorish Servants—A Native Guard—The Riff Country. Ah! Moon of my delight, who know'st no wane The Moon of Heaven is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same garden after me— in vain!   Christmas Day in a Mohammedan city passed with nothing to mark it except deluges of rain. The fonda had not g

Country People Fording the River—We Call on Ci Hamed Ghralmia—An Expedition across the River in Search of the Blue Pool—Moorish Belief in Ginns—The Basha—Powder Play—Tetuan Prison. Set not thy heart on any good or gain— Life means but pleasure, or it means but pain; When Time lets slip a little perfect hour, Oh! take it—for it will not come again.   Many walks began by degrees to tell upon our boots, for the cobble-stones of Tetuan and the rocks of Morocco in general are meant less for boots tha

Missionaries at Tetuan—Poisoning in Morocco—Fatima's Reception—Divorce—An Expedition into the Anjeras—An Emerald Oasis. " The friendship of man is like the shade of the acacia. Yet while the friendship lives, it lives. When God wills it to die, it dies! " mused Dicky, with a significant smile. "Friendship walks on thin ice in the East."   Three times a week, from ten o'clock to twelve o'clock in the morning, the lady missionaries opened their dispensary, which, as there was no man missionary in

We Leave Tetuan—A Wet Night under the Stars—S`lam Deserts Us—We Sail for Mogador—The Palm-Tree House—Sus and Wadnoon Countries—The Sahara—The Atlas Mountains. The stream of life runs, ah! so swiftly by, A gleaming race 'twixt bank and bank—we fly, Faces alight and little trailing songs, Then plunge into the gulf, and so good-bye.   About the month of April, Morocco takes its head from under its wing; the bad weather turns its back on the country; the tracks dry up and are fit for travellers to t

On the March Once More—Buying Mules—A Bad Road—First Camp—Argan-Trees—Coos-Coosoo—A Terrible Night—Doctoring the Khaylifa—Roughing it Under Canvas. And all this time you (at home) are drinking champagne (well, most of it, anyway), and sleeping in soft beds with delicious white sheets, and smoking Turkish cigarettes, and wearing clean clothes, with nice stiff collars and shirt-cuffs, and having great warm baths in marble bath-rooms and sweet-smelling soap . . . and sitting side by side at table,

A Parting Mona—Fording Sheshaoua River—Jars of Food—First Sight of Marrakesh—A Perilous Crossing—Ride into Marrakesh—The Slave Market. "We who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told: Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then: Us who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told." W. B. Yeats. Us who are old, old and gay, O so old!

The Thursday Market—We Might have gone to Glaouia—Leave Marrakesh and set out on Our Last March for the Coast—Flowers in Morocco—On the Wrong Trail—Arab Tents—Good-Bye to El Moghreb. The best that we find in our travels is an honest friend. He is a fortunate voyager who finds many. We travel, indeed, to find them. They are the end and the reward of life. They keep us worthy of ourselves; and when we are alone, we are only nearer to the absent.   The great Thursday Market is one of those things i

By H.R.H. the DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. The Story of the First Italian Expedition to the North Pole. Translated by William Le Queux . In 2 handsome volumes, with over 200 Illustrations in the Text, and with Full-page Photogravure Plates, Panoramas, Maps, etc. , 42s. net. Author of "The Queen's Comrade," "The Gorgeous Lady Blessington," etc. In 2 volumes, cloth gilt, with 16 Full-page Illustrations, including 2 Photogravure Plates , 24s. net. In 2 large volumes, cloth gilt and gilt top , 32s. net. Wit

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