Fountains In The Sand Rambles Among The Oases Of Tunisia

y and pungency are gone. The same old faces, the same old bouts de conversation; quickly, ind

sing laughter of the Greek doctor, who has latterly taken to putting in an appearance at meal-time. He is a gruff, jovial personage, and so huge in bulk that he can barely squeeze into the door of his little shop in the souk wher

hey tear his red advertisements down from the street walls and openly call him a quack. Were it not for the Greek Consul

f the financial status of prospective patients. For the richest sheikh will don tattered clothes when he visits the surgery, and would doubtless be taken for some poor labourer were it not for A

souiyah dancer, and had evidently overdone his part in the heat of enthusiasm; there were no less than forty-three sword-cuts across h

ion: Nativ

chmet telling him, reassuringly;

better, the doctor was at last persuaded, out of compassion and in ret

ong ago when a Moroccan happened to be passing who had known him in his one-eyed days; the stranger gave him a sharp look and then walked swiftly away, apparently suspecting himself to be the victim of some absurd hallucination as

old me that piece of c

am

nother long

ye: how cam

coffer, pointed heave

said. "A miracle ha

once more, and then, slowly bending down his head, folded

scornfully, "whether one can sell such stones." And yet, for some obscure reason, he has singled me out among the men as the object of his favourable notice, affecting rather a distant manner towards the rest of us; the ladies, however, are charmed by his courtly graces. He wears profuse jewellery, to set off his title, no doubt. It is understood th

hine comme ?a," touching the

he inmates of this hostelry. A town-dweller, evidently; he tells me he detests wild life of e

the natives in his presence; not that he would be angry, for he is too gentle to feel wrath; or become argumentative-he is too su

country two weeks ago, and he has a theory that it is a mistake to endeavour to

manticist of contagious youthfulness; the entire universe lies so harmoniously disposed and in such roseate tints before his mental vision, that no one save Madame M--, a wi

he idea came to him quite suddenly, after reading some descriptions which he considered sadly misleading. Customs of the Arabs! To tease him, I quote the authority of Bordereau, who says that

aside; one word is as goo

s and is leading a camel loaded with halfa; he is gaunt and ill-clad, but walks with

u know, of only recording what I see with my eyes. No theories for me! I mean to see everything and to set it down; to d

how useful it is to restrict the field of visi

ation; the business of a writer is to collect and arrange facts; a book, as I apprehend it, should be-a book. That is my quarrel with this Tunisian literature; many of the things that have been written about the country are not books at all; while others are full of mistakes. Look at these two volumes, for instance! Impressionistic realism, I suppose th

en my companion all these days. A solid little piece of work, by the way, which often set me wondering whether our British public would care to pay four shillings for a tech

have I heard that name before?-look tempting.

talks of the 'brutalité du viol dans le marriage-un drame lugubre.' Now that comes of not examining things with one's own eyes. Since my arrival here I have already seen

ils of his married life with surprising frankness. His father bought him a wife two weeks ago, under the condition, however, that his little brother is

personal enquiries into the matter; that is, if I ca

, the perusal of which will be a liberal education for our boys at home

our shoeblack is said to be actually married; and so is his little brother, and they have one

o begin with. Remember, mon