er veil, which they stretch out on either side in front
of them with their hands. They seem to think nothing of sitting in a
railway carriage opposite a man and chatting gaily with him. I learn
from an English lady resident in Tunis that the indoor costume of the
women is much that of the Jewesses out of doors--extraordinary indeed.
It is not every day that one meets ladies in the street in long white
drawers, often tight, and short jackets, black or white, but this is
the actual walking dress of the Jewish ladies of Tunis.

XXXIV

TRIPOLI VIEWED FROM MOROCCO

"Every sheep hangs by her own legs."

_Moorish Proverb._

When, after an absence of twenty months, I found myself in Tripoli,
although far enough from Morocco, I was still amid familiar sights and
sounds which made it hard to realize that I was not in some hitherto
unvisited town of that Empire. The petty differences sank to naught
amid the wonderful resemblances. It was the Turkish element alone
which was novel, and that seemed altogether out of place, foreign as
it is to Africa. There was something quite incongruous in the sight of
those ungainly figures in their badly fitting, quasi-European black
coats and breeches, crowned with tall and still more ungainly red
caps. The Turks are such an inferior race to the Berbers and Arabs
that it is no wonder that they are despised by the natives. They
appear much more out of place than do the Europeans, who remain, as
in Morocco, a class by themselves. To see a Turk side by side with a
white-robed native at prayer in a mosque is too ridiculous, and to see
him eating like a wild man of the woods! Even the governor, a benign
old gentleman, looked very undignified in his shabby European
surroundings, after the important appearance of the Moorish
functionaries in their flowing robes. The sentinels at the door seemed
to have been taught to imitate the wooden salute of the Germans, which
removes any particle of grace which might have remained in spite of
their clumsy dress. It is a strange sight to see them selling their
rations of uninviting bread in the market to buy something more
stimulating. They squat behind a sack on the ground as the old women
do in Tangier. These are the little things reminding one that Tripoli
is but a Turkish dependency.

We may complain of the Moorish customs arrangements, but from my own
experience, and from what others tell me, I should say that here is
worse still. Not only w