e had a history. His master, a prosperous Moor, once offered
to free him: the old slave refused the offer, on the score that he was
quite content as he was. However, his master urged him to accept, and he
was eventually given his freedom. But later on the master lost all his
money, and ruin was before him. His old slave came back. "See here, my
master; here am I. Take me; sell me"; and he finally persuaded the man to
sell him. He seemed contented enough as the property of the French
Consul, who is a Moor.

We passed a party of closely veiled women, as we strolled citywards,
taking advantage of a break in the wet weather to visit their gardens,
carrying a great key, and accompanied by two or three ink-black slaves,
fine upstanding women, well fed and clothed, looking good-tempered to a
fault, whose children, by the same husband and master, would rank equally
with those of the wives.

Mohammedan women, though veiled and supervised, have at least their
gardens to saunter out to and visit when the tracks allow. Jewesses in
Morocco deserve infinitely more pity. Their one recreation seemed to
consist in walking as far as the Jewish cemetery, ten minutes outside the
Gate of the Tombs, and attending to the gravestones of their friends.

The cemetery is gradually absorbing one side of a rough red-earthed hill;
it has no fence of any description round it, and the flat pale-blue and
white tombstones spread over the ground look in the distance like so much
washing out to dry. The stones are all alike, oblong lozenges, inscribed
in Hebrew.

Here, especially on Fridays, the women's day, Jewesses congregate,
flocking along the cemetery road--the mourners in ponderous black skirts,
vast breadths of crimson silk let into the fronts and embroidered with
gold, white shawls over head and forehead, a yellow sash-end edged with
red appearing behind, and completing their mourning. Some of the shawls
are family heirlooms, and only parted with for five-pound notes.

Loud checks and gaudy colours adorn the Rahels, Donahs, Zulicas, and
Miriams not in mourning, as well as the white shawls; and the procession
troops to the cemetery, sallow, sad-eyed daughters of Jacob, talking a
mixture of Arabic and Spanish, with a few English and Shillah words
thrown in.

Of all life's unfortunates, the Jew in Morocco was once, next to the
negro in the West Indies, the most persecuted and degraded of God's
creatures.

In Tangier and the seaport towns, whe