cept for a beard on the soft white chin, and his
eyes, which were infinitely cunning. Brown and cold, like polished
marbles, they had not reached that stage of cunning which veils its
cunning, but would still gleam at the sight of money and express
satisfaction over a well-made bargain. They were suspicious, as the
ignorant generally are, and believed in little that they saw. The old
Biblical characters who walk Morocco to-day have most of them the same
failing: they are sly.

Ci Hamed Ghralmia was an "advanced" Moor--that is to say, in the
afternoons, lying on his divan, he read Arabic books. He had bought some
French knick-knacks too. He told us that he rented a shop, in which he
sat in the mornings and chatted to his friends, using it not in any way
to dispose of any goods, of which it was devoid, but as a sort of "club"
or meeting-place. Then in the afternoons he occasionally rode out on his
mule. He had a garden, I think, outside the city. Or he played chess with
a friend, or read. Perhaps he would use his _hummum_ (Turkish bath); he
would pray at his own particular mosque, regularly, so many times a day;
and he would drink much green tea, and consume sugar, and sleep
inordinately.

Thirty years of this life in Tetuan found Ci Hamed Ghralmia still a
contented man--supremely so. Wrapped in the finest white wool and muslin
clothes, he lay along a divan opposite to us upon one elbow, the picture
of ease, and talked away. No Moor was ever anything but self-composed.
Upon our camera's coming out, he was much interested; and to prove his
progressive and enlightened state of mind, let us photograph him just as
he lay there--a vast, voluminous white chrysalis. Then he took us to see
his wives and slaves--a large party of them. They were allowed to come
out on to the staircase and talk to us; but when the interview had lasted
five minutes, Ci Hamed Ghralmia clapped his hands twice--we had seen
enough--every wife and every slave vanished like magic.

[Illustration: THE AUTHOR FORDING THE WAD-EL-MARTINE.

[_To face p. 188._]

The next morning we made one of many expeditions up into the hills on the
opposite side of the river, towards the south, and in the direction,
though somewhat west, of the Riff. We rode in turns, it being somewhat of
a rest to scramble along on foot, to say nothing of exercise. The big
grey donkey had our lunch, a camera, some field-glasses, and a box for
botanical specimens slung about him. We had