the
nations where she stands now. The steady infusion of African blood is
becoming her ruin: the sensual negro type, spreading rapidly, is eating
its way into the heart of the people. When it is remembered that
thousands upon thousands of slaves are imported into Morocco from the
interior of Africa every year, that they become eventually "free," their
children inheriting equal rights with other children, it is no longer a
matter of wonder that the Moorish race shows signs of deterioration, that
its people are effete. It is after meeting with men such as Hadj Cadour
and many others, who hark back to the old type of chief and horseman and
the desert life, touched with the old vein of poetry and chivalry, that
one regrets the things which are. But we had spent an afternoon which was
one worth recollecting; and when we had parted from that little circle
under the shady olive, and were jogging back to our tents, it was to
remember that there are still good things in Morocco.

The tents we found ready for us in a delightful spot enclosed by a wall:
a tank lay in the centre of the garden, around it a few paths, and a
great deal of mint. But a terrible ordeal awaited us--green tea and a
great spread, provided by the brother of Hadj Cadour, who had also
arranged carpets as seats around the tank. Again next morning, just after
we had finished breakfast, this hospitable individual sent into our tent
two steaming hot chickens fried brown in argan oil, with half a dozen
round cakes of fine flour; and when, immediately afterwards, we rode to
his house to say farewell and tender our thanks, he proffered green tea
once more.

Heavy drops of rain awoke us in the middle of the night; but just as an
ominous patter was coming through the old canvas and sounding on the
bed-clothes, the shower stopped. Again later it came on, with thunder.
Omar changed the smart clothes which he had put on in view of a triumphal
entry into Marrakesh; we packed and got off as quickly as we could,
expecting more rain; many good-byes were said; Hadj Cadour sent a servant
with us to the gates; and we rode out of Tamsloect.

[Illustration: THE OPEN GATE.

[_To face p. 324._]

Outside, towards the east, its gardens were numerous: great black poplars
and palms grew freely. For an hour we rode alongside a district which
belonged entirely to Mulai el Hadj, the great man of Tamsloect, and a
holy Shar[=i]f to boot. This man is rich, and because he is a holy
Shar