ent young Arabs
followed us shouting objurgations, and accepting small coins as ransom.
We had glimpses of a mosque, the outside of a prison, and the inside of
what once was a harem. On returning to the steamer one gentleman fell
overboard and, swimming to the shore, was rescued by a swarthy ruffian
who robbed him of his watch and disappeared in the darkness. When the
victim of Algerian piracy stood on the deck, dripping and indignant, and
told his tale of woe, we were delighted. Algiers would always be
something to remember. It was one of the places that had not been
spoiled.

I am afraid that the sunlight might have brought disillusion. Some of
the stealthy figures which gave rise to such thrilling suspicions may
have turned out to be excellent fathers and husbands returning from
business. As it is, thanks to the darkness, Algiers remains a city of
vague atrocities. It does not belong to the commonplace world; it is of
such stuff as dreams, including nightmares, are made of.

It is not without some compunction of conscience that I recall two
historical pilgrimages, one to Assisi, the other to Geneva. Assisi I
found altogether rewarding, while in Geneva I was disappointed. In each
case my object was purely selfish, and had nothing in common with the
welfare of the present inhabitants. I wanted to see the city of St.
Francis and the city of John Calvin.

In Assisi one may read again the Franciscan legends in their proper
settings. I should like to think that my pleasure in Assisi arose from
the fact that I saw some one there who reminded me of St. Francis. But
I was not so fortunate. If one is anxious to come in contact with the
spirit of St. Francis, freed from its mediaeval limitations, a visit to
Hull House, Chicago, would be more rewarding.

But it was not the spirit of St. Francis, but his limitations, that we
were after. Assisi has preserved them all. We see the gray old town on
the hillside, the narrow streets, the old walls. We are beset by swarms
of beggars. They are not like the half-starved creatures one may see in
the slums of northern cities. They are very likable. They are natural
worshipers of my Lady Poverty. They have not been spoiled by commonplace
industrialism or scientific philanthropy. One is taken back into the
days when there was a natural affinity between saints and beggars. The
saints would joyously give away all that they had, and the beggars would
as joyously accept it. After the beggars