sult. It is very difficult to come across the best _pur
sang_ horses, as the Arabs are afraid of the Bey's taking a fancy to
them, and taking them by force; and, consequently, they often
purposely mutilate them, lest he should seize them to himself. There
are also some very fine bazaars at Tunis, and the otto of roses there
is especially excellent. Our Consul has a very fine, large house, and
dispenses his hospitalities, &c., very generously to his compatriots.
His lady is also a most amiable person. Tunis is, I hear, celebrated
for the manufacture of the red cap, usually termed "fez," which is
worn generally throughout Mussulman countries, and universally by the
military. The Tunisian soldiers wear the plaque in front of the fez,
in lieu of on the top, like the Turkish. As soon as I had selected my
horse, a fine black thorough-bred Arab (whose price was four hundred
francs only), I used to make excursions every day into the country,
sometimes alone, sometimes attended, always armed, as the Francs of
Tunis told me many stories of the dangers arising from going out in
the country unarmed, among the Arabs. I think a great number of them
were very much exaggerated. One of the places I was fond of riding to
was Mohamed Medea, about twelve miles from Tunis, very prettily
situated, where there was a very fine ruin of a Roman aqueduct, and
eke a French restaurant, where a _dejeuner_, made more agreeable by a
twelve miles' ride, was served in quite Parisian style. The reason of
there being a French restaurant is this:--The present Bey, on his
accession, determined to build a fresh palace at this place; and,
being under a sort of douce compulsion, employs nothing but French
architects and operatives, who make the hotel their head-quarters, it
being about the only Christian house in the entire place. Quail
abounded in this vicinity, and there were _pas mal de sangliers_. To
escape from the _ennui_ of the _table d'hote dejeuner_ at Tunis,
occupied by French bagmen and milliners, and served in a stuffy hole
of a back kitchen, I used frequently to make Angelo put my breakfast
in my _sacoche_ (saddle-bag), consisting of a piece of cold meat and
some _vin du pays_, and then ride out, dismount, and breakfast _al
fresco_, or rather _al bosco_; sometimes I am sorry to confess to
breaking the eighth commandment, as I helped myself to my dessert of
oranges, from the trees near or under which I sat. The Arabs, _malgre_
the ogre histories I h