e first time. The spell of the city was overmastering. It is
certainly the most African city in Morocco to-day, almost the last
survivor of the changes that began in the latter half of the nineteenth
century, and have brought the Dark Continent from end to end within the
sphere of European influence. Fez and Mequinez are cities of fair men,
while here on every side one recognised the influence of the Soudan and
the country beyond the great desert. Not only have the wives and
concubines brought from beyond the great sand sea darkened the skin of the
present generation of the Marrakshis, but they have given to most if not
to all a suggestion of relationship to the negro races that is not to be
seen in any other Moorish city I have visited. It is not a suggestion of
fanaticism or intolerance. By their action as well as their appearance one
knew most of the passers for friends rather than enemies. They would
gratify their curiosity at our expense as we gratified ours at theirs,
convinced that all Europeans are harmless, uncivilised folk from a far
land, where people smoke tobacco, drink wine, suffer their women-folk to
go unveiled, and live without the True Faith.

Marrakesh, like all other inland cities of Morocco, has neither hotel nor
guest-house. It boasts some large fandaks, notably that of Hadj Larbi,
where the caravans from the desert send their merchandise and chief
merchants, but no sane European will choose to seek shelter in a fandak in
Morocco unless there is no better place available. There are clean fandaks
in Sunset Land, but they are few and you must travel far to find them. I
had letters to the chief civilian resident of Marrakesh, Sidi Boubikir,
British Political Agent, millionaire, land-owner, financier, builder of
palaces, politician, statesman, and friend of all Englishmen who are well
recommended to his care. I had heard much of the clever old Moor, who was
born in very poor surroundings, started life as a camel driver, and is now
the wealthiest and most powerful unofficial resident in Southern Morocco,
if not in all the Moghreb, so I bade M'Barak find him without delay. The
first person questioned directed us to one of Boubikir's fandaks, and by
its gate, in a narrow lane, where camels jostled the camp-mules until they
nearly foundered in the underlying filth, we found the celebrated man
sitting within the porch, on an old packing-case.

He looked up for a brief moment when the kaid dismounted and hand