XLVII 



WHEN you get far enough away from the every-day trav- 

 eller and come in contact with the " sure-enough," simon- 

 pure Arab caliph or sheik, you often find a character 

 above reproach, a personal bearing graceful, high-toned, 

 and nobly simple, and a courtesy, truth, and kindness which 

 are a revelation to us prosaic Anglo-Saxons. I am proud 

 to possess the friendship of such a man. He was my host 

 Si Nassour ben El Hadj Salem, Caliph of K'sar H'lal. 

 With this gentleman and a gentle man he was in every 

 sense I spent some days not far from the ruins of ancient 

 Thapsus. I had a neat and artistic-looking Arabic letter 

 from the French authorities, who, by reason of their finan- 

 cial control, will soon transform Tunis, like Algeria, into a 

 French province. And it is, no doubt, better for the land, 

 save only for the loss of its picturesqueness, and this is a 

 loss indeed. The Bey of Tunis has but little real authority 

 left, and can devote his abundant leisure to the society 

 of his four hundred wives, to whom (or should I say 'to 

 which ?) a new one, usually a Circassian girl, is added by 

 each incoming by - monthly steamer from the East. He 

 holds court once a week in the old city palace, amuses 

 himself by chopping off a few criminals' heads, and again 

 retires to his country palace near La Marsa. 



I could not read the letter which was my safe-conduct, 

 but some time after a scribe translated it to me in French. 

 Here it is in English : 



