PROSPEROUS NATIVES OF TANGIER 
A CITY OF ARABIAN NIGHTS 
We had no sooner passed the several 
gates of the city walls than we seemed to 
have been transported, as if by enchant- 
ment, back a thousand years into the 
storied world of Harun-al-Rashid; for, 
by a fortunate accident, just as we 
passed a great horseshoe archway, giv- 
ing access to a walled inclosure, it 
framed a strange scene. A Moorish 
wedding was being celebrated. Ani- 
mated groups of white-robed men were 
engaged in dancing and firing their long 
guns, while a company of Arab musi- 
cians brought forth startling tones from 
flutes and drums. 
It took us nearly an hour to reach the 
house that had been put at our disposi- 
tion, for the streets are so narrow that 
circulation is difficult. So badly paved 
and uneven were the streets that our 
horses slipped badly, and Mrs. Blayney 
was finally compelled to dismount. We 
were forced to go in Indian file, the old 
soldier holding her by the wrist close to 
his horse’s side, for, being still unveiled, 
she was the object of many a scowling 
glance. My brother and I brought up 
the rear in order to keep her in full view. 
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 
At one moment we thought she was be- 
ing attacked, for two savage-looking men 
quite close to her had each other by the 
throat, but, fortunately, they were only 
settling a private difficulty. 
We were very fortunate in securing 
an attractive house during our stay in 
Fez. It lay in the midst of a large gar- 
den, in which almost every imaginable 
kind of fruit grew semi-wild. Our din- 
ing-room was a commodious veranda, 
paved with mosaic and inclosed by Moor- 
ish columns and arches. Just in front of 
the veranda a crystal pool, into which the 
water tumbled joyously, cooled the air 
by day and lulled us to sleep by night. 
A mosaic walk around the fountain was 
shaded by orange and lemon trees bear- 
ing golden fruit. The rooms were paved 
with brilliant mosaics and the walls deco- 
rated with bright tiles. The beds were 
alcoves, some three feet above the floor 
and ornamented with mosaic work and 
tiles, on which a single mattress was laid. 
How romantic were those moon-lit 
evenings on the veranda, as we watched 
the play of shadows among the trees and 
listened to the music of the splashing 
waters, while Mohammed in his white 
robes glided back and forth serving us 
Photo by George EF. Holt 
