NORTH AFRICA AND THE DESERT SCENES AND MOODS BY GEORGE E. WOODBERRY
NEW YORK CHABLES SCRIBNERS SONS 1914 COPYBIGHT, 1914, BT CHARLES
SCRIBNEBS SONS Published April, 1914 SETH LOW LONG AIT FRIEND AND
ONCE MT A STATESMAN INTERESTED IN ALL THAT PERTAINS TO HUMAN
WELFARE I DEDICATE CONFIDENT OP HIS SYMPATHY THIS BOOK OF THE ARAB
WORLD CONTENTS PAGE I. TUNISIAN DAYS 1 II TLEMCEN 51 III. FIGUIG
103 IV. TOUGOURT 147 V. SCENES AND VISIONS 195 VI. ON THE MAT 245
VII. DJEKBA 287 VIII. TRIPOLI 313 TUNISIAN DAYS I TUNISIAN DAYS I
WAS fortunate in my first landfall at Tunis. It was a fine sea
picture framed in that chill November dawn. On my left, over the
rippling watery gold to the few pink clouds eastward, lay the great
blue mountain head land, stretching far behind. In front, a little
to the right, was Goletta, the port, hard by and ranging off
northward the line of the ocean beach ran stern and solemn, with
the light house above. That rise, there, was the hill of Carthage.
Westward over the hollow space of waters swept the crescent horizon
inland, low and misty, centred a little to the south by the obscure
white of far Tunis. Carthage is the first thought of the traveller
his instant mem ory is of Phoenician ships, and his imagination is
of Scipio and Regulus these are the sights they saw. 3 4 NORTH
AFRICA AND THE DESERT The steamer plied up the long canal that
makes the shallow, broad lake navigable to the docks some miles
beyond flamingoes flew to the right and left over the level lapping
waters, Iresh in the raw, damp, almost rainy air and gradually
Tunis drew in sight, like a great white flower on the bosom of the
sloping uplands, strange, solitary, unexpected, with minarets and
the islandlook of a Moslem city. n BAREEN enough was my first
acquaintance with the land side, weary, cheerless, desolate, like
windy prairies in autumn, uninhabited, un inhabitable and I was
chilled to the bone when I came back to the hotel, then in the bud
of its first season. It, is more sober now, but then it had a near
cousinship to Monte Carlo it was delightfully irresponsible,
vivacious, gay. One passed to the picturesque bar and the caf6,
thick with interesting groups or with equal ease to the little
horses with their ever-dissolving banks of faces, a covey of all
nations, round the bell-timed play, and to the vaudeville stage
with gymnasts, French acting, fat Jewess dancers, and a world
lightly enjoying itself, as it looked from railed low boxes on the
spacious floor
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