high walls like sheeted ghosts, and swarms of dirty, noisy, half-naked youngsters who thrive amid the filth of the gutters and importune the visitor for “_Un sou, m’sieu.... Donnez-moi un sou!_” It is not so easy for a stranger to lose his way in this maze of narrow streets as one might suppose, for he has only to keep ascending and he will eventually reach the _kasbah_, the old Turkish fortress which commands the town, while, descending, he will sooner or later find himself in the European quarter and civilization again. The houses, built of stone and whitewashed and re-whitewashed continually, are square, flat-topped buildings, windowless save for a few narrow slits protected by iron bars or gratings. Occasionally a fine gateway breaks the surface of the walls, and, should the door be ajar, one may catch a fleeting glimpse of a marble-paved and colonnaded patio filled with sunlight, flowers, and palms. Thus encloistered, the Arab women spend their eventless days, the monotony of existence broken only by occasional shopping expeditions or the weekly visit to the cemetery. What takes place behind those mysterious green doors is a popular subject for speculation, but I imagine that the life within is not greatly different from that of Occidental households. Now and then one hears strange tales of European women, wandering alone through the dim and narrow streets, who have been seized and dragged within, to be heard from never more. Most of these stories are pure inventions, told by a dragoman or guide to whet the curiosity of the tourist; but that does not mean that it is wholly safe for foreign women to visit the native quarter unaccompanied, particularly toward nightfall, for the streets are none too well policed, and, even should a European woman disappear, it is extremely doubtful whether the French authorities would dare to institute a house-to-house search for her, for an Arab’s harem is sacred, and to invade it for any reason whatsoever might well entail consequences of the gravest character.