These things fascinate me, not only on account of their intrinsic beauty but because they stand for romance and adventure. The diamond-studded hilt of that simitar hanging on the wall may once have lain in the palm of Barbarossa and run with Christian blood. It pleases me to imagine that Scheherazade wound that gold-and-silver girdle about her slender, supple form. It is within the bounds of possibility, at least, that the strand of pearls glowing against its velvet background belonged to a Spanish donna before it was torn from her white neck by the hand of a corsair chief. Who shall say with certainty that yonder gold-damascened casque did not once rest on the head of Saladin? So I spend my money recklessly, for I revel in the possession of such things. True, they will find a resting-place for the present in an American museum, but some day, I trust, when I am old and the wander-fever does not surge so fiercely in my veins, I shall bring them together under a roof of my own and beguile the long winter evenings in their contemplation and in the memories which they evoke. Doubtless more foreign money is spent in the Souk des Selliers—the saddlers’ bazaar—than in any other of the Tunisian _souks_. Not on saddles, however, but on the innumerable other articles manufactured from the vividly tinted leathers—sofa-cushions, pocketbooks, purses, portfolios, cigarette-cases, and the embroidered sacks which every Tunisian carries slung over his shoulder by a silken cord. For though it may be difficult to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear (even though silk stockings are commonly made from tree-bark), these Tunisian leather-workers produce the most fascinating things imaginable from the skin of a goat. Perhaps I should remark parenthetically, however, for the benefit of those purposing to visit Morocco, that the leather-goods of Tunis are far inferior in color, design, and workmanship to those of Fez and Marrákesh. But the saddlery of Tunis is unequaled throughout North Africa, a veritable Tunisian saddle being as highly prized by an Arab as a Whippey is by an English hunting man. The city has been celebrated for its horse-gear ever since the Middle Ages, when caravans from Timbuktu, Darfur, and the Sudan brought slaves, gold, gum, ivory, and ostrich-feathers and took back costumes, embroideries, arms, and saddlery. And even to-day the merchants of the Souk des Selliers supply their wares to customers as far afield as Morocco, Algeria, Tripolitania, and the Saharan hinterland. For, like the American cow-puncher, the Arab loves his horse and is fond of displaying him to the best advantage, always being ready to lavish his money on richly ornamented and expensive trappings.