But the manifestations of thought, in popular form, are no less curious and worthy of study among the Berbers. I do not speak of the treatises on religion which in the Middle Ages and in our day were translated from the Arabic into certain dialects: that borrowed literature, which also exists among the Sonalulis of Eastern Africa and the Haussas and the Peuls of the Soudan, has nothing original. But the popular literature--the stories and songs--has an altogether different importance. It is, above all, the expression of the daily life, whether it relates to fêtes or battles or even simple fights. These songs may be satirical or laudatory, to celebrate the victory of one party or deplore the defeat of the True Believers by the Christians, resounding on the lips of children or women, or shouted in political defiance. They permit us, in spite of a coarse rhythm and language often incorrect, an insight into their manner of life, and to feel as do peoples established for centuries on African soil. Their ancestors, the Machouacha, threatened Egypt in the time of Moses and took possession of it, and more than twenty centuries later, with the Fatimides, converted Spain to the Mussulman faith. Under Arab chiefs they would have overcome all Eastern Europe, had it not been for the hammer of Charles Martel, which crushed them on the field of Poitiers. The richest harvest of Berber songs in our possession is, without doubt, that in the dialect of the Zouaous, inhabiting the Jurgura mountains, which rise some miles distant from Algiers, their crests covered with snow part of the year.[2] All kinds of songs are represented; the rondeaux of children whose inspiration is alike in all countries: [2] Hanoteau, Poésies Populaires de la Khabylie du Jurgura, Paris, 1867, 8vo. "Oh, moonlight clear in the narrow streets, Tell to our little friends To come out now with us to play-- To play with us to-night. If they come not, then we will go To them with leather shoes. (Kabkab.)[3] "Rise up, O Sun, and hie thee forth, On thee we'll put a bonnet old: We'll plough for thee a little field-- A little field of pebbles full: Our oxen but a pair of mice." "Oh, far distant moon: Could I but see thee, Ali! Ali, son of Sliman, The beard[4] of Milan Has gone to draw water. Her cruse, it is broken; But he mends it with thread, And draws water with her: He cried to Ayesha: 'Give me my sabre, That I kill the merle Perched on the dunghill Where she dreams; She has eaten all my olives.'"[5] [3] A sort of sandal. [4] Affectionate term for a child. [5] Hanoteau, v. 441-443.