Europe, other senses may be at least equally stimulated by a life we
Europeans shall: never know intimately. Perhaps the fear of believing too
readily makes us unduly sceptical, and inclined to forget that our
philosophy cannot compass one of the many mysteries that lie at our door.

If any proof were required that Morocco in all its internal disputes is
strictly tribal, our safe residence here would supply one. On the other
side of Tangier, over in the direction of Tetuan, the tribes are out and
the roads are impassable. Europeans are forbidden to ride by way of Angera
to Tetuan. Even a Minister, the representative of a great European Power,
was warned by old Hadj Mohammed Torres, the resident Secretary for Foreign
Affairs, that the Moorish Administration would not hold itself responsible
for his safety if he persisted in his intention to go hunting among the
hills. And here we remain unmolested day after day, while the headmen of
the Mediunah tribe discuss with perfect tranquillity the future of the
Pretender's rebellion, or allude cheerfully to the time when, the Jehad
(Holy War) being proclaimed, the Moslems will be permitted to cut the
throats of all the Unbelievers who trouble the Moghreb. In the fatalism of
our neighbours lies our safety. If Allah so wills, never a Nazarene will
escape the more painful road to eternal fire; if it is written otherwise,
Nazarene torment will be posthumous. They do not know, nor, in times when
the land is preparing for early harvest, do they greatly care, what or
when the end may be. Your wise Moor waits to gather in his corn and see it
safely hoarded in the clay-lined and covered pits called mat'moras. That
work over, he is ready and willing, nay, he is even anxious, to fight, and
if no cause of quarrel is to be found he will make one.

[Illustration: HEAD OF A BOY FROM MEDIUNA]

Every year or two a party of travellers settles on this plateau, says