of a warm sorbet of coffee than the ordinary beverage as we know it. Finding it was a most agreeable drink, I ordered a second cup.
"Will it not act on your heart?" asked the careful guide.
"Oh, no," I answered, quite sure of my heart, which had tried and withstood all sorts of emotions incident to the Bolshevik regime, innumerable fights, high mountain passes, hunger, cold, prison, opium, poisonous Chinese alchohol and Indian hashish. However, pride ever goeth before the fall, and I found that the Moorish coffee made a stronger impression than all these former experiences and caused it to pound so hard that I could not catch my breath and was only restored to my normal condition after a long draft of cold water.
Just as we were leaving the place, two Arabs galloped past us on bay horses. These men in their turbans, large trousers and slippers are rather uninspiring when on foot; but, when they sit astride their high, richly ornamented saddles on real Arab steeds, they show again their old blood of rider and warrior—their heads are raised, their faces become proud, their eyes flash fire and in their feet, that rest so sure and firm within the large stirrups, one feels resides the strength necessary to back up the strong cuts of the sword, when the horse is in the gallop. We watched these men until they rose in their stirrups and went whirling round a turn in the road. I heard afterwards that Tlemsen and its environs are famous for their fine horsemen and, as recorded by A. Bel, Si Ahmed ben Yusuf, the poet, has sung of the town:
