The vine and the fig-tree are invariably found in the Moorish Patio; the family grow up under their shade; the little ones sport with the thoughtless glee of childhood among the foliage; and the graver elders pass the greater part of their time there in more serious conversation, and sometimes, doubtless, in mere trifling gossip. They dwell under their own vine and fig-tree, none daring to make them afraid.
There was a perfect uproar of voices as we entered; the mirth was, as Burns would describe it, fast and furious. What a monotonous and discordant din the Tomtom keeps up! What screams of delight, what shrill whistlings, what piercing yells, what bursts of laughter, and yet―you will not believe it, you self-satisfied gentlemen of Europe, who consider your presence so indispensable at such gatherings―there was not a man in the party. All the countenances and all the toilets were feminine. There was not a bearded visage, not a turbaned head, in the group. The whole getting up of these female guests, the crimsoning of the cheeks, the staining of the hands, eyes, and feet, the display of costly jewelry, and the selection of embroidered robes, had been the work of so much time, thought, and labor attracting the admiration―or if, in your charity, you
