be permitted still to create dissensions and to set too high a value upon trivial pursuits. Nobody who witnessed the explosions of bad temper and unfair dealing which were seen in the Stadium at London in 1908, will be likely to forget them, or to feel an increasing ardour for international sport. When the quarter - mile race degenerated into the pounding of the ribs of the English champion, who was certified black-and-blue by the doctors; when the Marathon race was an excuse for a free fight and bashed toppers, we do not see where "sport came into the argument, though the international quality was evident. The best that we could do for these incitements to fury would be to discontinue them altogether, and go quietly about our legitimate business. If they must continue, let them assume a more modest name, and let them be sternly restricted to events of some importance. We are always expecting that shove-halfpenny and threading the needle will be added to our tests of international prowess.

In the first place, the name Olympiad is an outrage. The Olympic Games of to-day are the complete antithesis of the games which gave a lustre to ancient Greece. The real Olympic Games were a religious ceremony, conducted with awe, and reserved for the competition of Greeks, born and bred. All foreigners, or barbarians,

were rigidly excluded, and the games were held merely for the sake of the god and their own sake, not to measure the speed and agility of one nation against another. No sooner were strangers admitted to the contests than mystery and reverence were held up to scorn, and the contests were at an end. And secondly, if the games must take place, why not restrict them to what are called "track events," and get them all over and done with in a few days? Moreover, it would be well if those who had the management of them resolved not to take them too seriously. The future of the world does not depend upon those who run faster than others or jump higher. Nor is peace brought one inch nearer to us by the ill-temper most incident to international competition. We are tired of the argument which declares this country or that hastening to its decadence because its youth is outstripped on the running path by Finland (shall we say?) or Czecho-Slovakia. If the socalled Olympic Games are to continue, they must be regarded as games, not as tests of statesmanship or of success upon the battlefield. They must be looked upon as contests of athletes, which they are, and as nothing else. Otherwise they will not cause wars to cease, as once we were told they would; they will be of themselves the causes of war.

As we turned over the pages of Mr Fairlie's report, we were struck most strongly by its solemnity. We read here and there, too often for our pleasure, of "sportsmanship" and of "playing the game," expressions which, too often repeated, are as little welcome to our ear as a constant reference to "patriotism." There is no hint of "play" or "fun" in the book from beginning to end. It is all grim professionalism, not the professionalism of money, but the professionalism which regards sport as an end in itself, perhaps the only end of human endeavour. England's prestige, we hear, depends upon her sportsmen doing better at the next "Olympiad " than at the last. Does it? Then let us away with a thing so flimsy as England's prestige. And lest England's prestige should suffer, we are asked to map out England into districts, and to urge our young athletes to devote all their energies to the training of men who shall be winners at some future "Olympic" Games, and bring back a wreath or two to our disgraced and sorrowing land. Think of the poor creature whose youth is abandoned to a ceaseless toil, in order that when he comes to the fulness of his growth, he shall carry off a prize for the Pentathlon or the Decathlon (let us say), or jumping with a pole. These be glories for the amateur, if indeed such a thing as an amateur exist to-day. Does

anybody believe that in a world where there is so much else to do, they are worth the devotion of a lifetime!

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However, if it can be granted that the winning of wreaths at the "Olympic " Games is the sole and whole duty of man, what is the next step that shall be taken, next, of course, after the collecting of money, which is the first essential? "Are we going to allow this state of things to continue," asks the report, or are we going to arouse ourselves? For our part, we are quite content that this state of things" should continue. Mr Fairlie, and those for whom he writes, think otherwise. They would begin by stirring up the headmasters of public schools to place "the sport of athletics in the same plane as cricket and football, and to appoint to their staffs University men who are proficient in athletics in the same way they appoint them to coach their boys in cricket and football." And all for the "Olympic" Games! Again, the Council reproves the Public School and University men, because they show, after leaving the University, no interest "in the sports of the democracy." We know not what the Council means by the sports of the democracy," though it was impossible to keep the blessed word altogether out of the discussion. What, then, are the University men to do that they may wipe out this reproach?

66

No. MCCCXX.

VOL. CCXVIII.

IN a room that opens from the hall of a native house, a Moorish gentleman rises from the divan on which he has been seated to welcome me in soft-toned Arabic. Fair and of medium height, faultlessly dressed in the manner affected by town Moors, he has the distinction of bearing only derived from high birth. He is Sidi Abd el Karîm ben el Hadj Ali, and is occupied with some sort of confidential business. Messengers glide in and out while he apologises for frequent interruptions, at the same time inviting me to drink English tea until one or two urgent matters have been disposed of. From a corner of the divan I am able to examine my surroundings at leisure. Several people appear to be awaiting their turn round the

doorway while instructions are conveyed to a wild-eyed fellow, whose scanty clothing hangs about him in shreds. "His jaleeb is torn with travelling at night among thorn bushes," Sidi Abd el Karîm explains, remarking my surprise at the man's appearance. A paper is twisted up small, and introduced between lining and sole of a sabaat. Then the runner stoops to kiss the fringe of the Sidi's robe, pulling up his own overhead until only two gleaming eyes are visible beneath the cowl, and, with a humble "As-salâm-u-Alaikom," is gone.

A portly Moor of the merchant class advances into the circle of electric light, producing a roll of paper money from his zabula, with an account that has to be carefully scrutinised. A few rapid sentences

T

having been exchanged, a note is written and handed to a lanky youth, who has emerged from somewhere in the recesses of the hall. The word "Ijri," twice repeated, catches my ear as he hurries out. "He is called Abdullah, and he runs like wind," the Sidi remarks. "It is true I have only to take any one of my people by the shoulder in the Sooq and give him a letter and tell him to carry it to Sidi Mhâmed. He will not fail. But this Abdullah is swifter than the rest."

Soon only one bent old man remains in front of the writingtable, glancing in my direction from time to time while he listens to elaborate instructions. Having examined me critically and at length, he laughs to himself, then pulls forward the hood of his jaleeb, so that only the tip of a shaggy beard is to be seen. "Mark carefully how this man stoops in his walk," is the proffered advice. "You should follow not less than thirty paces behind. He will not lose you." A few minutes later they have wished me a prosperous journey and no evil, and the old guide is bobbing about before my eyes in the ill-lit street.

At first it is hard to keep him in view, on account of the throng; but he obligingly waits at turnings and corners to make sure his charge has not been lost, until, once free of the shops and the Socco, the crowds thin down. He leads under an archway, and skirts the ancient palace of Mulaya-el-Hafiz, making a

course towards the suburbs. Outside the town movement is easy, the moonlight growing brighter each instant. It is not at all difficult to recognise my friend Robert Gordon-Canning, very tall and British, outlined against the sky just beyond a cross-road. He saunters up, and casual remarks are exchanged as we stroll on together-remarks about the weather, suitable to two Englishmen taking a walk in Africa or anywhere else, of the coolness of the night, for it is still only October. The road lies wide and straight in front, flanked by rare homesteads and the occasional suburban retreat of an official, or European with interests in Tangier. There are now three guides, the bent old man in the middle, and their distance is increased to sixty yards or more. The pace also is accelerated, but not to such a degree as might attract attention. When passing police posts there is more cheerful talk about the weather, carried on at the top of the voice. It is improbable that a Sherifian policeman, peeping by chance from his snug shelter, will associate two Inglizi, walking about for no purpose, with three poor Moors returning late from market.

Now the high-road is abandoned in favour of a mere collection of tracks. Habitations are left behind. The country becomes very quiet and deserted. Even in strong moonlight it is necessary to pick one's way carefully on the jareeq, in order to avoid rough places and