I accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Elton, with other friends, to spend the day in the pleasant valley of the Saneeates-Sultan, (Garden of the Emperor) sometimes called Gharset-es-Sultan, three or four hours’ ride south from Mogador.  The small river of Wad-el-Kesab, (overlooked by the village of Deeabat, where watch-dogs were barking apparently all day long as well as night), lay in our way, and was with difficulty forded, heavy rain having fallen up the country, though none on the coast.  These Barbary streams are very deceptive, illustrating the metaphor of the book of Job, “deceitful as a brook.”  To-day, their beds are perfectly dry; to-morrow, a sheet of turbid water dashing and foaming to the ocean, covers them and the country round, whilst the immediate cause is concealed.  Abrupt and sudden overflowings occur in all rivers having their source in mountains.  The book of Job may also refer to the disappointment of Saharan travellers, who, on arriving weary and thirsty, dying for water, at the stream of the Desert, find it dried up, and so perish.

The country in the valley of the Emperor’s garden offers nothing remarkable.  Bushes of underwood covering sandy mounds, a few palmettos and Argan trees, in which wild doves fluttered and flew about, were all that broke the monotony of a perfect waste.  There were no cultivated lands hereabouts, and I was told that a great part of Morocco presents this desolate aspect.  We visited, however, the celebrated Argan tree, which the people pretend was planted by the lieutenant of the Prophet, the mighty Okba, who, having spurred his horse in the roaring rebellious surge of the Atlantic, wept and wailed before Heaven that there were no more nations in whose heart to plunge his awful scimitar—­so teaching them the mercy of God!  Alas! the old hoary tree, with a most peaceful patriarchal look, seemed to belie the honour, stretching out its broad sinewy arm to shelter a hundred people from the darting fires of an African sun.  A more noble object of inanimate nature is not to be contemplated than a large and lofty branching tree; in its boughs and leaves, endlessly varying, matted together and intersecting each other, we see the palpable image of infinity.  But in the dry and hot climate of Africa, this tree is a luxury which cannot be appreciated in Europe.

We sat under its fresh shade awhile, gazing with security at the bright fires of the sun, radiating over and through all visible nature.  To check our enthusiasm, we had strewn at our feet old broken bottles and crockery, the debris and classic relics of former visitors, who were equally attentive to creature-comforts as to the grandeur of the Argan monarch of the surrounding forest.