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 CAFÉ ARABE

ARAB GAIETY decked in their

most georgeous finery, awaiting the opening of the Arab cafés. The chief attraction is their dancing for both the weary camel-driver just arrived from Sudan and for the proper English family who have run down from Algiers for a day or two to get a glimpse of desert life. Some of these women are even queenly in appearance, others hideous beyond description. When at last night closes in, the narrow streets become most weirdly animated. We glance in now and then at the doorways of the smoking-dens where dozens of Arabs lie, lulled into a state of semi-dreamfulness by the fumes of "keef" or hashish, which for the moment drives away all weariness and care, but ever more firmly binds its willing victims. Darkness and silence pervade these dens, while from the doors of the cafés pour floods of light, snatches of unearthly music, clouds of thick tobacco smoke and the aroma of delicious coffee. When we enter one of these overcrowded cafés, we are at first dazed by the sights and sounds that