BLTC Press Titles

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My Man Jeeves

P. G. Wodehouse

The Diplomatic Background of the War

Charles Seymour

Knowledge of Higher Worlds and its Attainment

Rudolf Steiner

The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas

Moss from a rolling stone

by Sir Charles Alfred Payton


If the reading and travelling portion of the revered British public will deign to accept as " Moss " these simple impressions of pleasant sojournings in a sunny land, and these very " Rambling Reminiscences " of travel and sport, I may be aided, by their favorable reception of this little volume, to gather from my worthy publisher some of the mineral which the world in general considers to be the " moss " meant in the adage.

Concerning the Empire of Morocco, while deeply conscious that this book does not contain an overpowering amount of ethnological information and solid statistics, I would venture to point out, to those who desire such substantial fare, that they will find it in abundance—I hope not ad nauseam — in the valuable works of Jackson, Richardson, Shaw, Leared, and other learned and accurate authors.

It has been my aim to write a book which should give the faithful record of my own impressions of bright scenes in a somewhat barbaric land, still but little known to the majority of the reading public—a *book which may be lightly taken up at leisure by tourists, travellers, lovers of sport and of nature, and even by the miscellaneous reader, and as lightly put down again, not, I fondly hope, without some sense of pleasure, even although but little profit may attach to its perusal.

Let me not omit to mention that I am indebted to the proprietors of The Field, London Society, and The Country for kind permission to reprint from their columns the materials for no less than twenty chapters of this volume.

I hope that these rechauffes may gain me new friends, and not disgust any of my old ones.

Should fortune and the public so far favour me, then perchance the stone •which has rolled so long may roll smoothly onward again; the volatile " Sarcelle" may essay other and perhaps bolder flights.

So now, the wish being father to the thought, let me say to all my readers—and may they be many—not " a long farewell," but a hearty and hopeful au revoir.

Chas. A. Patton. York, I2,th February, 1879.




" Outwabd Bound!" What sweet significance—what "music of the future" — do these words convey to the mind of the old traveller! Not to your "globe-trotter," type of modern hurrying progress and of fierce unrest, has the phrase perchance so promising a suggestiveness as to your more easy-going wayfarer, who, when he finds a country "new and strange," straightway settles down therein, observing men and manners, following field sports, studying social life, till he becomes quite at home amid his quaint surroundings.

I had longed to look on Oriental barbarism ; to squat crosslegged and smoke the chibouk of friendship with the turbaned Muslim; to live for awhile in some land where postmen, taxgatherers, and telegraph boys should " cease from troubling"— where railways and Hansom cabs should be replaced by camels and dromedaries—and, above all, where I could bask in almost perpetual sunshine, and be relieved for a restful space from all fear of bronchitis, rheumatism, and catarrh.

But Turkey seemed to me too hackneyed, too much overrun of Europeans; Persia too distant and expensive; and as to Algeria, had not an enthusiastic friend disgusted me by describing Algiers as a sort of "Paris by the Sea," a town of gas, glitter,


cafe's and boulevards, French manners and customs, with the quaint old picturesque Arab element mouldering away in the background ?

So, when an old chum and whilom fellow-traveller asked me to go with him to Mogador, the southernmost port of the dear disreputable old Moorish Empire yet open to Europeans, I jumped at the idea eagerly as leaps the speckled trout at the gauzy-winged Mayfly ; and right glad was I to find myself, one chilly March morning, on board the good little screw steamer "West" in St. Katharine's Docks, with a ticket for Mogador, and a plethora of luggage which indicated my intention of settling down there, if the local lotus, or whatever might prove to be its Moorish substitute, should agree with my mental and physical organisation.

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