On one occasion we embarked in a goufa, and floated down the rapidly flowing river, keeping close to the left bank and taking advantage of every eddy and corner of slack water made by projecting buildings, lest we should be swept down too far and lose control of our curious and difficult craft.  The level of the water was far above the usual height and came up to the very thresholds of these riverside houses.  We floated on, sometimes under the walls of dark gardens, sometimes getting glimpses of interiors—­interiors which in this glamour of night romance suggested something of the splendour of Baghdad’s old glory:—­

  “By garden porches on the brim,
   The costly doors flung open wide,
   Gold glittering through lamplight dim.”

We landed by the Maude bridge and explored further afield, finding “high-walled gardens” where we beheld

  “All round about the fragrant marge,
   From fluted vase and brazen urn,
   In order, Eastern flowers large.”

By day, Baghdad is not so impressive.  Too much squalor is apparent.  Yet there are quaint street scenes.

Ancient windows, overhanging the street in one quarter, reminded me strongly of pictures of old London.  The feature that I could not help noticing, not only in Baghdad but in all Mesopotamia, was the absence of local colour.  It is true that the sun gives a blazing and confused suggestion of colour to objects by contrast with bluish shadows, especially in the evening, but there is often very little colour in things themselves.  The East is supposed to be full of blazing colour and the North gray and drab.  Yet compare a barge in Rotterdam or Rochester with one in Baghdad.  The former is picked out in green and gold and glows with rich, red sails, while the latter, for all its sunshine, is the colour of ashes—­not a vestige often of paint or gilding.  Some mahailas I found with traces of rich colouring, blue and yellow (see sketch facing page 34), but this was exceptional.  Perhaps the scarcity of paint during years of war may have had something to do with this noticeable absence of colouring in regard to both houses and boats.  In spite of this slovenliness in detail there is colour and light in all recollections of Baghdad’s dusty streets.

Somehow the discomfort and squalor is soon forgotten and the romance and picturesqueness of these far-off streets remains as a very pleasant memory amidst the winter fogs and coldness of our northern lands.

[Illustration:  Showing the simplicity of Mesopotamian domestic architecture.  Tigris.]

VII

IN OLD BAGHDAD

[Illustration:  BAGHDAD]

[Illustration:  “Puffing Billy in Bagdad.”]

IN OLD BAGHDAD