Sunday, 19th Feb.
“How strange it seems to write a line to London from this London of 2,000 years ago! The sea breaks at my feet, blue as a turquoise here, but, beyond, a sheet of marvellous pale green, exquisite beyond words. To the right are the inland waters where the Carthaginian galleys found haven: above, to the right, was the temple of Baal: right above, the temple of Tanit, the famous Astarte, otherwise “The Abomination of the Sidonians.” Where the Carthaginians lived in magnificent luxury, a little out of the city itself, is now the Arab town of Sidi-ban-Saïd—like a huge magnolia-bloom on the sunswept hillside. There is nothing of the life of to-day visible, save a white-robed Bedouin herding goats and camels, and, on the sea, a few felucca-rigged fisherboats making for distant Tunis by the Strait of Goletta. But there is life and movement in the play of the wind among the grasses and lentisks, in the hum of insects, in the whisper of the warm earth, in the glow of the burning sunshine that floods downward from a sky of glorious blue. Carthage—I can hardly believe it. What ivresse of the mind the word creates!”
The following letter was received shortly after our return:
19 St. Mary Abbotts Terrace, W.,
7th March, 1893.
My dear Sharp,
I did not reply to your kind letter because I could not divest myself of a certain suspicion of the postal arrangements of the desert. I admit however there was little warrant for misgiving since they are evidently civilised enough to keep the natives well supplied with copies of The Island. The thought of the studious Sheik painfully spelling out that work with the help of his lexicon is simply fascinating, and I have made up my mind to read The Arabian Nights in the original by way of returning the compliment. But if I talk any more about myself I shall forget the immediate purpose of this letter which is to ask if you and Mrs. Sharp are back again; and, if you are, how and when we may see you. I think this was about the date of your promised return. We shall all be delighted to see you and to hear about your journey. You are more than ever Children of To-morrow in my esteem, to be able not only to dare such trips but to do them. When I read your letter I felt more than ever a child of yesterday. Do write and give us a chance of seeing you as soon as you can.
Ever yours,
R. Whiteing.
Mr. Whiteing was one of the many friends who came to our cottage for week-end visits in the ensuing spring and summer. Among others whom we welcomed were Mrs. Mona Caird, Miss Alice Corkran, Mr. George Cotterell, Mr. and Mrs. Le Gallienne, the Honble Roden Noel, Mr. Percy White, Dr. Byres Moir, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Rinder, Mr. R. A. Streatfield, Mr. Laurence Binyon, my brother R. Farquharson Sharp, and my sister-in-law Mary, or Marik, who for many years acted as my husband’s secretary and whose handwriting became familiar to many correspondents who afterwards received letters in handwriting from Fiona Macleod.