as they advanced, fearful for themselves
and their property. Their two guides and
camel-drivers were of the tribe of Beni-Hart,
which has kept its blood pure for thirteen
centuries. They are small chocolate-coloured
beings, stunted and thin, with mops of coarse
bristly hair, burned brown by the sun,
shaggy beards, vicious eyes, frowning
brows, screaming voices, well-made, fleshless
limbs clad in ragged shirts, indigo-dyed, with
kerchiefs twisted round their heads, and
sandals on their feet, armed one with a
matchlock and a sabre in a leathern
scabbard, the other with a quarter-staff, and
the Arab's invariable companion, a dagger.
These ragged fellows would eat with the
traveller and ask for more, but were too
proud to work; no promise of backhshish
would induce them to assist even in pitching
a tent. With the pilgrim party also
marched about two hundred camels carrying
grain, with an escort of seven irregular
Turkish cavalry.

When, after many rumours, the pilgrims,
swollen by other parties, had marched into
the Pilgrims' Pass—an ill-famed gorge—
thin blue curls of smoke rose from a high
precipitous cliff on the left, and instantly
the loud sharp cracks of the hillmen's rifles
rang in the air. In the ensuing fusillade five
of the Albanian escort were killed, beside
camels and beasts of burden, while the robbers,
snugly sheltered behind breastworks on
the cliffs, were safe and unassailable. With
this loss the caravan scrambled through the
pass.

At length, after ten days and nights of toil and
drought, they passed a dry valley celebrated
by Arab poets for its greenness, climbed a
flight of steps roughly cut in scoriaceous
basalt, and a full view of El-Medinah opened
before them. "We halted our beasts as if by word
of command. All of us alighted, jaded and
hungry as we were, to feast our eyes with a view
of the Holy City, crying, 'O, Allah! this is the
sanctuary of the Prophet; make it a protection
from hell-fire and a refuge from eternal punishment!
O, open the gates of thy mercy, and
let us pass through them to the land of joy.'
And again: 'Live for ever, O most excellent
of Prophets! live in the shadow of happiness
during the hours of night and the times of
day, whilst the bird of the tamarisk moaneth
like the childless mother, whilst the west
wind bloweth gently over the hills of Nejd,
and the lightning flasheth bright over the
firmament of El-Hejaz.'"

After a few minutes' rest the pilgrims
remounted; and, as they proceeded towards the
city, they found that the way was crowded
with an eager multitude coming out to meet
the caravan. The men of El-Medinah preferred
walking, for the better convenience of kissing,
embracing, and shaking hands with relatives
and friends. An old lady's younger son wept
aloud for joy as he ran round his mother's
camel, he standing on tiptoe, she bending
double in vain attempts to exchange a kiss.
Friends and comrades greeted each other,
regardless of rank or fortune, with affectionate
embraces and gestures, which neither party
seemed to think of answering. Inferiors
saluted superiors by attempting to kiss hands
which were violently snatched away, while
mere acquaintances cordially shook hands,
and then raising the finger-tips to their lips,
kissed them with apparent relish. Our dervish
proceeded down a broad,dusty street, past many
ruinous houses, over a bridge composed of a
single arch of roughly-hewn stones, spanning
the bed of a torrent, and so on to the residence
of Shaykh Hammid; to whom, with wise
foresight, he had lent five pounds at Suez. The
shaykh had gone on early in the morning to
prepare for making a guest of his creditor,
and to receive the shrill cries and congratulations
of his mother and wife; which it is
not etiquette for a stranger to hear. After the
camels had knelt at his door for full five minutes
Hammid came out, but perfectly metamorphosed
from the ragged wretch of Suez.
Shaved and bathed, a muslin turban of goodly
size bound round an embroidered cap fitting
close to his smooth poll; his moustachios
and beard neatly trimmed; the dirty, torn,
rope-bound shirt exchanged for a jubbah, or
outer cloak of light pink merino; a long-
sleeved caftan of rich flowered stuff; a fine
shirt; a plaid-pattern silk sash wound round
his body; pantaloons of striped silk; his
bare, sunburnt feet, thoroughly purified,
encased in tight Cordovan socks and
Constantinople papooshes of bright lemon colour.
In one of his now delicate hands, the shaykh
bore a mother-of-pearl rosary—a token of
his piety; in the other, a handsome pipe,
with jasmine stick and amber mouth-piece.
From his waist dangled a tobacco-pouch—
from the bosom of his coat his purse, both
of broadcloth, richly embroidered with gold.
With his dress, the manners of the shaykh
had changed from the vulgar and boisterous
to staid courtesy. He took his guest's hand,
never dreaming that he was thus honouring
an infidel Giaour, led him to the place of
sitting, which was swept and garnished for
receiving company.

Behind followed the impudent Mohammed,
in his rags, thoroughly ashamed at
finding himself in such genteel company, and
who, most unhappy, squeezed himself into a
corner. The pipe stood ready filled, the
divans spread, and the coffee was boiling on
a brazier in the passage, ready for the friends
expected to call on the traveller to welcome
his return. Scarcely had Abdullah Effendi
taken his place on the best seat in the room
at the cool window-sill, when guests poured
in, and the shaykh rose to welcome and
embrace them. "They sat down, smoked, chatted
politics, asked questions, drank coffee; and,
after half-an-hour's visit, rose abruptly, and,
exchanging embraces once more, departed. To
the strangers, succeeded a swarm of children,