of the sun's rays, the perspiration and dust,
are the cause of many ophthalmic complaints,
and blind and one-eyed people are numerous
in many localities of the Desert. The veritable
grand seigneur, the chief of importance,
rarely quits the saddle, and scarcely ever
goes on foot; he wears boots and clumsy
shoes. The man of the common people is an
indefatigable pedestrian; in a day's journey
he will traverse incredible distances. His
ordinary pace is the gymnastic step; he styles
it himself the dog's trot. Generally, in a flat
country, he takes off his shoes, in order to
go more quickly and conveniently: also to
spare them; consequently, all such individuals
have the feet of antique statues, broad, well-
planted on the ground, and with the great
toe well set apart. Corns are unknown to
them; and more than once, a Christian who
had joined a caravan on pretence of being an
Arab, has been expelled from it, betrayed by
this infallible sign. The soles of an Arab's
feet acquire such a degree of hardness as
to resist all injury from sand or stones; a
thorn will sometimes penetrate the horny
skin without their being aware of it.

Notwithstanding, in the Desert proper,
during the great heats of summer, the sand
acquires so high a temperature that to
walk barefoot is impossible, even for Arabs;
and they are obliged to shoe the horses also,
if they wish to avoid serious injury to their
hoofs. The fear of the lefâ, a species of viper
whose bite is mortal, likewise compels them
to wear slippers which reach above the ankle.
The most common foot complaints are the
cheggags, or cracks which are cured by anointing
the part and cauterising it with a red-hot
iron. Sometimes these cracks are so broad
and deep that they have to be sown up, which
is done with the sinews of the camel dried in
the sun and divided into threads as fine as
silk, or with camel's hair stretched to make
it thinner. All the dwellers in the Desert
employ these threads (which are called el-
aâgueb) to mend their saddles, their bridles,
and their wooden trenchers; everybody carries
about with him, by way of housewife, a bunch
of these threads, a knife, and a darning-needle.

Some Arabs turn their pedestrian powers
to good account as a profession; such are
the runners, the bearers of messages, who
gird themselves tightly with a runner's-
belt. Those called rekass undertake urgent
affairs. In four days they will perform a
journey which would take an ordinary
runner ten days to accomplish. They scarcely
ever stop; when they feel the want of
repose, they count sixty breaths, and then
start off again. A rekass who has run sixty
leagues, or a hundred and twenty miles, and
has been paid four francs or three shillings
and fourpence for his trouble, considers that
he has been handsomely rewarded. This
arises from the scarcity and value of coin, the
greater part of the necessaries of life being
procurable, without buying or selling, by
barter only. In the Desert, an extraordinary
courier travels night and day; only sleeping
two hours out of the four-and-twenty. When
he lies down, he ties to his foot a piece of
rope of a certain length, the end of which he
sets on fire. When the rope is on the point
of being completely consumed, the heat of the
burning hemp awakes him.

If a Saharian is, ever so little, in easy
circumstances, he does absolutely nothing. To
work would be a disgrace. He goes to
reunions, to meetings of the djemâa. He hunts,
rides about, inspects his flocks, and says his
prayers. His sole occupations are political,
warlike, or religious in their nature. To
plough, reap, or garden, is no business of
his; such ignoble pursuits belong to chicken-
breeders who live in ksours or fixed habitations.
In a great and grand tent, the labours
of the interior are confided to negro slaves,
who are cheap and numerous. The negresses
fetch wood and water, and prepare the meals.
The proverb says: He who has no negress,
and does not sleep on a bed, has a grudge
borne against him by Misery. In a tent of
moderate means, the work is left to the wives.
They have to milk the ewes and camels, with
the help of the herdsman, to make butter,
to grind corn, to saddle and unsaddle the
horse, to put on his horse-cloth, to give him
drink and barley, to hold the stirrup when
the lord and master gets on horseback or off.
They weave beds, cushions, baggage-sacks,
woollen stuffs dyed red, blue, and yellow;
the curtains which separate the men from
the women, camels' pack-saddles, bag-pipes,
wallets, horse-cloths, shackles, nets to keep
lambs from ewes whose milk is wanted,
ropes of wool, of camels' and goats' hair,
of palm-leaves, and of aâlfâ. They prepare
the goat-skins in which milk, butter, and
water are kept. They fabricate with clay,
pottery, drinking-vessels, ovens, and dishes
in which to cook bread, kouskoussou, and
meat. When the home is shifted, they
strike the tent, roll it in a bundle, and put it
on a camel's back. During the migration,
they walk on foot, often leading a mare with
a foal. They faggot the wood they find by the
way, and pick up grass for the night's
bivouac. On arriving at their destination,
they pitch the tents.

But the Saharian, who has neither wife
nor negress—who has nothing at all—is less
wretched than a wretch of the Tell. He goes
and serves some great family; he mends
sacks and harness; he roasts sheep; and,
when his holidays are longer than usual, he
roams from tent to tent, wherever there are
hosts to receive him, exchanging his services
for remnants of food. A Saharian Arab,
who thus depended on Providence, was asked
how he managed to live:

"He who created this mill," he replied,
showing his white teeth, "can easily supply
it with materials to grind."