are
fed and clothed and housed by a convenient system of religious taxation,
and large presents are made them, while after death their tombs become
objects of visit to all devout Mohammedans.

A holy Shar[=i]f generally rides a horse, and he dresses in white, with a
blue cloth cloak, or else a white woollen over-garment. He wears a pair
of yellow slippers, or perhaps riding-boots, called _temag_, buttoned all
up the back with green silk buttons, and embroidered down the side with
silk and silver thread. A scarlet fez and a white turban complete him.

Shar[=i]fs never shave under the chin, since the days when a certain
sultan was being shaved thus by a barber who had it in his mind to cut
the royal throat. But a little boy passing saw the evil design in the
barber's eye. With great presence of mind he rushed into the shop, crying
to the Sultan, "O Most Holy One! the Great Mosque has fallen down!" Both
sultan and barber leapt up and rushed out: the boy explained matters to
the sultan, and the barber was killed.

But neither Shar[=i]f nor missionary-doctor had we any hope of meeting at
Mogador, able and willing to travel into the Atlas Mountains with us. We
started with plenty of chances open in front, but with nothing certain
whereon to rely. Telegraph station and all such vanities were left behind
us at Tangier: letters could not reach us till we ourselves reached
Morocco City, ten or twelve days being the time they would take to arrive
there from Tangier. Our agents--Cook & Son--in the latter place, had
instructions to open all wires, and in an urgent case to forward to us by
a _rekass_ (a runner), who might do the distance in as short a time as
seven or eight days. A wire sent thus, by a rekass, might cost three or
four pounds, according to the time the man took: the faster he did the
journey, the more he should be paid.

In spite of its hotels Tangier does not possess a single shop where
English newspapers or books can be bought. Our literature had by this
time reached a low ebb; and on board the Hungarian boat, at a time when
one generally reads omnivorously because there is nothing else to do, we
had but a couple of standard books to fall back upon--a history of the
country was one, the other a volume of Lecky. The history was fairly
committed to heart before travelling days were done.

On the whole, when at last we got off in the little Hungarian steamer,
she did not leave much to be desired. For three days we