s
incredulously,--and that for God's sake, in the name of Seyidna Aisa
("Our Lord Jesus"), which they appreciate at once with murmurs of
satisfaction, though they are not quite satisfied until they have
ascertained by further questioning that he receives no support from
his own or any other government. Hearing the name of Seyidna Aisa,
one of the group breaks out into "El hamdu l'Illah, el hamdu l'Illah"
("Praise be to God"), a snatch of a missionary hymn to a "Moody and
Sankey" tune, barely recognizable as he renders it. He has only been
here a fortnight, and disclaims all further knowledge of the hymn or
where he heard it.

Before another tent hard by sits a native barber, bleeding a youth
from a vein in the arm, for which the fee is about five farthings.
As one or two come round to look on, he remarks, in an off-hand
way--probably with a view to increasing his practice--that "all the
pilgrims are having this done; it's good for the internals."

As we turn round to pass between two of the tents to the row beyond,
our progress is stayed by a cord from the ridge of one to that of
another, on which are strung strips of what appear at first sight to
be leather, but on a closer inspection are found to be pieces of
meat, tripe, and apparently chitterlings, hung out to dry in a sun
temperature of from 90 deg. to 100 deg. Fahrenheit. Thus is prepared a staple
article of diet for winter consumption when fresh meat is dear, or for
use on journeys, and this is all the meat these pilgrims will taste
till they reach Mekka, or perhaps till they return. Big jars of it,
with the interstices filled up with butter, are stowed away in the
tents "among the stuff." It is called "khalia," and is much esteemed
for its tasty and reputed aphrodisiac qualities--two ideals in Morocco
cookery,--so that it commands a relatively good price in the market.

The inmates of the next tent we look into are a woman and two men,
lying down curled up asleep in their blankets, while a couple more of
the latter squat at the door. Having noticed our curious glances at
their khalia, they, with the expressive motion of the closed fist
which in native gesture-parlance signifies first-rate, endeavour
to impress us with a sense of its excellence, which we do not feel
inclined to dispute after all we have eaten on former occasions. This
brings us to inquire what else these wanderers provide for the journey
of thirteen or fourteen days one way. As bread is not to