Suddenly, around one of the sharp angles,—and I could not, until then, tell if it were near or far,suddenly a band of armed Arabs came riding towards us. They curvetted, and dashed, and caracoled upon spirited horses, leaping, and running, and prancing around imperturbable MacWhirter and El Shiraz, who plodded sublimely on. The Arabs came close to us, and greeted our men with endless kissings and salaams. They chatted and called aloud; their weapons flashed and rattled, their robes flowed in the wind, then suddenly like a cloud of birds they wheeled from us,

"Tirra, lirra! Tirra, lirra!

Sang Sir Lancelot !"

and away they sped over the horizon.

We plodded on. The eyes of Khadra smiled delight at the glittering party as it disappeared. The Armenian's little white mare paced toilingly through the loose sand. It was high noon, and advancing silently, we passed over the near horizon of the ridges and came upon a plain of hard sand. Not far away lay a town of white stone houses, and the square walls of a fort—and beyond them all, the lustrous line of the sea.

It was El Harish, on the edge of the desert. The boys and girls ran out and surrounded us with

staring curiosity. Some were running horses, some passed upon little donkeys, and others were unloading camels. Then came a swarthy-faced official in tattered garments. He demanded our passports, and to him, inly lamenting that "the shadow of God upon earth" had dwindled to such as this, we delivered them.

Under the crescent moon the camp was pitched. And under the crescent moon all Arabia was but a sea-beach. For unmitigated sand lay from the Mediterranean to the Euphrates.

The curious children flocked out of the town, and watched with profound attention, the ceremonies of infidel tea-making, and the dinner of unbelievers. The Muezzin called from the minaret, and the children left us to the sky, and the sand, and the sea.

The Mediterranean called to us through the darkness. The moonlight was so vague that the sea and the desert were blent. The world was sunk in mysterious haze. We were encamped, it seemed, on the very horizon, and looked off into blank space.

After the long silence of the desert, it was strange to hear the voice of the sea. It was Homer's sea, the only sea of romance and fame; over which Helen sailed, and the Argonauts-out of which

F

sailed Columbus. It was St. John's sea and Alexander's-Hadrian's and the Crusaders'. Upon its shore stood Carthage, and across its calm, the Syrens sang.

These fames and figures passed. But a poet's words remained.

"I love all waste

And solitary places, where we taste
The pleasure of believing what we see
Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be."

CHAPTER XIV.

MISHAP.

WE had crossed the desert. We had reached once more permanent human habitations, although we were yet far from cultivated land. There was no longer any especial danger of dying of thirst, or of suffocation in the fiery breath of the wilderness.

The sun rose over El Harish in a white mist. The wind blew steadily and warm, and it was a sultry day. To the west lay the sea, like a band of dense blue vapour; between the sea and the sky, into the east, as far as we could see, went the desert.

The old Shekh mounted his donkey and galloped away toward the town. We saw him no more. But I have no doubt his supply of tobacco from our stores was trebly abundant that morning; and I fancy him still praying and smoking in the mosque of El Harish, for I doubt if prayers of

lesser length could have entirely purified him from our infidel infection. Hamed, too, left us,—the sturdy, bright-eyed boy who had walked across the desert, tugging the caravan after him. We were all sorry to part with him; but I was grieved that he did not seem sorry to go.

The Armenian was detained by some difficulty with his camel-driver; and the German Moguls had preceded us. Our camels had gone for water, and it was late in the morning when we lost sight of the sea, and left El Harish. The country was a boundless, barren, rolling prairie, studded at intervals with bright blue, yellow, and white field flowers. Our way lay through a broad, shallow valley-a Wadee or water-course. The low hills on the sides were sandy and shrub-tufted, and in spots, scanty patches of grain trembled in the wind.

Suddenly another group of horsemen, imposing in numbers, and rattling and flashing, dashed forward from the horizon on the full run, and wheeled, and danced around us, so that we summoned the Commander to explain.

He answered, with great importance, that a Pacha of very remarkable tails was just in the rear, with his hareem and attendants; and that he was journeying from Damascus to Cairo, being no less a personage than the collector of revenues for "the