Here and there grazed the pretty humped cattle of Southern Arabia, tended by nude boys and girls, who shyly watched the Christian passing by on the back of his camel. And then the town—the great mud-built city of Howta, full of wild-looking Arabs, and dogs, and fever, the palace of the Sultan dominating the whole, and having the appearance that at any moment it might slide down, and crush the houses and huts and hovels around it. Under the guidance of my Bedouins we put up at a small native _café_, preferring to be at our ease rather than to have to enjoy the hospitality of the Sultan, to whom, thanks to Colonel Stace, the Political Resident at Aden, I bore letters of recommendation. We easily made an arrangement to reserve the entire accommodation of the _café_ to our personal use, and spreading the carpet and mattress, I settled in for an hour’s rest. The place in which we had taken up our quarters consisted of a yard enclosed in a high hedge of impenetrable thorns, forming a zareba. At one end was a large mud-brick room, thatched with rough matting, as was also a verandah in front of it. Besides this, the guest-chamber, there were one or two poor huts of mats in which quite a number of families seemed to exist. What with goats, and dogs, and fowls, and children, and fleas, the place was lively. A funny group we must have made, my men and I; but I had discarded my hat for a _tarboosh_, or fez cap, as less likely to attract attention in travelling. It is curious the part the hat plays between Moslems and Christians. Apparently to them it is the outward and visible sign of the infidel, for as soon as one has changed it for their own more simple head-gear their fanaticism diminishes to an incredible extent. Of all European clothing, the hat forms the greatest barrier to confidential intercourse between Arab and Christian, and one of the names in common use in North Africa for Europeans is “the fathers of hats.” We had not been very long ensconced in our new quarters when a gaudy creature came to call. Apparently, from the number of weapons he bore, he was a sort of armorial clothes-peg. In fact, his whole costume consisted more of swords and daggers than it did of clothing, while a long spear added to the general effect. His wavy hair hung on either side of his face in flowing curls, and his arms were encircled above the elbow with silver chains, bearing charms and boxes containing mystic writings. He shook hands as though he had known me all his life, and sat down with a crash of his weapons that reminded one of the fall of a coal-scuttle. Coffee was soon prepared, and the hubble-bubble, murmuring away in a corner in the possession of Saïd, who had already changed his clothes and brushed out his curly locks, was handed from mouth to mouth. After a while my guest announced that he had been sent by his lord and master, the Sultan, to wish me welcome, and invited me to proceed at once to the palace.