My companion of Tadgemout took us to visit his uncle, the Caïd of Aïn Mahdi, who again plied us with tea; from there we progressed to the house of another _marabout_, and so on until we were so saturated in mint and tea and coffee that we could hardly walk, and we had practically no time to visit the looms where they weave the famous blue and red carpets of the Djebel Amour. However, the day was drawing on, and we had to think of returning to Kourdane, so, accompanied by a host of _marabouts_ of all ages we reached our car, where the accolades and hugs rebegan. One felt as if one had stepped right back hundreds and hundreds of years into some scene of the past, and indeed it might have been so, for the life of these people has not changed in the least degree since the days of the foundation of the city, when King Harold sat on the throne of Britain and William the Conqueror cast longing glances across the channel. Armor, trunk-hose, laces, curls, ruffles, knee-breeches, pantaloons, tall hats, have come into fashion and disappeared in England since those days, but to the children of Aïn Mahdi it has never occurred to dress otherwise than in a _gandourah_ and burnous, and I don’t suppose that it ever will. When we left the gates of the city the wind had dropped, but the sand still hung like a great pall over the land, just as when a dust is raised in a room it hangs in the air for some time before settling. Our visit was almost over, and next morning we took leave of our hospitable little host, and returned to Laghouat, realizing that we had had an experience which would last long in our minds. 4. _A Day’s Fishing in Southern Algeria_ Jelloul ben Lahkdar, _bash agha_ of the Larba tribe about the oasis of Laghouat, is a man with the presence of an emperor, and when I meet him I feel that I ought to kneel down and kiss his hand. I do not do this, however, partly because it would be misconstrued, and partly because the _bash agha_ is a charming old gentleman with a sense of humor, and one whose soul is simplicity itself. He is rather a tyrant with the younger members of his family, and I know that they are very frightened of him, and that they are like young schoolboys when he is with them. However, this does not prevent his being a very entertaining companion, and though he rarely maintains a lengthy conversation, what he says is wise and to the point. When I met him, therefore, in Chellala, a little market-town nestling among the hills some two hundred miles north of the Sahara, I was delighted. “Why, what are you doing here, _bash agha_?” I exclaimed, after we had passed through the lengthy Arab greeting which is very poetical but rather tedious in the long run. “I have taken up my summer quarters with the Caïd Ali, my cousin,” he replied. “And you, my friend?” “Oh, I’ve just come up for the sheep-market.” “You dine with us to-night,” he went on, “you will taste some fish.”