It was the day before Ashera, the great day of Moharram, and the whole town was in funereal excitement. All shops were closed. Shiah were preparing for the great mourning, and Sunni sought a safe place away from the street. As soon as I came the local governor sent word that I must not leave the khan under any circumstances, nor venture in the street, as he would not be responsible for Shiah violence. I remained indoors, therefore, until the following day, and saw from the window the confusion of the night of Ashera, the tramp of a mob, the beating of breasts, the wailing of women, the bloody banners, and mock-martyr scenes, the rhythmic howling and cries of “Ya Ali! ya Hassan! ya Hussein!” until throats were hoarse and hands hung heavy for a moment, only to go at it again. A pandemonium, as of Baal’s prophets on Carmel, before the deaf and dumb God of Islam,—monotheistic only in its book. “There is no god but God,” and yet to the Shiah devotees of Moharram, “He is not in all their thoughts.” The martyr caliphs of Nejf are their salvation and their hope, the Houris’ lap. [Illustration: A PUBLIC KHAN IN TURKISH-ARABIA.] Between Samawa and Nasariya, the next important town, we passed the villages: Zahara, El Kidr, Derj Kalat, (where there is a Turkish Mudir and a telegraph station on the Hillah-Busrah wire) Luptika, El Ain, Abu Tabr and El Assaniyeh. The river begins to broaden below Samawa, and its banks are beautiful with palms and willows. We were again delayed at a toll-bridge; there must be taxes everywhere in Turkey, on ships and on fishermen, on boats and on bridges, on tobacco and on salt; but this taxing of the same cargo at every river port is peculiar. [Illustration: ARAB PILGRIMS ON BOARD A RIVER STEAMER.] Nasariya is a comparatively modern town and better built than any on the Euphrates river. Its bazaar is large and wide, and the government-houses are imposing for Arabdom. A small gunboat lies near the landing, and this floating tub, with its soldier guard and bugle-call, represents the only civilization that has yet come to the Euphrates valley, and is a thing of wonder to the Arabs. Opposite Nasariya are two large walled enclosures, wheat granaries protected from Arab robbers. Three hours west are the ruins of Mugheir—Ur of the Chaldees. Our meheleh sailed down the river before daylight and five hours later came to Suk el Shiukh, “the bazaar of old men.” Abd el Fattah, in whose Persian kahwah we found a place, is a cosmopolitan. He had seen “Franjees” before, had been to Bombay, Aden and Jiddah, knew something of books, a little less of the gospel, and spoke two English words, of which he was very proud, “Stop her” and “Send a geri.” He was a model innkeeper, and had it not been for his tea and talk, the three days of stifling heat under a mat-roof would have been less tolerable.