“In half an hour about twenty of these birds of prey, of an unusually large size, were brought, accompanied by several Dreeds, expert in hawking. Smeeda,—who is rather a short, but very corpulent man, with a handsome face, ornamented by a fine black, neatly-trimmed beard, and most penetrating dark eyes,—was this day mounted on a beautiful white horse, decked out with the same saddle and trappings his grey horse exhibited the day before. The dress of the rider was elegant and rich in the extreme. As soon as he had protected his hands from the talons by gauntlets, partly covered with plates of gold, a hawk was handed to him by one of his attendants. He undid the hood which confined the head of the bird, and prevented his quick eye from beholding the objects around. In an instant the hawk was seen soaring up to the sky. Another and another followed, and in this manner about twelve or fifteen were despatched. A few seconds elapsed, when one after the other pounced upon his prey. Hares and rabbits, partridges and other birds, were thus secured in abundance. The servants were busily engaged running in all directions to secure both the hawks and the prey,—the former, in order to adjust their hoods for a short time previous to being despatched again; and the latter, ‘to cut the throat’ before life is extinct, so as to render them lawful food for the _true believer_.” In connection with this love of the chase, we must mention an incident which occurred as the expedition was approaching Cairwan, and which shows how little prevalent is any rule but the “law of the strongest” in those quarters, and how naturally men take to deceit as a refuge against lawless force. Mr Davis and some others of the party came to half-a-dozen Arab tents, where, to their great surprise, a general stillness and gloom prevailed. The men and children sat on the ground with an air of profoundest melancholy; whilst the women, usually so active, were resting from their labours, and exhibiting grief by floods of tears. “‘What has happened, Ali, that you are all so much cast down?’ asked one of our party, addressing an old man. ‘Such is the will of God,’ was the only reply. ‘But what has happened, Ali?’ ‘_Maktoob_,—it is so preordained!’ answered the old man, shaking his head, and clasping his hands. ‘Has any one died?’ To this he only replied with a sigh, and pointed us to the interior of his tent. But instead of participating in his grief, my friend abruptly asked him,—Where is the _sloghi_ (greyhound) of last year?’ ‘How can you put such a question to me, when you witness my grief and distress?’ ‘Who, then, is dead?’ pursued my inquisitive companion. ‘My wife!’ replied the old Arab, again pointing us to the interior of the tent, where apparently she lay, covered with a kind of blanket. ‘But what have you done with _the lovely_ (greyhound)?’