Being much puzzled as to what he meant, I took it out of the envelope and read as follows (as nearly as I can remember):-- "DEAR MR. WARD, "Mind when presenting the letter of introduction to Mr. White you make out that you are an intimate friend of mine, and be careful in speaking of me to call me by my Christian name, Maughan, pronounced like Vaughan. He is a good chap and will be useful to you, especially if he thinks you are a great pal of mine," etc....! Imagine my feelings, which were indescribable; with awkward apologies I beat a hasty retreat. Afterwards I had the face to send Mr. White the right letter, the result being that while I was sketching in the market-place next morning, he politely came up to me, and later on I received an invitation to dine at his house, so all ended well. Having made a "_faux-pas_," there was nothing now left but to forget it, so, under the guidance of new acquaintances, I sallied forth in pursuit of pastures new. The Socco or market-place first of all appealed to me as a subject for my water-colour brush, and from the hill (taking it all in) I made my first sketch which, on my return home, Sargent happened to see and complimented me upon. The picturesque groups of women in strange straw hats, and the Moors in their Jhelabs, the camels, snake-charmers, and the ebony-coloured men from Timbuctoo, were all something to feast one's eyes upon. Again, the occasional saint (mad-man) and the strings of blind beggars were a novelty to the stranger's eye. In the town, what struck me first was the persistent way in which these blind people followed one about in pursuit of coppers; many of them I was told had their eyes simmered for some quite paltry offence and in consequence were doomed for life. An occasional leper, too, one came across, but he was despicable beyond description in the eyes of his fellow-creatures. Becoming by degrees used to the first impressions, and beginning to generalise on the surroundings, the desire came upon me to see something of the country, and for this purpose the hiring of a barb or mule was indispensable. Mr. Harris (_The Times_ correspondent) and my doctor friend were extremely kind in showing me round at first, and with their aid and advice I soon got to know my way about. The latter escorted me in the evenings to the different haunts of vice, the Kieffe dens, where men were lying sometimes unconscious from excessive abuse of the drug (which was smoked in a small pipe), or to a rather low Spanish music hall of a not refined or elevating character; and to while away the time, I learnt to know how these people enjoyed their leisure hours.