The Kiswah is now worked at a cotton manufactory called Al-Khurunfish, of the Tumn Bab al-Sha’ariyah, Cairo. It is made by a hereditary family, called the Bayt al-Sadi, and, as the specimen in my possession proves, it is a coarse tissue of silk and cotton mixed. The Kiswah is composed of eight pieces—two for each face of the Ka’abah—the seams being concealed by the Hizam, a broad band, which at a distance looks like gold; it is lined with white calico, and is supplied with cotton ropes. Anciently it is said all the Koran was interwoven into it. Now, it is inscribed “Verily, the First of Houses founded for Mankind (to worship in) is that at Bekkah[FN#35]; blessed and a Direction to all Creatures”; together with seven chapters, namely, the Cave, Mariam, the Family of Amran, Repentance, T.H. with Y.S. and Tabarak. The character is that called Tumar, the largest style of Eastern calligraphy, legible from a considerable distance.[FN#36] The Hizam is a band about two feet broad, and surrounding the Ka’abah at two-thirds of its height. It is divided into four pieces, which are sewn together. On the first and second is inscribed the “Throne verslet,” and on the third and fourth the titles of the reigning Sultan. These inscriptions are, like the Burka, or door curtain, gold worked into red silk, by the Bayt al-Sadi. When the Kiswah is ready at Khurunfish, it is carried in [p.216] procession to the Mosque Al-Hasanayn, where it is lined, sewn, and prepared for the journey.[FN#37] After quitting the Ka’abah, I returned home exhausted, and washed with henna and warm water, to mitigate the pain of the sun-scalds upon my arms, shoulders, and breast. The house was empty, all the Turkish pilgrims being still at Muna; and the Kabirah—the old lady—received me with peculiar attention. I was ushered into an upper room, whose teak wainscotings, covered with Cufic and other inscriptions, large carpets, and ample Diwans, still showed a sort of ragged splendour. The family had “seen better days,” the Sharif Ghalib having confiscated three of its houses; but it is still proud, and cannot merge the past into the present. In the “drawing-room,” which the Turkish colonel occupied when at Meccah, the Kabirah supplied me with a pipe, coffee, cold water, and breakfast. I won her heart by praising the graceless boy Mohammed; like all mothers, she dearly loved the scamp of the family. When he entered, and saw his maternal parent standing near me, with only the end of her veil drawn over her mouth, he began to scold her with divers insinuations. “Soon thou wilt sit amongst the men in the hall!” he exclaimed. “O, my son,” rejoined the Kabirah, “fear Allah: thy mother is in years!”—and truly she was so, being at least fifty. “A-a-h” sneered the youth, who had formed, as boys of the world must do, or appear to do, a very low estimate of the sex. The old lady understood the drift of the exclamation, and departed with a half-laughing “May Allah disappoint thee!”