Failing to see any apes, we retired to the tent ere the sun waxed hot, in anticipation of a terrible day. Nor were we far wrong. In addition to the heat, we had swarms of flies, and the blood-stained earth began to reek with noisome vapours. Nought moved in the air except kites and vultures, speckling the deep blue sky: the denizens of earth seemed paralysed by the fire from above. I spent the time between breakfast and nightfall lying half-dressed upon a mat, moving round the tent-pole to escape the glare, and watching my numerous neighbours, male and female. The Indians were particularly kind, filling my pipe, offering cooled water, and performing similar little offices. I repaid them with a supply of provisions, [p.222] which, at the Muna market-prices, these unfortunates could ill afford. When the moon arose the boy Mohammed and I walked out into the town, performed our second lapidation,[FN#4] and visited the coffee-houses. The shops were closed early, but business was transacted in places of public resort till midnight. We entered the houses of numerous acquaintances, who accosted my companion, and were hospitably welcomed with pipes and coffee. The first question always was, “Who is this pilgrim?” and more than once the reply, “An Afghan,” elicited the language of my own country, which I could no longer speak. Of this phenomenon, however, nothing was thought: many Afghans settled in India know not a word of Pushtu, and even above the Passes many of the townspeople are imperfectly [p.223] acquainted with it. The Meccans in consequence of their extensive intercourse with strangers and habits of travelling, are admirable conversational linguists. They speak Arabic remarkably well, and with a volubility surpassing the most lively of our continental nations. Persian, Turkish, and Hindustani are generally known: and the Mutawwifs, who devote themselves to various races of pilgrims, soon become masters of many languages. Returning homewards, we were called to a spot by the clapping of hands[FN#5] and the loud sound of song. We found a crowd of Badawin surrounding a group engaged in their favourite occupation of dancing. The performance is wild in the extreme, resembling rather the hopping of bears than the inspirations of Terpischore. The bystanders joined in the song; an interminable recitative, as usual, in the minor key, and—Orientals are admirable timists—it sounded like one voice. The refrain appeared to be— “La Yayha! La Yayha!” to which no one could assign a meaning. At other times they sang something intelligible. For instance:— [Arabic] That is to say,— “On the Great Festival-day at Muna I saw my lord. I am a stranger amongst you, therefore pity me!” This couplet may have, like the puerilities of certain modern and European poets, an abstruse and mystical