Like all else in the Sahara, the oases suffer a perpetual onslaught of sand, which fills their gardens, their streets, and their homes; often banking up like drifts of snow against the dwellings, or forming in eddies and pools where the sweep of the wind circles a bend. Outside some oases sand is banked in huge dunes, which have to be continually fought against by the inhabitants, or they would engulf all. The predominance of sand everywhere does not add to cleanliness. One of the most pleasant experiences that one can have in the Sahara is to come suddenly, without any forewarning from the character of the country, upon a place of human habitation after long weeks in barren wastes. The joy of the society of mankind is great, and the chatter of people about their homes contains a quality of comfort that is akin to home. The scattered oases in the Sahara are as ports to those who roam the highways of the ocean. And in that there is one startling revelation in the fact that, like most big harbours of civilisation, the chief oases have their underworld of vice and wickedness. And this is entirely a custom of the Sahara; which, once again, points strongly to its resemblance to the sea, for I have never known like habits to prevail anywhere among the populated regions of the Sudan. Bilma, which is a notable port in the land, might be taken as an instance, since the reputation of the _Oulad Nails_, in the Northern Sahara, is already widely known. [Illustration: A DATE GROVE OF AN OASIS] We find there a powerful and openly recognised guild, with a chief woman at its head, known by the name _Diarabba_. It has been in existence so long as the Beri-Beri and Tebu natives of the oasis can remember. The cold-eyed, gaudily ornamented women of the Guild—and most of the women of Bilma belong to it—perform an extraordinary dance which is only crudely graceful, yet picturesque because of the peculiarly shaped, coloured plume-like palm-fans, which each dancer waves in rhythm with the tom-tom music. They dance in a line before the musicians, moving their feet in accurate time and swaying to right and to left. The dance waxes faster and faster, while the men of the caravans look on. At last one of the musicians drops his drum and runs forward to seize one of the women, whom he lifts bodily in his arms, and carries to place on a rug on the sand, the while the others continue to dance. The “belle” that has been chosen remains still, crouched upon the ground, while, one by one, men in the crowd who court her favour go forward and place money or other gifts on her head. One shudders and turns away; the barbarism of the East is not dead—yet neither is religion nor quaint superstition. I walked outside the north walls of the town, seeking the pure open air. A solitary tomb loomed in my path. I inquired its history and was told: