I was received as an old friend by the Shereef, in whose house I once lived for eight months, and was present at the afternoon court, at which, being the _Eid el Kebir_, or great feast, all the Shereefs were present, together with the principal men of the town. The scene was a most picturesque one: the gaily decorated room, leading by an arcade of Moorish arches into a garden, one mass of flowering-shrubs, amongst which a fountain played with soft gurgling sound—the large group of Shereefs in holiday attire of soft white wool and silk, the great silver trays and incense-burners, and long-necked scent-bottles,—all formed an ideal picture of oriental life. The one topic of conversation was what had taken place, the Sultan’s death, and the accession of Mulai Abdul Aziz. It was, in fact, a sort of council of war or peace—happily the latter; and as we drank green tea, flavoured with mint and verbena, out of delicate little cups, the Shereef made his public declaration of adherence to Mulai Abdul Aziz,—a few words uttered in the expressionless way that Moors of high degree affect, words simple in themselves, but meaning perhaps his life and his throne to Mulai Abdul Aziz. Throughout the whole crisis the action of the Shereefs of Wazan is highly to be commended. Their every endeavour was to ensure peace and tranquillity, and in this the Moorish Government owes a debt that it will be difficult ever to pay to Mulai el Arbi and his brother Mulai Mohammed. This is not the place to talk of the charms of Wazan, but as I left the little city, nestled in groves of olives and oranges, early the next morning, it was with a feeling of regret that I could not stay longer; but I wanted to be in Fez. If anything occurred, it would be there. So I pushed on with my journey, and after a thirteen hours’ ride under a hot sun, put up for the night at a village overlooking the river Sebu. Here bad news met us: the neighbouring tribes of Mjat, who are Berbers, Hejawa, and Sherarda, were up in arms, with the intention of taking advantage of the opportunity to wipe out old scores. Already a small skirmish had taken place, and the morrow threatened to dawn with further fighting, which would entirely block the road to Fez, and also the road I had passed over the day before from Wazan. At daybreak armed bands of horsemen could be seen scouring the country, and it was not until the afternoon that we learned that the three tribes in question had met and decided to postpone any hostilities until after the harvest had been gathered in. I set out at once, and the following day before noon reached Fez in safety. So insecure were the roads reported to be, that we met not a single caravan _en route_, with the exception of one, whose camel-drivers appeared to be very much more afraid of us three horsemen than we were of them. At eleven we entered Fez—myself, a Shereef who had accompanied me, and my native servant.