But as he advances in years, the Arab becomes more sedate. Every white hair in his beard leads him to thoughts of a religious nature. He more and more frequents the society of the men of Allah, and loads them with gifts; and more and more rarely he is seen at the chace, at wedding feasts, and the fantasia. His occupations as a chief leave him, besides, much less idle time. He has to administer justice, increase his means, bring up his children, and contract alliances. Nevertheless, the chivalrous spirit of his youth is only slumbering within him. Let the powder speak to redress an insult offered to his tribe, he will not be the one to remain in his tent. Too happy, he will say, to die like a man in battle, and not like an old woman. Some great families loudly boast that there is no tradition of any one of their ancestors having died in his bed. If, however, he escapes that coveted end, as soon as he feels the hand of death upon him, he summons his friends to his bed-side, for the presence of friends is desired at all the great acts of human existence. "My brethren," he will say to them if he be able to speak, "I shall never see you again in this world; but I was only a pilgrim upon the earth, and I die in the fear of Allah." He will then recite the _shehada_, or symbolical act of the Mussulman faith: "There is only one God, and Mohammed is the messenger of God." If his lips refuse to pronounce these sacred words, one of those present takes his right hand and lifts up the forefinger. This sign, to which the dying man adheres with all the energy still remaining in his earthly tenement, is a testimony offered to the unity of the Deity. After he has accomplished the _shehada_, he can die in peace. Funeral ceremonies are not wanting to the Arab chief, especially to a warrior who has fallen in combating for his tribe. He is wrapped in a white shroud, and exposed to view on a carpet, the borders of which have been turned back. The _neddabat_, that is to say, the women who in the East replace the hired mourners of antiquity, stand round the corpse, their cheeks blackened with smoke, and their shoulders covered with tent-canvass, or with camel-hair sacks. A few paces off, a slave holds by the bridle the favourite mare of the deceased, and from the _kerbouss_ of the saddle hang a long gun, a yatagan, pistols, and spurs. A little further off, the horsemen of the tribe, old and young, in silent sorrow, sit in a circle upon the sand, their _haiks_ held up close to their eyes and the hood of their burnous brought down over their brow. The _neddabat_ chaunt to a melancholy rhythm the following lamentations: Where is he? His horse has come, but he has not come; His sabre has come, but he has not come; His spurs are there, but he is not there; Where is he?