If you speak of horses to a _djieud_, the noble of the tent, who still plumes himself on his ancestors having fought with ours in Palestine, he will tell you: The mounting of horses, The letting slip greyhounds from the leash, And the clinking of ear-rings, Draw the maggots out of your head. If your interlocutor is one of those horsemen (_mekhazeni_) whose bronzed face, pepper-and-salt beard, and prominent exostosis[5] on the tibia announce that he has gone through many adventures, he will say to you: Horses for a quarrel, Camels for the desert, And oxen for poverty. Or he will remind you that when the Prophet was engaged in expeditions, in order to induce the Arabs to tend their horses properly, he always gave two-thirds of the prize to whomsoever had accompanied him on the best horse. The voluptuous Thaleb, man of God for the world who lives in contemplative idleness, without any other occupation than that of writing talismans and making amulets for all men and women who want them, will repeat to you with his eyes on the ground: The paradise of earth is to be found on horseback, In the study of books, Or on the bosom of a woman, he will add if no prudish ears are at hand. Again, if you question one of those aged patriarchs who are renowned for their wisdom, their experience, and their hospitality, he will answer you: "Sidi-Aomar, the companion of the Prophet, hath said: 'Love horses, tend them well, for they are worthy of your tenderness. Treat them like your own children, nourish them like friends of the family, clothe them with care! For the love of Allah, do not neglect to do this, or you will repent of it _in this house and in the next_.'" Finally, if you have the good fortune to encounter in your journey one of those wandering story-tellers (_me-dahh_, _fessehh_) who pass their lives in travelling about from tribe to tribe, to amuse the abundant leisure of these warrior-shepherds, supported by a player on the flute (_kuesob_), and accompanying himself on a tabour (_bendaïr_), he will chaunt to you with a hollow but not unmusical voice: My horse is the lord of horses! He is blue as the pigeon beneath the shade, And his black hairs are like waves; He bears hunger and thirst; he outstrips the eyesight; And, true drinker of air, He blackens the heart of our enemies In the days when muzzles touch each other. Mebrouk[6] is the pride of the country.