I landed as soon as I could, after our salute, on the jutty, from which Mr. Barnum’s elephants had been shipped, and passing through a walled gate, entered the town, the sun shining down fiercely. The houses were of a yellow stucco, very low, without glass in the windows, generally, and their doors concealed behind mat screens. In my stroll in the direction of a fine new lighthouse, terminating a picturesque point where the sea continually breaks sullenly, my attention was attracted by a very long, notched white flag, with a number of smaller ones on the sides, hanging from a tall mast. On going toward it, I found it was placed at the entrance of a walled enclosure, which contained a mosque and Mussulman school. Fronting the door of the mosque was a pool of not the clearest water, enclosed in handsome masonry. While I stood there, many of the devout, among whom I saw a blind man, came in and washed their hands and face, to say nothing of abluting their dentals, previous to proceeding to their devotions inside the building; while in the interior were a number kneeling on mats, then sitting back on their bare feet, the palms of the hands meanwhile resting on the knees, occasionally striking their forehead against the tesselated floor, facing in the direction of Mecca. Their pointed, clog-like sandals they had left outside. I was told I could enter if I would remove my pedal covering, but I declined. Removing one’s boots after a long walk, in a temperature of ninety odd, is not exactly the thing. I asked, quizzically, a long-bearded old Mussulman standing by, who understood English, whether he had any idols in his temple. He replied quickly: “No; there is but one God: we worshipped your Savior and turned our faces to Jerusalem, until Mahomet _our_ Savior came—now we turn our faces to Mecca.” Pointing to a Hindoo temple, he remarked: “They have idols over there, but we are not allowed even to eat or drink anything when we are near these buildings.”