marble pillars, and arches supporting a wooden roof beautifully painted in squares. In a corner of the court is a cell containing a tomb. Here lies Abdullah Ben Sharíf el Hindowi, an Indian pilgrim, who sought an asylum and found a grave in Kairwán a century ago. At the farther end of the cloister is a doorway and two windows from Rome or Florence. Their cornices are profusely adorned with fruit and flowers, and the jambs of the door are picked out in red porphyry. A massive grating of bronze fills each window. The door itself is of carved dark wood. It led to the tomb of “my Lord the Companion,” a more sacred spot, if possible, even than the _mihráb_ of Okhbah himself; for here for nearly twelve hundred years has slumbered a personal friend of the founder of the faith of Islam, who lived, died, and was buried, wearing always as a symbol of devotion a portion of the Prophet’s beard on his breast. I was the first European who ever entered this Moslem _sanctum sanctorum_. The chamber is about twenty-one feet square, and lofty. Its walls are covered with a geometrical pattern worked out in black and white marble. Four lengthy inscriptions are embedded in them, and the room is dimly lighted by four small windows of rose-coloured and blue glass. From the cupola of fretwork hangs a grand old chandelier of twisted Venetian glass. Below this is the tomb itself, surrounded by a high grating of bronze, shut in by four marble columns about seven feet high. From a rod, on a line with the grating, hung festoons of ostrich-eggs and golden balls. The catafalque above the grave is covered by two elaborately embroidered palls: the first of black and white velvet, adorned with Arabic inscriptions in silver, was the gift of the late Ahmed Bey; the second, of pink and blue brocade, was a votive offering from Muhammed es Sadek. Over these hung thirteen banners, rich in gold, silver, and needlework—the tribute of the successors of Heussein Ben Ali to the sanctuary of the Sidi Bou Awíb. Our visit was certainly unexpected, for at least a dozen fine Arabic MSS. rested on as many lecterns of mother- of-pearl and tortoise-shell in front of the screen. The guardian of the _zaouia_ could hardly realise the fact of Christians desecrating by their presence such holy ground. Running his amber chaplet through his hands with feverish haste, he suddenly threw himself upon his face, and probably prayed to be forgiven. Some Algerian soldiers who had followed us, prostrated themselves before the tomb, and eagerly kissed the edge of the palls through the metal lattice-work. Looking at the bright white marble pillars of the cloister, my eye fell on one remarkable capital: at either corner a bird supported a Greek cross in the centre. The spoils of some fair Byzantine church had evidently been brought to honour the resting-place of the “Friend of the Prophet.” [Illustration: _The Tomb of Sidi-ex-Saheb Ennabi._]