There is a very good-natured black dervish always about the streets, but clean and well-dressed. Ordinarily amongst these saints filth and piety go hand in hand. They abhor the proverb of cleanliness being next to godliness. The poor fellow is very fond of me, is running in and out of my house all day long. I always shake hands with him when I meet him. The Moors approve my conduct and say: "Ah, Yâkob, he's a saint." Once the cunning fellow, when he noticed a lot of half-caste women anxious to see me, took hold of my head and turned me completely round to show my face to them. He has some sense, good simpleton, and is without malice; consequently a great favourite with the people. A pity all madmen were not like this poor dervish. Yet how many would be as harmless and beloved as he if they were not confined, and caged, and chained, in civilized and Christian madhouses! The dog knows I'm a _kafer_, and said to my camel-driver, the day of my arrival, "Why did you bring the Christian to our holy city?" chiding him. This afternoon we went to see the Touaricks "play with camels"--‮يلعبوا مع الجمل‬--that is, perform a sort of camel-race. Strange coincidence of civilized and barbarian life! This was the Epsom and Ascot of The Desert. But I was never more disappointed. All that the Touaricks did with their camels was, they dressed them out most fantastically with various coloured leather harness, that is to say, the withers, neck, and head; they reined them up tightly like blood-horses; and then rode them a full trot in couples. This was the whole of the grand play with camels. Some, however, would not fall into this trot of couples, and grumbled terrifically. The Touaricks who rode these restive camels were saluted by the spectators with loud laughter, the effect of which was painted sullenly in their faces. I never saw men look so _couldn't help it_ like. One of them was a young Touarick who had been saucy to me. I was not displeased to see him in this _triste_ position. The camels were the genuine Maharee, of course; the Touaricks have no other camels. The men were dressed out also in their gayest barbaric finery. A tent was dressed up, around which squatted a group of Desert jockies, with their fierce spears bristling above in the sun before them, like the lords of creation. Even a banner floated gaily in the bright sun from the tent top. A great concourse of Ghadamsee spectators were present, one of whom swore to me that a Maharee once passed from Ghadames to Tripoli IN ONE DAY, but that the rider died instantly from exhaustion, on his arrival. Another Maharee outstripped the wind, but as it was a strong cold wind, the animal died when it got into hot atmosphere, to which the tempest was driving.