The pilgrim who would purchase shoes or sandals must seek the upper quarters of the town, and there, in the north of Malá, he will find what he wants in abundance, as well as many provision stores which serve to replenish the supplies of the yearly caravans; for most of these dealers have agencies at Jiddah, Bombay, and Cairo. In the same quarter, still to the north, is the meat market, most of the butchers being Bedouin Arabs who keep special flocks of sheep and camels for slaughter and for sale. From this bazaar the way lies through some extremely narrow and dirty lanes to the Zokáké-Seni or Chinese Market, where gold and silver vessels and jewellery are sold by a few Muhammadans of the Celestial Empire. Thence to the north-east are situated the dyers’ shops, which go by the name of Sughé-Sabbaghin. The manufacture of indigo dye, which is much used in Arabia, is very interesting. First the small leaves are dried in the sun, then they are powdered and put into earthenware jars filled with water, where they remain overnight. Next morning the leaves are stirred thoroughly until a dark blue froth is produced in the water, after which they are left to settle. When the indigo is taken from the bottom it is spread on cloths to drain, and is then mixed with dates and saltpetre. The method of calendering the garments dyed with indigo consists in beating them on stones with wooden hammers, which is generally done to the accompaniment of a song. “Bismi’lláhi’r-Rahmáni’r-Rahim!” With those words on our lips we entered the bazaar to the north of the Harem. What first struck my attention was a man sitting on a rug with a small wooden frame in front of him, a round blue tile by his side, a reed pen in his right hand, and a few sheets of paper in his left. He was an Arab scribe, and around him were gathered a crowd of illiterate pilgrims, all waiting for him to write their letters. The first to go forward was an Afghan pilgrim. He had muscular limbs and a fierce, scowling face. Said he: “Write me a letter to my brother: he is ill and lives at Sakhir.” The scribe, who was sitting on his hips, cocked up his right leg ever so slightly so as to form a sort of table, and asked the Afghan what he was to say. “By God!” exclaimed the native of Sakhir, “I expect you to provide something more than the paper and the penmanship. You must supply the words as well. What! you know not what to write? Have I not said that my brother is sick and like to die? Tell him that I will bring him a bottle of Zem-Zem water--that will cure him, if it please Allah--and a winding-sheet that has been dipped therein, which will be useful if he die--God forbid!” Here my guide stepped to the front, saying, “From the Percussion of the Grave and from the Interrogation of the Grave may God the Merciful and Clement deliver him!” A bright smile flashed over the Afghan’s face. “May your kindness increase!” said he. Meanwhile, the scribe dipped his pen in the silk threads on