The Persian pilgrims, I was told, are unwearied in their efforts to obtain the honey-like balm in its unadulterated form, but they rarely succeed unless they go to the headquarters of Beni Sobh, for the stuff sold as balsam in the Meccan bazaars is hardly ever pure. The Arabs themselves can detect by the smell whether it is adulterated or not. Fortunately for the pilgrims there are certain other tests which are said to be infallible. The best balsam sinks in water, has a bright blue flame when alight, and, if you put a drop on your finger and set fire to it, it will burn without injuring the skin. The Persian traders mix turpentine with it, probably because the yellow balsam, even when it has not been “doctored,” smells of that resinous substance, but the Arabs adulterate the white balsam with inoffensive oils of several kinds. Every morning the pilgrims who could afford to buy the precious tonic would take a drop in their tea or their coffee, and I know from experience that it has the most invigorating effect on the nervous system. The senna of Mecca, which is exported to Persia, to Central Asia, and to Syria, is also a product of the country of the tribesmen of Beni Sobh, who may be regarded as the richest and most peaceful of the tribes of Harb, reaping as they do the produce of their rich valleys without molesting the caravans in the hope of spoil. The date-tree is cultivated by them, my friend the Sheykh being the fortunate possessor of over a thousand trees. It surprised me to hear that these palms are sold not by the grove but by the tree, and, as it sometimes happens, the dates of a single tree may belong to two or more owners. When a tree has to be fructified, the gardener, having laid bare the female spathe and shaken over it the male pollen, sings in a low voice, saying: “Please God, you will thrive and be fruitful.” CHAPTER II THE TALISMAN-MONGER On leaving the coffee-house (Kahvé-Kháné) we heard the voice of a muezzin calling to prayers. It was noon. “Listen,” said Seyyid ’Alí, “I know the Mullá well; he has the soul of a saint and the voice of an angel.” Emotional, the tears ran down ’Alí’s cheeks in streams; then, drying his eyes, his whole face shone as from some sudden light within him. The scoffer was mute--silenced by the majestic melody of that far-flung summons; but it must not be supposed that any translation in English could reflect the dignity of the original Arabic, the most devotional tongue ever spoken by the lips of man: Mighty is the Lord! Mighty is the Lord! Mighty is the Lord! Mighty is the Lord! I bear witness, there is no god but God! I bear witness, there is no god but God! I bear witness, Muhammad is the messenger of God! I bear witness, Muhammad is the messenger of God! Come hither to prayers! Come hither to prayers! Come hither to salvation! Come hither to salvation! God is Great! There is no other god than God! [Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN GROCER.]