The evening before I left Mecca for Jiddah I was suffering from a racking headache, and my friends advised me to consult a certain Arab physician. The curiosity to have an interview with this leech overcame my scepticism concerning his health-giving touch, so off I went to the east of the town where he dwelt, taking my guide with me; and there, in a winding lane some three feet wide, we found his house. My guide summoned the servant by banging at the outer door with his club. In about ten minutes what we judged to be a small urchin appeared behind the door and asked us in a piping treble what we wanted. Having assured himself that we were not Bedouin Arabs bent on pillaging the sacred house, he drew back the bars, bidding us enter in the name of God the Merciful and Clement. The courtyard through which we passed was unpaved and not more than five yards square. The apartments--six fetid cells--ranged round three sides of it. The hakím’s room faced the door. We walked in with the greeting “Salám ’aleykum! Peace be unto you!” The faith-healer was seated cross-legged on a mat in a corner of the cell. He rose to receive us, saying “Bismillah! in the name of God!” the Eastern equivalent of “Please come in.” He was of middle height, lean, of a pleasing countenance; his eyes were deep-set, brilliant, smiling; his beard measured the span of a man’s hand; and his teeth flashed between lips framed for laughter. He wore a white handkerchief round his head, and a long blue gown reached to his ankles. Nothing could exceed the courtesy of our host. As a mark of respect, he insisted on my taking his place; my guide, heaving a “Yá-Allah!” and a sigh of relief, sank to my side on the left; while the sunny-faced saint, squatting at my right hand, turned a beaming eye on his trusty henchboy, who was standing in the doorway, waiting for the orders of his lord and master. In the East they never break the ice of silence with a remark on the weather. The customary opening is to inquire if you are in health. I told the doctor, in answer to his question, that I had a bad headache, and had come to him to be cured. When he had raised his hands and cried out “Yá-Muhammad!” thereby invoking the Prophet to lend him the assistance he required, it was to ask me on which side the head ached. I touched the spot, whereon he fell to rubbing it vigorously with the palm of his right hand, calling out the while to the urchin to fetch the necessary apparatus for the forthcoming operation. The boy disappeared. In a few minutes he came back, bearing in both his hands a round hollow plate of clay in which were a few lumps of burning charcoal.