colour of the hyaena, while his limbs and head took the shape of that animal. When the change was complete he grinned and laughed at them, and then retired into the neighbouring thickets. They had remained, as it were, rooted to the place from sheer fright, but the moment the hideous creature withdrew, they made the best of their way home . . . . Few people will venture to offend a blacksmith, fearing the effects of his resentment.'[1]
Burton says: 'It has been observed that the blacksmith has ever been looked upon with awe by barbarians, on the same principle that made Vulcan a deity. In Abyssinia all artisans are Budah, sorcerers, especially the blacksmith, and he is a social outcast as among the Somal; even in El Hejaz, a land, unlike Yemen, opposed to distinctions amongst Moslems, the Khalawigah, who work in metal, are considered vile. Throughout the rest of El Islam the blacksmith is respected as treading in the path of David, the father of the craft.'[2]
Barth writes: ' All over the Tawárek country, the "enhad" (smith) is much respected, and the confraternity is most numerous. An "enhad" is generally the prime minister of every little chief. The Arabs in Timbuktu call these blacksmiths "mállem," which may give an idea of their high rank and respected character.'[3]
With the Arabs, farriers are held in great esteem, and enjoy extensive and invaluable privileges, in consequence of the benefits their art confers on the indispensable complement of the Arab—his horse. The smith lives
