esting is this great highway of the desert, which has been swept by forty generations of pilgrims.
One cannot stand by such a highway, and think to where it leads, without a strong desire to follow it to the end — to Mecca itself! Were it possible to bring that within the range of travel, what would one not give to be able to join a caravan from Cairo or Damascus, and make the great pilgrimage! Of the four holy cities of the world, I have visited Rome and Benares, and am on my way to Jerusalem: Mecca alone is guarded from all eyes but those of the faithful: "that" no Giaour can enter but at the risk of his life. It is said that in a few cases a European, who had lived so long in the East as to have a perfect mastery of Arabic, has disguised himself as a dervish, and mingling with the crowd of pilgrims, has been able to reach Mecca, and come back in safety. But if the disguise were penetrated, and the intruder discovered, he would not return to tell the tale. All we can do, therefore, is to look towards Mecca from a great distance. We can only stand here by the roadside, and in imagination follow the dromedaries as they move away to the East, and disappear below the horizon.
A scene so picturesque touches the Oriental imagination, and is a frequent subject of Arabic poetry. Dr. Post was fond of repeating a stanza from a poem which describes the return from Mecca. It had a very musical sound, and preserves its poetical flavor even in a translation. The lines ran thus:
And when we had fulfilled every desire in the holy places. And all who wished had touched the sacred relics. We gathered up the broken threads of our conversation, "And the rolling wadies flowed with the necks of camels."
The exquisite beauty of the last line can only be appreciated by those who have watched a caravan in the dis-
