stroke her gently, and now and then would swing her long neck round and kiss her huge black lips. Sometimes I observed him putting his hand under her, and making it a cup, press into it a little of her milk, which he put as a precious draught to his lips. Once, as a great honor, he brought me a glass of camel's milk, which I found not unpleasant, though I prefer the milk of our little Jerseys. Of such a creature one could not help becoming fond. As we got better acquainted, she allowed me to pet her, to ruffle the fur on her neck, as one scratches the head of a parrot, and would kneel or rise at my bidding.
Dr. Post was less fortunate. He had given to him a camel that ought to have been a means of grace to him, for certainly she would have been a trial to any man. Oh, but she was a growler! She would grumble on the slightest provocation, or on none at all. If he turned her this way or that, no matter how gently, or if he did not touch the halter, but let her take her own way, it made no difference. If we reined up to have a little quiet talk as we rode along, this vicious old creature was sure to take part in the conversation; and if her rider tried to hush her, she would lift up her voice the louder. She was one of those bores that will not be suppressed; and if her master finally lost patience, and gave her the beating that she deserved, she set up a terrible roaring. That camel was a beast! Human nature, however cross-grained, could not have been worse.
Thus mounted and guarded, we set out on our march, just as the sun was rising over the desert. At first we directed our course to the East, which we could not understand, for it seemed as if we were following nearly in the track of the pilgrimage to Mecca, but presumed that the sheikh who was our guide, like an old mariner, was making a little "Easting" to strike into some broad wady,
