The Days of Mohammed

grims, confi

olute i

gfel

ed to proceed on his way. Like the Ancient Mariner, he felt forced to go on, "

van, en route for Mecca, was almost in sight, and would make a brief halt near the stream by which Musa'

ridden by Arabs swaying long spears or lances in their hands; heavily-laden pack-mules, whose leaders walked beside them, urging them on with sticks, and giving vent to shrill cries as they went; and lastly a line of pilgrims, some trudging along wearily, some ri

the horsemen of Musa, still balancing their tufted spears, dashed in and out; while his herdsmen, anxious to keep the flocks from mixing with the caravan, shrieked and gesticulated, hurrying the flocks of sheep off in noisy confusion, and urging the herds of dromedaries on with their short, hooked stic

ation addressed to some one else, and he smiled sarcastically as he thought of the

searched for him through the motley crowd, but in vain; then, recollecting that the peddler's bun

no false prophet. The man is like a weasel. When all sleep he finds his way in and helps himself to

ady to carry out the trust, hoping to find in Mohammed some one who could tell him more of the same wondrous story. He therefore placed the parchment very carefully within the fold

ur journey. We have no fears for your safety now, besides the safety of numbers, the holy month of Ramadhan[1] begins to-day, and even the wildest o

de, and took his place in the train, whic

ere Arabs of the Hejaz, short and well-knit, wearing loose garments of blue, drawn back at the arms enough to show the muscles standing out like whip-cords. Some were smoking short chibouques, with stems of wood and bowls of soft steatite colored a yellowish red. As they rode they used no stirrups, but crossed their legs before and beneath the po

ngs, and sat, buried in his own thoughts, until a voice

he thoughts of a Persian? No

an smiling down upon him from the back of a tall, white Syrian camel. He wore the jubbeh, or cloak, the ba

eturned Yusuf. "How knew you that I am a

nds are accustomed to trace by a mark in the sand, the breaking of a camel-thorn, things as difficult? The stamp of on

tranger, your penetration is incomprehen

call me Amzi the rich Meccan; others, Amzi the learned; others, Amzi the benevolent. For myself, I pretend nothing, aspire to nothing but to know all that may be known, to live a life of

ur people that the Guebres at one time had temples ev

it. It is also claimed that the fire-worshipers held Mecca, and there worshiped Saturn and the moon, from whence comes their name of the place-Mahgah, or moon's place. The Guebres also hold here that the Black Stone is an emb

. Know you not that before his eyes the sacred fire,[3] kept alive for well-nigh one thousand years, went out in the su

use in Arabian Mecca which does not contain its idol! Not a man of influence wh

ot recognize a

relationship with him save through the mediation of the household gods. In his name the holiest oaths are sworn, nevertheless in true worship he ha

reached me even in Persia? Does not religious enthusiasm lead tho

perintending the carriage of their baggage so complacently there? The holy months, particularly the Ramadhan, afford a period of comparative safety, a long truce that affords a convenient season for traff

hat do you believ

that my religion is but a belief in Allah, whom I fear to approach, and whose help and influence I

brothers in the quest! Let us rest neither night nor day until we have found the way to the Supreme God! Amzi, I want to

among those who do, he seems to be little more than a name of some one who lived and died as did Abraham and Ishmael. His teaching, if, indeed, he taught aught, seems

were following a flitting ignis-fatuus, th

basin, traversed by the rocky bed of a mountain stream, a "fiumara," down which a feeble brooklet from recent mountain rains trickled.

n, Yusuf sat idly near the door of a tent, looking out listl

ue eyes, sang plaintively a song of the singing of birds and the humming of bees, of the flowers of the

hand that glided over the one-stringed guitar, showing by its movements, even in the fading evening light, the blue veins that coursed beneath the transparent skin. He called th

"singing all alone! W

. He tells them of flocks beside the pool, of lilies of Siloam, of birds in the air and angels in the heavens-then everyone is kind. Ah! the world is fair!" he continued, with a happ

, ch

did indeed! Poor Dumah is talking sense now, good stranger; sometimes he does not-the thoughts come and go before he can catch them, and then people say, 'Poor little Dumah is demented.' But if Jesus were here now, Duma

us

, you will b

our friend,

sions come! The birds and the mists and the flowers are twining in a wreath, a wreath that stret

before the door, where a huge fire was now shedding a flickering and fantastic glare upon the wrinkl

g around nimbly in a sort of dance. Yusuf looked at him for a moment. There seemed to be something familiar about his fig

rumbs picked up by this poor child were yet precious enough to give him, all wandering as he was at times, the assurance of a sympathetic God, and

ruth he scarcely understood, exactly what he wanted. There was a lack in his life which no human agency had, as yet, bee

rd.... It was the littl

He thought of the Father, yet again he prayed to the spirits of the planets which were shining so brightly above him. But did not an echo of

end was