DESERT JOURNEYS. 355 



" He will be with us, for He is merciful." 



" And the Guide on all good ways." 



"Amen, O chief!" 



And the troop wheels off; rider and steed become one; the light 

 hoofs seem scarce to touch the sand, the white burnooses flutter in 

 the wind, and the poet's words rise into memory — 



" Bedouin, on thy steed, thou art a poem in thyself !" 



Such are some of the fascinating pictures shown to the receptive 

 eye. The more intimately one comes to know the desert, the more 

 it grows upon one, alleviating and lessening all toil and discomfort. 

 Yet the last hours of the journey are those oi greatest joy. When 

 the first palm-village of cultivated land appears in sight, when the 

 silver line of the sacred river is once more visible, gladness fills 

 the heart. Men and beasts hasten as if to prove that the glad 

 reality is not an illusion which may vanish in the mist. But the 

 goal becomes more and more distinct; it seems as if we had never 

 seen fresher colours, we fancy that nowhere else can there be trees 

 so green, water so cool. With a final effort the camels push on, far 

 too slowly for their impatient riders. Friendly greetings reach our 

 ears. The village on the Nile is reached at last. From all the huts 

 throng men and women, the aged and the children. Inquisitively 

 they crowd around the camp, men and women curiously questioning, 

 youths and maidens eager for the dance. Tambura and tarabuka, 

 the zither and drum of the country, invite to motion; and the 

 dancing-girls gladden the eyes of strangers and countrymen alike. 

 Even the creaking of the water-wheel on the river, formerly a thou- 

 sand times cursed, seems musical to-day. The evening brings fresh 

 joys. Comfortably couched on the cool and elastic divan, the 

 foreigner pledges the native in palm-wine or merieza — the nectar of 

 the land; while the sound of zither and drum, and the rhythmic 

 hand-clapping of the dancing youths and maidens form a merry 

 accompaniment to the dainty banquet. But at length the approach- 

 ing night begins to press its claims. Tambura and tarabuka sink 

 into silence and the dance comes to an end; one after another, 

 refreshed and well-content, the travellers seek rest. At length only 



