near which we sat drinking fragrant Brazilian coffee prepared by Moroccan hands.
After our coffee we strolled into the Medina through the gate of Bab Sidi Aïssa, beyond which we came upon an entrancing and brilliant scene. Seeing a large crowd of Arabs surrounding a native preacher, we drew nearer and watched with intense interest. In the middle of the circle of listeners a young native of perhaps some thirty years, dressed in a long white garment girt with a cord and holding a pilgrim's staff, revealed a beautiful, inspired face, fiery eyes, a passionate mouth, a long black beard and flowing hair that raised before the mind a picture of John the Baptist, denouncing the sins and evil practices of humanity and preparing the way for the Messiah, or even of Christ Himself, when, angered by the desecrating merchants, he drove them from the temple.
The Arab called upon the names of the saints and swept the circle of his hearers with a passionate voice, one moment with hysterical shouts, the next in mystical whispers, then floating off into an inspired, rhythmical baritone, magnetizing the listeners with his eyes. His audience stood round him with their hands folded as in prayer. As we watched, the emaciated, ascetic figure of the pilgrim began running about from one listener to the other, improvising a prayer, a litany to all the saints of Islam, though most frequently he repeated the names of the local Walis, Sidi Yahia, Bu Cheikh, Sidi Thaleb, Sidi Okba, Sidi Zian and others. Each time that the Arab pronounced the name of a saint and a concomitant phrase of supplication or worship, his two assistants, an old man with a face disfigured with leprosy and a young boy with
