At Last, Having Joined Us, They Said He Was Sidi Amour Abeda, A Man Of
Exceeding Sanctity, And That If The Bey Had Met The Saint, His Highness
Must Have Done The Same.
The saint accompanied us to the Kaed's house;
and, on entering, we saw the old Kaed himself, who was ill and weeping
on account of the arrival of his son, the commander of a portion of the
guards of the camp.
We went up stairs, and sat down to some sweetmeats
which had been prepared for us, together with Si Smyle and Hamda, but,
as we were commencing, the saint, who was present, laid hold of the
sweets with his hands, and blessed them, mumbling _bismillas_ [33] and
other jargon. We afterwards saw a little house, in course of erection by
order of the Bey, where the remains of Sidi Amour Abeda are to be
deposited at his death, so that the old gentleman can have the pleasure
of visiting his future burial-place. In this city, a lineal descendant
of the Prophet, and a lucky guesser in the way of divining, are the
essential ingredients in the composition of a Moorish saint. Saints of
one order or another are as thick here as ordinary priests in Malta,
whom the late facetious Major Wright was accustomed to call
_crows_ - from their black dress - but better, cormorants, as agreeing
with their habits of fleecing the poor people. Sidi Amour Abeda's hands
ought to be lily-white, for every one who meets him kisses them with
devout and slavering obeisance.
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