A Wind Wafting The Fine Dust And Furnace-Heat Of The Desert Blows Over The City; The Ground Returns With Interest The Showers Of Caloric From Above, And Not A Cloud Or A Vapour Breaks The Dreary Expanse Of Splendour On High.

There being no such comforts as Indian tatties, and few but the wealthiest houses boasting glass windows, the interior of your room is somewhat more fiery than the street.

Weakened with fasting, the body feels the heat trebly, and the disordered stomach almost affects the brain. Every minute is counted with morbid fixity of idea as it passes on towards the blessed sunset, especially by those whose terrible lot is manual labour at such a season. A few try to forget their afternoon miseries in slumber, but most people take the Kaylulah, or Siesta, shortly after the meridian, holding it unwholesome to sleep late in the day.

As the Maghrib, the sunset hour, approaches-and how slowly it comes!-the town seems to recover from a trance. People flock to the windows and balconies, in order to watch the moment of their release. Some pray, others tell their beads; while others, gathering together in groups or paying visits, exert themselves to while away the lagging time.

O Gladness! at length it sounds, that gun from the citadel. Simultaneously rises the sweet cry of the Mu'ezzin, calling men to prayer, and the second cannon booms from the Abbasiyah Palace,[FN#8]-"Al Fitar! Al

[p.79]Fitar!" fast-breaking!

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