The rules of dinner etiquette of the Arabs may now be set forth. To the person who has finished drinking we must say, 'Sahha' (Health); or Rouak Allah' (Allah has quenched thy thirst); and the drinker should reply, Nedjak Allah' (Allah preserve thee). 'Allah irrham waldik' (May God remember the authors of thy days). The grace said before meals is of this form: In the name of God! O my God, bless what thou givest us to eat; and when it has been consumed, restore it again.'

Take care always in eating and drinking to use the right hand; in salutations also be careful to do the same thing; the left is used for impure purposes, and only demons eat and drink with the left hand. Eat in a cleanly manner. For this purpose keep your upper moustache cut rigorously to the level of the upper lip, so that it may not slobber like that of the Tartar chief with his koumyss. Don't blow upon your food; and when you leave the table say, I am satisfied; glory be to Allah' (Bani chebaane, el hhamedou lellah).

The Arab who entertains a guest of far superior rank ought not to seat himself at the cloth with him. He will remain standing, and see that his guest wants nothing.

For behaviour when seated at table the Arabs have abundant rules of etiquette, consecrated by the practice of thousands of years; and since good breeding is good breeding all the world over, it is not surprising that such rules are for the most part in strict accordance with our own, modified and added to, of course, by the different conditions of Arab life; one of the first of such modifications being that the guest must not look towards the apartment of the woman.

In taking place on the dining-carpet, wait till the chiefs and old men are seated. Find fault with nothing; eat of all which is placed on the carpet.

Conceal

Are you sad at heart? are you perplexed in mind? it. On both guest and host the duty is incumbent of allowing nothing to interfere with the geniality of the feast. If an Arab has lost his only child on the morning of the day on which he has invited a guest, he will make no alterations in his preparations, but perform the duties of host with undiminished scrupulous exactness, and make no mention of his loss to his guests, who may, if ignorant of his bereavement, retire without a suspicion of his misfortune. Of such an example General Daumas was himself a witness, when invited to the tent of the Kalifaa benn Hhamed. On this occasion, however, a chance arrival made known to the calif's guests the fact that their host had lost a beautiful daughter in the morning. To all exclamations and condolences the calif replied, 'The affair of God must be accepted with closed eyes; with an affair of men one may endeavour to contend' (Hhadjet Rabbi, bessif nechobelon-ha; Ou hhadjet el aabd imkenn nedfaaou-ha).

Give no orders to the servants, inquire not after any domestic

details, don't give any orders about your horses or your followers— that is the affair of the master of the house. You should not even make any remarks about the furniture of your host, or about anything he possesses, nor suggest any alteration in the menu of the dinner. Never put any sweetmeats into your pockets; nor bring children with you who may ask for them. If your host is an aged man and tells you of his infirmities, listen gravely, and take care not to reply, As for me, every year gives me strength, and day by day I grow more active and strong.'

He who receives hospitality ought only to ask for the kebla— i.e. the point to which he should turn to say his prayers, the direction of Mecca; for he should fail in none of the duties of a true Mussulman, in pursuance of which he must also wash his hands. both before and after the repast, and rinse his mouth with care.

The Arabs have invented names for all the transgressors of the rules of dinner etiquette, a fact which proves both the universality and the antiquity of these rules.

The metcharef is the gluttonous fellow, the insatiable, who turns his head round to see if more, and what, dishes are coming.

The addad is the individual who counts the dishes with his fingers and points at them.

The rechaf is the man who eats with such a noise as to be heard by his neighbours.

The kessam is the horrible fellow who bites a piece of meat and puts it back again.

The behhate is the greedy man who seizes on the piece another is about to take.

The aaouam scoops sauce out of the dish with his hand. The mezid puts things in his burnous to carry away. The mekhallel picks-frightful to say-his teeth with his fingers. The merihh steeps his bread in the dish to get the sauce. The mefattech turns the meat over on the dish with his hand. The menachef puts his fingers in his mouth when they are greasy. The sebbaye turns the bits of meat he takes round and round in the sauce.

The bekkar blows on his food.

The djennab is the man who eats with his elbows out and disturbs his neighbours.

The satrandji is the undecided fellow, who touches one bit after another before he can make up his mind.

The mehindess is the guest who orders the servants where to place the dishes.

The dinner is eaten in strict silence; it is the performance of a religious duty; the meats (which have been prepared of animals killed in religious fashion), the dining-carpet--all are held sacred. After dinner, when the hands are washed and the mouth cleansed, con

versation begins. Who are you? Of what country are you? Of what tribe? Where are you going?' If you like, you may reply; if not, you change the conversation; which must be carried on in such strict decency that innocence would not blush at a word. You must not, moreover, speak of absent friends; this rule is invariable. Indeed, how can you know what grievances, what causes of vengeance, may not have sprung up between the absent and those present? The women, too, are there listening; silence is best.

An enemy, while under your tent, must be treated like a friend; as soon as he has left it, however, you may lie in wait for him and kill him; but this is said to be of rare occurrence.

The host, moreover, must not observe his guests closely. Take that hair out of the morsel thou art eating,' said an Arab to his guest. Since thou watchest me so narrowly,' replied the other, 'by the head of the Prophet, I will never eat with thee again.'

Nevertheless, a smart reply after dinner seems to be permitted, if we may believe the following story:

An Arab was entertained by a dervish. The dervish put two cakes of bread before his guest, and then went to his kitchen to fetch a dish of lentils. When he came back, the bread had disappeared. He placed the lentils, and went for more bread. When he returned, the lentils were gone. 'More lentils, my good dervish.' The dervish brought more lentils, when the bread had again disappeared. I have not got any bread, my good dervish.' 'It is well; I will fetch more.' The dervish thus made ten journeys to his kitchen, but he was never able to be quick enough to put bread and lentils together. When his guest had finished, conversation began. Where art thou going on leaving here?' 'To Irdan.' 'What for?' There is a very great doctor in that town, and I am going to consult him. I am ill, and my appetite is bad.' 'Well, if it be so, and if he cures thee, by the head of the Prophet, I implore thee do not come back this way!'

When the guest wishes to leave, he announces his intention. His beasts of burden are prepared, his horse is brought to the door, and he is accompanied by his host to a certain distance.

When host and guest take leave of each other, the guest says, 'May God increase thy substance' (Allah iketer kherek), or, 'God will restore it' (i. e. what you have expended for me) (Rabbi ikhelif aalik). The reply is, Rohheu be selama' (Go with a blessing). 'Tlob saadek' (Demand thy happiness). Telka el kher' (May good befall thee). 'Demand thy happiness' that is to say, 'Look now to yourself. While you were my guest, your happiness was my affair; now it is your own.'

If an Arab receives a Christian, he will observe the same rules with him as with an Arab. If he is a fanatic, or if he is malicious, however, he has a hundred ways of playing tricks upon his guest

without violating the rules of hospitality. He will be strict to the letter of the laws of guest-right, but the spirit of performance will militate grievously against their efficiency: he will manage to confound his Christian friend as much as possible with his Arab usages; he will have his food cooked with the most rancid butter that can be got; he will maliciously pitch his tent for him, where he will be sure to be bitten by mosquitoes, by the side of a stream or on the site of an old encampment; he will tether a newly-weaned camel close by him, who will cry for its mother the whole night long, or a male donkey, who will bray from sunset to sunrise; and in the morning he will come and inquire with such an innocent face and such polite salutations how his guest has slept, that the latter, if he is a wise man, will do no otherwise than reply, Excellently well. Allah irhham waldik' (May God be merciful to the authors of thy days), and not give his host the triumph of reading any dissatisfaction in his face. If the Arab can no longer carry on the Djahad -the holy war against the infidel-this is a slight substitute for it; and you may perhaps contrive to be guests with him in the same polite fashion, and he will respect you the more.

The philosophy of Arab hospitality may be summed up in two phrases: Spend all thy substance rather than convert thy friends into enemies' (Khesart el mal ou la audout sahhab); The master of the cousscoussou is worth a master of powder' (Moula taam ki moula barroud); that is to say, you may increase your power as much by hospitality as by fighting. But on the avaricious man who conceals himself when the guest from God appears in sight, and lets the dogs bark at him, imprecations fall on all sides. May the malediction of God come upon thee as many times as thou hast hairs in thy beard! O, the villain! O, the Jew! No, thou art not of our goum!'

There is a legend current among the Arabs which characterises in a very striking way the veneration with which the rites of Arab hospitality are regarded.

There were two brothers: the one was a dervish, who for forty years had devoted himself to the worship of God in a mountain solitude; the other was a robber on the highways, and had killed ninety men. One day a stranger appeared before the dervish, and demanded hospitality. Go thy ways,' said the dervish; I am alone here, and have nothing to offer thee.' 'Let me sleep, at least, with thee; I will eat and drink nothing.' 'Well, be it so; thou canst sleep.'

In the morning the dervish looked for his guest, and he was not to be found. The stranger had, in fact, gone off to demand hospitality of his brother the robber.

the door, A guest from God.'

He went to his tent, and cried at The master of the tent was away;

but his wife came out: Be welcome, and enter.' But the stranger

refused, in spite of repeated invitations, and remained outside the tent till the evening, when the robber returned. The robber was angry with his wife for not having prevailed upon the stranger to enter, and went and took the tent, lifted it up, carried it towards the stranger, and set it up over his head, saying, 'Since thou wouldst not enter by good-will into my house, now thou art there by force.' Supper was prepared and brought; but the traveller refused all that was offered him, and when pressed, declared that he had made a vow never to taste food till he had partaken of a dish made with seven hearts.

Now, the robber had nothing left but five goats. He kills the five goats there are five hearts; two more are wanting. The robber had but two children, who were playing outside the tent. He killed his two children, and the dish of seven hearts was complete for the guest from God.' He served the dish before the stranger, who said, 'Hast thou not two children ?' 'I have two.' 'Well, I will not eat till they come before me.' That cannot be, my lord;

for they are very young, and badly dressed.' names?' 'Aali and Abd-el-Kader.'

'What are their

The robber left the tent to hide his tears. Then the stranger called the children three times by their names, and they arose; and when the father returned to the tent, he found them full of joy, and seated at the supper-cloth; but the stranger was not to be seen.

Now, the stranger was no other than the angel Gabriel, who went up straight to Allah, and told him the story of the two brothers. And Allah said, 'Return to him who has worshipped me forty years and refused thee hospitality, and say that if he worships me yet a hundred years, it shall profit him nothing, either in this world or in the one to come. And then go thou to the robber, and tell him that I pardon him all his sins, that he shall enter into Paradise, and that he is already a saint of the seventh class. The guest from God is God.'

Is there need to say that this indiscriminate way of giving hospitality has engendered for ages a set of graceless fellows, loafers of the desert,' who almost entirely live by roving about from tent to tent ? Nevertheless the true Arab still keeps up the old practice in all its integrity, but will perhaps revenge himself on a too-frequent visitor by saying, if occasion offers, For the guest of one day we knead this cake; but for the guest of every day, what can we give him?' 'He who eats the chickens of others ought to fatten his own betimes.' But the rule of Arab hospitality contained in the following lines is still obeyed to the letter by every true son of the desert: If thou hast much, give of thy goods; if thou hast little, give of thy heart' (Ila andek ketir, ati men malek; ila andek klil, ati men galbek).

WILLIAM STIGAND.