my friend of the beard who he was, from whence he came, and where he was going?  He answered, in broken Portuguese, that he was returning from Lisbon, where he had been on business, to Mogadore, of which place he was a native.  He then looked me in the face and smiled, and taking out a book from his pocket, in Hebrew characters, fell to reading it; whereupon a Spanish sailor on board observed that with such a beard and book he must needs be a sabio, or sage.  His companion was from Mequinez, and spoke only Arabic.

A large boat now drew nigh, the stern of which was filled with Moors; there might be about twelve, and the greater part evidently consisted of persons of distinction, as they were dressed in all the pomp and gallantry of the East, with snow-white turbans, jabadores of green silk or scarlet cloth, and bedeyas rich with gold galloon.  Some of them were exceedingly fine men, and two amongst them, youths, were strikingly handsome, and so far from exhibiting the dark swarthy countenance of Moors in general, their complexions were of a delicate red and white.  The principal personage, and to whom all the rest paid much deference, was a tall athletic man of about forty.  He wore a vest of white quilted cotton, and white kandrisa, whilst gracefully wound round his body, and swathing the upper part of his head, was the balk, or white flannel wrapping plaid always held in so much estimation by the Moors from the earliest period of their history.  His legs were bare and his feet only protected from the ground by yellow slippers.  He displayed no farther ornament than one large gold ear-ring, from which depended a pearl, evidently of great price.  A noble black beard, about a foot in length, touched his muscular breast.  His features were good, with the exception of the eyes, which were somewhat small; their expression, however, was, evil; their glances were sullen; and malignity and ill-nature were painted in every lineament of his countenance, which seemed never to have been brightened with a smile.  The Spanish sailor, of whom I have already had occasion to speak, informed me in a whisper, that he was a santuron, or big saint, and was so far back on his way from Mecca; adding, that he was a merchant of immense wealth.  It soon appeared that the other Moors had merely attended him on board through friendly politeness, as they all successively came to bid him adieu, with the exception of two blacks, who were his attendants.  I observed that these blacks, when the Moors presented them their hands at departing, invariably made an effort to press them to their lips, which effort was as uniformly foiled, the Moors in every instance, by a speedy and graceful movement, drawing back their hand locked in that of the black, which they pressed against their own heart; as much as to say, “though a negro and a slave you are a Moslem, and being so, you art our brother—­Allah knows no distinctions.”  The boatman now went up to the hadji, demanding payment, stating,