THE PROPHET’S BIRTHDAY off their costly clothing before they make their way inland, each clad only in an apron with a piece of cloth over the left shoulder. Rich and poor dress alike. Many of the former carry gifts and other offerings for the sacred city. Such presents cost the Egyptian government alone a quar¬ ter of a million dollars a year; for not only the Khedive but the Mohammedan rulers of the Sudan send donations. The railroad running from far up the Nile to the Red Sea makes special rates to pilgrimage parties.

Yet I wonder whether this Mohammedanism is not a religion of the lips rather than of the heart. These people are so accustomed to uttering prayers that they forget the sense. The word God is heard everywhere in the bazaars. The water carrier, who goes about with a pig¬ skin upon his back, jingling his brass cups to announce his business, cries out: “May God recompense me!” and his customer replies, as he drinks, by giving him a copper in the name of the Lord. The lemonade peddler, who carries a glass bottle as big as a four-gallon crock, does the same, and I venture to say that the name of the Deity is uttered here more frequently than in any other part of the world. It is through this custom of empty religious formulas that I am able to free myself of the beggars of the city. I have learned two Arab words: “Allah yatik,” which mean: “May God give thee enough and to spare.” When a beggar pesters me I say these words gently. He looks upon me in astonishment, then touches his fore¬ head in a polite Mohammedan salute and goes away.

On my second visit to Egypt I was fortunate in being in Cairo on the birthday of the Prophet. It was a feast day among the Mohammedans, and at night there was a grand religious celebration at the Alabaster Mosque which 43