312 JOURNEY TO CENTRAL AFRICA.

• ton to the banks of the Blue Nile, where the hump-hacked oxen of Sennaar were lazily turning the creaking wheels of the saMes. The river had here a breadth of more than half a mile, and shone blue and brilliant in the morning sun. Before reaching Kereff, we visited five villages, all built of mats and clay. The inhabitants were warming themselves on the sunny side of the huts, where they still shivered in the cold northwind. At Kereff, two men brought a large gourd, filled with sour milk, which was very cool and refreshing. The principal wealth of the people consists in their large flocks of sheep and goats. They cultivate barely sufficient wheat and dourra to supply them with a few cakes of coarse bread, and their favorite beverage of om bilbil.

On our return we passed the grave of a native saint, which was decorated with rows of pebbles and a multitude of white pennons, fluttering from the tops of poles stuck in the ground.

Several women were seated at the head, apparently paying their devotions to the ghost of the holy man. The older ones were unveiled and ugly, but there was a damsel of about eighteen, who threw part of her cotton mantle over her face, yet allowed us to see that she was quite handsome. She had a pale yellow complexion, showing her Abyssinian descent, large, almond-shaped eyes, and straight black hair which diffused an odor of rancid butter. I found it most agreeable to admire her beauty from the windward side. An old beggar-woman, whose gray hair, skinny face and bleared eyes, flashing from the bottom of deep sockets, made her a fitting picture of a Lapland witch, came up and touched our hands, which she could barely reach as we sat on the dromedaries, which saved us the horror of having her kiss them. We gave her a back-