part, however, the effort at expression spent itself in a long cry,
literally rendered--"Thou hast called me--I am here! I am here!" The
deliverance was in the vernacular of the devotee, and low or loud, shrill
or hoarse, according to the intensity of the passion possessing him.

To realize the discordancy, the reader must recall the multiplicity of
the tribes and nations represented; then will he fancy the agitation of
the mass, the swaying of the white-clad bodies, the tossing of bare arms
and distended hands, the working of tearful faces turned up to the
black-curtained pile regardless of the smiting of the sun--here men on
their knees, there men grovelling on the pavement--yonder one beating
his breast till it resounds like an empty cask--some comprehension of
the living obstruction in front of the Jew can be had.

Then the guide, calling him, tried the throng.

"The Prince of India!" he shouted, at the top of his voice. "Room for
the beloved of the Prophet! Stand not in his way--Room, room!"

After much persistence the object was achieved. A pilgrim, the last one
in front of the Prince, with arms extended along the two sides of the
angle of the wall where the curtain was looped up, seemed struggling to
embrace the House; suddenly, as in despair he beat his head frantically
against the sharp corner--a second thrust more desperate than the
first--then a groan, and he dropped blindly to the pavement. The guide
rejoicing made haste to push the Prince into the vacant place.

Without the enthusiasm of a traveller, calmly as a philosopher, the Jew,
himself again, looked at the Stone which more nearly than any other
material thing commanded idolatrous regard from the Mohammedan world. He