ed.
Nothing is needed to add to the discord as all three are vigorously
plied with cheek and palm.

The principal actor has an appearance of studied weirdness as he
gesticulates wildly and calls on God to protect him against the venom
of his pets. Contrary to the general custom of the country, he has
let his black hair grow till it streams over his shoulders in matted
locks. His garb is of the simplest, a dirty white shirt over drawers
of similar hue completing his outfit.

Selecting a convenient stone as a seat, notebook in hand, I make up my
mind to see the thing through. The "music" having continued five
or ten minutes with the desired result of attracting a circle of
passers-by, the actual performance is now to commence. On the ground
in the centre lies a spare tambourine, and on one side are the two
cloth-covered bottle-shaped baskets containing the snakes.

The chief charmer now advances, commencing to step round the ring
with occasional beats on his tambourine, rolling his eyes and looking
demented. Presently, having reached a climax of rapid beating and
pacing, he suddenly stops in the centre with an extra "bang!"

"Now, every man who believes in our lord Mohammed ben Aisa,[16] say
with me a Fatihah."

[16: For the history of this man and his snake-charming
followers see "The Moors," p. 331.]

Each of the onlookers extending his palms side by side before his
face, they repeat the prayer in a sing-song voice, and as it concludes
with a loud "Ameen," the charmer gives an agonized cry, as though
deeply wrought upon. "Ah Rijal el Blad" ("Oh Saints of the Town!"),
he shouts, as he recommences his tambourining, this time even with
increased vigour, beating the ground with his feet, and working his
body up and down in a most extraordinary manner. The two others are
also playing, and the noise is deafening. The chief figure appears to
be raving mad; his starting eyes, his lithe and supple figure, and
his streaming hair, give him the air of one possessed. His face is a
study, a combination of fierceness and madness, yet of good-nature.

At last he sinks down exhausted, but after a moment rises and advances
to the centre of the circle, picking up a tambourine.

"Now, Sidi Aisa"--turning to one of the musicians, whom he motions to
cease their din--"what do you think happens to the man who puts a coin
in there? Why, the holy saint, our lord Mohammed ben Aisa, puts a ring
round him like that," drawing a ri