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Harold and I are the subject of song in Hureidha at present. Old Abdulla the watch-mender came some evenings ago to present me with an ode in my honour. He had it on a piece of grubby paper and his wife and daughter came too, to hear. I had gone to bed, but it would have hurt the old man's feelings to be turned back; so they all sat by my bedside; and it was charming to see him playing with his song, singing every verse over with modulations and variations, making us observe every delicacy of rhythm, while his daughter looked at him with all the admiration of her heart [...] the father and daughter are the real companions in this craft, and presently they began to sing together, recalling one qasida after another.