_7th March._—At last Arnaud went in the sandal to circumnavigate the lake, without saying a word to any one of his intention, because he means to pretend that he has seen everything, and to impose on the Basha by a large bakshis. This lake is said to make a great figure on his map, which he must have got others to compose for him at Paris, because he himself is not capable of doing it, as Sabatier expressly declared. Yet he was so close to us all the time he was navigating it, that we never lost him out of our sight. He wished also to investigate the Gazelle River by himself, but he was afraid of remaining with the sandal in the reeds at night, where he might have become a victim to gnats or other monsters. The Bach’r el Gasàll does _not_ display at this time of the year _any_ fall, nor does the Nile here in the lake, although the breadth of its stream is clearly distinguished from the bluish water of the latter by its muddy colour. The lake has fallen about a foot since our ascent, of which we have plain proof by our shore. There is want of wood on board the vessels, because the crew have kept up a clear fire every night to drive away the gnats, without even giving a thought that the smoke alone has that effect. With respect to this abominable brood of insects, I earnestly advise all future travellers to provide themselves with a musquito-net (Arabic, nammusië, from nammùs, gnat) if they wish to escape the torments of hell, and to preserve their health and perhaps their life. I myself shall be grateful to God if I only remain strong enough to continue and end my journal as accurately and faithfully as hitherto; so that by its means I may correct the maps which may be published subsequently, and particularly with regard to the numerous windings and bends of the river itself, which can only be followed by the strictest attention. _8th March._—Arnaud again to-day kept his intention very secretly, and navigated the Delta before the Gazelle River—a famous opportunity for relating anecdotes of continual adventures and hippopotami-hunts. He really does gasconade too much: for example, he states, quite at random, in the presence of Sabatier, the number of miles he has navigated the last two days, although he has never cast out the log; whereupon Selim Capitan laughs in his face. Arnaud never scruples either to ask for anything that pleases him. “Son Altesse,” serves always as his excuse, as if he were collecting _only_ for Mohammed Ali. At half-past ten o’clock a few drops of rain fell. M. Arnaud having returned from his great voyage of discovery, we sail out of the lake E.S.E. The weather seems about to clear up immediately, although the sun casts a certain watery gleam of light on the marsh-grass that we cannot trust.