_25th March._—Sate Mohammed and Sale lay down yesterday to sleep close by, instead of going to shoot. I felt hungry, and had not prepared anything: the cook gazed stupidly in the distance; and I was obliged to eat soft biscuit and drink water. No sooner had I taken this than I felt unwell, and continued so till this morning. Thibaut seems to be possessed with the most trivial jealousy; he cannot understand, like all the rest, what I have to write so continually. The old monotony of the shores has hitherto continued. Only this morning two groups of naked Dinkas shewed themselves on the shores, without running away from us. They brought even goats and sheep with them; but we sailed by, and halted at noon near the dhellèbs, where several groups of fishermen’s huts stood here and there on the shore. Thermometer 17° to 30°; sunset 28°. _26th March._—The wind is favourable; but Arnaud wants to renew his sections, in order to make the world believe that the Sobàt gives more water than the White river. He is fishing about, therefore, in the deep places, and a fall has made its appearance, which was invisible to other eyes. Yesterday evening I said to him, accidentally, that I had an attack of fever the day before, accompanied with vomiting and diarrhœa. He immediately complained of his health, and said that he was suffering under tertian ague, and dropped a hint that Khartùm was very unhealthy, in which I agreed, experience having taught me the same; but I saw clearly what he meant—he intends to play the invalid, and will certainly become worse in Khartùm itself, so as to induce the Basha to let him go to Metemma, where he will find more lucrative work in examining the ruins there than in composing his map. He eats and drinks, however, like men in good health—is active on his legs, even when there is nothing doing—shakes his round head, talks to himself, lays his finger on his nose, and looks first to the sky and then to the ground so quickly that his straw hat, adorned as it is with a large knot of ribbons, in the Tyrolean style, flaps up and down. A Turkish under-cap and this hat cover his partly bald head, on which he has let a pigtail grow, to make up for the loss of his hair at a future time. He stands still, and then sets off running: we call him, but his profound meditations will not allow him to answer. The Turks say, in short, that he is _magnuhn_ (crazed). His usual expression to the others, “_Je le sais tout_,” is worthy of a man of such varied acquirements as he pretends to be; but he does not dare say so to me. When the time comes that he puts on the appearance of sickness, he orders Thibaut to be summoned, and makes the latter understand, if he does not perceive directly the illness of his lord and master, that he is unwell, and not inclined for work, and therefore wants to have a little chat with him. Thibaut sits down very quietly, yawns now and then, and answers “_Oui Monsieur_” to all his remarks,