The scenery is perhaps finer here than anything else we have seen on the Niger. The mighty dunes look as if they had never been disturbed by man, for the wind at once obliterates all trace of the footsteps of passers by. There is a melancholy poetry about them, and their outlines are rather marked than disguised by the thin line of green bush at the edge of and in the water. How well I understand the effect produced on the traveller by the Sahara in spite of its apparent monotony. It exercises on those who gaze on it for long at a time something of the hypnotic attraction of the sea. I am not the only one who feels in this way about the dune of Africa, for Baudry one day read us the following sonnet he had composed on the subject:— THE DUNE. Vague summits on the dim, far distance rise; Then wâdys, mirage, and that northern pass Where flocks in summer seek the mountain grass; Next, this long sand-hill that outstretchèd lies; Nought else! Six æons long the solar dyes Have steep’d the dune with ochreous gold and brass; Flash’d in the silica like broken glass, And dried the courses dug by wrathful skies. Yon camel’s formless bulk against the blue Seems parcel of the wild chaotic scene; With grounded lance and figure sharp in view, His master stands, a statue—well-knit, lean— Then striding slow athwart the tawny sand, Sits motionless beside the river strand. Every now and then our Tuareg companions reappeared from behind the yellow crest of sand, but their enthusiasm of the morning had considerably cooled down. Horses and men alike were tired, and the latter were dragging the former along by their heads, all presenting a most pitiable appearance. Thus escorted we arrived about five o’clock in the evening at the village of Bia on the left bank. Ibrahim, the son of Sala, did not care to go any further. We persuaded an old Songhay who lived in the village to take his place. Strange to say, though the Tademeket continued their vociferations on the right bank, there was no sign of hostility from the left, which made me hopeful for the future. We saw natives on foot and on horseback pass, and they stared curiously at the boats, but showed neither fear nor anger. Night fell, and we had sat down to supper, when all of a sudden there was a great noise like that of paddles beating the water, or horses swimming. To arms! was the cry, and the next moment all were at their posts. The people of the village of Bia shouted to us that it was only the cattle of the Tuaregs crossing a little arm of the river; but unfortunately for their veracity, we saw the next morning that there was neither arm nor creek anywhere near. Whatever may have been the cause of the noise I am glad it disturbed us, for it proved to me that should an emergency arise our men would behave well and quietly.