The sun had just set when we at length reached our camp outside the large castle of the Governor of Shedma, and found our interpreter and other attendants anxiously awaiting our arrival. The tents were already pitched, and our heavy luggage was in its place. We should have been glad to eat a moderate repast in peace, lay out the plants collected during the day, and retire to rest; but that would have been nowise suitable to the dignity of a party travelling under the especial protection of the Sultan, and whose importance had doubtless been exaggerated to the utmost by the inventive talents of our interpreter. In the absence of the Governor, his son, a stout overfed man of forty, welcomed us on our arrival, and invited us to dine in the _kasbah_, and of course courtesy required us to accept the invitation. After a brief toilet, we proceeded to enter the castle, and were led through open spaces to the inner building, which forms the dwelling of the Governor, and then through a court, with flower-plots in the centre, to a large and handsome hall, where we were to be entertained. As usual, there was little furniture, save several showy Rabat carpets, but we noticed three or four ornamental French timepieces in a recess where it would appear that the Governor or his son were used to sleep. Besides our host, there was present a grave man whose features differed much from the ordinary Moorish type. He turned out to be a Turk who had already passed several months as a guest in the Governor’s castle. We never understood accurately what had brought him so far from Istamboul; but we were led to believe that he had come on some informal mission, and that its traditional jealousy of foreigners, nowise confined to Christians, had led the Moorish Court to interpose obstacles in the way of his advance into the country.