I was not at all prepared for the news which was to reach me on returning to our inclosure. The horse that had carried me from Tripoli to Mourzuk and back again, and on which I had ridden the whole journey from Tripoli to Bornou, had died, a very few hours after my departure for the lake. There are situations in a man’s life in which losses of this nature are felt most keenly; and this was one of them. It was not grief, but it was something very nearly approaching to it; and though I felt ashamed of the degree of derangement which I suffered from it, yet it was several days before I could get over the loss. Let it be however remembered, that the poor animal had been my support and comfort—may I not say companion?—through many a dreary day and night; had endured both hunger and thirst in my service with the utmost patience; was so docile, though an Arab, that he would stand still for hours in the desert, while I slept between his legs, his body affording me the only shelter that could be obtained from the powerful influence of a noon-day sun: he was yet the fleetest of the fleet, and ever foremost in the race. My negro lad opened his head, and found a considerable quantity of matter formed on the brain. Three horses at the Arab tents had died with similar appearances; and there can be little doubt but that it was the effect of climate, the scarcity and badness of the water, and the severe exposure to the sun which we had all undergone. The thermometer was this day in the hut 103°; the hottest day we had yet felt in Bornou. I made it a rule to show myself among the people and merchants at some part of each market-day, in order to make myself familiar to the strangers who attended from the neighbouring towns, and to-day I was eminently successful—the young and the old came near me without much apparent alarm; but stretching out my hand, a smile, or any accidental turn of the head, always started them from my side: there seemed to be, however, a reciprocal feeling of better acquaintance between us, and I was rather surprised at the complacency, nay, even satisfaction, with which I began to survey the negro beauties—frequently exclaiming to Boo-Khaloom’s brother, who was with me, “What a very fine girl! what pretty features!” without even remarking that “toujours noir” which had previously accompanied any contemplation of what might otherwise have struck me as a pleasing countenance.