A Tibboo trader, who was returning to his own country from Fezzan, gave me a gratifying proof of the confidence he was willing to place in the word of an Englishman. It was nearly night, and I was in front of the camels: he had dates to sell, and mine were expended, but I told him that my money was in my trunk, and that my camels were too tired for me to unload them: “God bless you!” said he, “why, I wish you would buy all I have, camels and all: I know who the English are! Are they not almost Mislem, and people of one word? Measure the dates, and go on:—pay the kaid at Mourzuk.” We here voraciously bought up a few bad onions, to give a little flavour to our insipid meal of flour and water; and soon after, the kaid brought me a sheep, the only one in the town, which we cut up and divided, so that we had a sumptuous meal about nine o’clock in the evening. On Sunday the 14th of November, by easy journeys we reached Gatrone, which, before so miserable in our eyes, now really seemed a little Paradise; and the food which the old hadge who governs there sent us, of the same kind we before thought so unpalatable on our outward voyage, now seemed delicious. I literally got up at daylight to feast on a mess of hot broth and fresh bread, most highly peppered, and made as good a meal as ever I did in my life. At Gatrone, as well as at Tegerhy, our tents were pitched in a palm grove, the trees shading us during the day from the sun-beams, and at night from the easterly winds: the gentle moaning of the breeze through its slowly-waving branches was to us a most pleasing novelty; and the noble, nutritious, and productive palm, seemed in our eyes fully to merit the beautiful lines of Abulfeda: “The stately date, whose pliant head, crowned with pendent clusters, languidly reclines like that of a beautiful woman overcome with sleep.”—_Abulfeda Descr. Egypt, a Michaelis_, p. 6. To do them justice, the Fezzan people seemed as glad we were come back, as we were ourselves. “To go and come back from the black country! Oh, wonderful!—you English have large hearts!—God bless you!—the poor doctor to die too, so far from home!—Health to your head! it was written he was to die, and you to come back.—God is great!—and the young Rais Ali too! (Mr. Toole)—Ah! that was written also:—but he was a nice man—so sweet spoken. Now you are going home: well, good fortune attend you! How all your friends will come out to meet you with fine clothes—and how much gunpowder they will fire away!” At the mosque of Sidi Bouchier the usual prayer was offered for our safe arrival in our own country; and on the 21st of November, Sunday, we made our entry into Mourzuk, and took possession of our old habitation.