We camped at six that evening till midnight, when we started on our record march. Unfortunately at this time my filter gave out, owing to the perishable nature of the rubber tubing; the remaining water in our girbas was foul and nauseating from the strong flavor of the skins. I resolved to try and hold out without touching the thick, greasy fluid, and wait till the wells of Ariab were reached. As we advanced, the signs of water became more and more apparent; the camel grass was greener down by the roots, and mimosa and sunt trees flourished at every few hundred yards. When morning came, for the first time we heard the chirruping and piping of birds. The camels increased their pace, and all became eager to reach our destination before the extreme heat of the day. But pass after pass was traversed, and valley after valley crossed, and yet the wadi of Ariab, with its cool, deep wells of precious water, was still afar. It was not till past two o'clock in the afternoon that a long, toilsome defile of rugged rock brought us on the edge of a steep descent, and before us lay the winding Khor of Ariab, with its mass of green fresh foliage throwing gentle shadows on the silver sand of its dry watercourse. It seemed an age as we traversed that extended khor before our guide pointed to a large tree on our right, and said "Moja." We dismounted under the shadow of its branches, and found awaiting us the sheikh of the valley, who pressed our hands and greeted us in a most friendly way; but I was almost mad with thirst, and asked for the well. I was taken to a mound a few yards from our retreat, on the sides of which were two or three clay scoop-outs, all dry but one, and this held a few gallons of tepid water, from which camels had been drinking. The man took a gourd, half filled it, and offered it to me to drink. "But the well, the well!" I cried. "Oh! that's a little higher up," said he, and he led me to a wide revetted well about fifty feet deep, at the bottom of which, reflecting the sky, shone the water like a mirror. "That's the water I want," said I. The man shook his head. "You cannot drink of that till your baggage camels arrive; we have no means of reaching it." I almost groaned aloud, and with the agony of the Ancient Mariner could well cry, "Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." There was no help for it. I made my way back to the shadow of the tree, threw myself on my blanket, and, racked with thirst, tried to wait patiently for the coming of the camel men. Fortunately, the sheikh of the well was inspired with hospitality, and after a while brought us some fresh milk in a metal wash basin, a utensil which he evidently produced in honor of our visit. I took a long draught, and though it was associated with native ablutions, I shall always remember it with the greatest satisfaction. We camped for 24 hours in the sylvan vicinity of Ariab Wells--stretched ourselves in the broad shadows of its mimosa