The day on which a child is born in a great tent is one of much rejoicing. Every one visits the father of the new-born, and says to him: "May thy son be happy!" And while the men press round the father, the mother is not neglected, for the women of the tribe flock to see her. Both men and women have their hands full of presents, proportioned to their means. From camels, sheep, and costly apparel, down to grain and dates, all the treasures of the desert abound in the tent which Allah has just visited with his blessing. The recipient of all these tokens of affection and respect is obliged to exercise a large hospitality. Sometimes for twenty consecutive days, he feeds and entertains his guests. These festivals in the desert have that air of grandeur which belongs to all the scenes that are enacted in this solemn theatre of primitive life. As soon as the child is old enough, he learns to read and write, which is an innovation among the _djouad_, for until recently the marabouts alone cultivated letters. The man of the sword, like our mediæval barons, held learning in contempt. It seemed to him that, in cultivating his mind, some sort of injury was done to his energy of character. But since they have beheld the humblest of our soldiers possessed of knowledge without their courage being impaired, the Arabs have changed their opinion on the subject. Besides, those who took service with us soon discovered that education conferred a title to favours. Many of them too, murmur to one another with a tone of sad resignation: "Formerly we were able to live in ignorance, for peace and happiness were with us; but in this time of trouble through which we are compelled to pass, science must come to our aid." Our influence thus gradually accomplishes, in the very heart of the desert, the work of civilisation, of which some among us speak so despondingly, and others so lightly.