Not so pleasant to me, though not without interest, was the visit of another great man—Belróji, the támberi or war-chieftain of the Ighólar Im-esághlar. He was still in his prime, but my Kél-owí (who were always wrangling like children) got up a desperate fight with him in my very room, which was soon filled with clouds of dust; and the young Slimán entered during the row, and joining in it, it became really frightful. The Kél-owí were just like children; when they went out they never failed to put on all their finery, which they threw off as soon as they came within doors, resuming their old dirty clothes. It was my custom in the afternoon, when the sun had set behind the opposite buildings, to walk up and down in front of our house; and while so doing to-day I had a long conversation with two chiefs of the Itísan on horseback, who came to see me, and avowed their sincere friendship and regard. They were fine, tall men, but rather slim, with a noble expression of countenance and of light colour. Their dress was simple but handsome, and arranged with great care. All the Tuarek, from Ghát as far as Háusa, and from Alákkos to Timbúktu, are passionately fond of the tobes and trousers called “tailelt” (the Guinea-fowl), or “fílfil” (the pepper), on account of their speckled colour. They are made of silk and cotton interwoven, and look very neat. The lowest part of the trousers, which forms a narrow band about two inches broad, closing rather tightly, is embroidered in different colours. None of the Tuarek of pure blood would, I think, degrade themselves by wearing on their head the red cap.