Both these places enjoy a peculiar celebrity with the natives. El Khwín is said to have been once a populous place; but nearly all its inhabitants were destroyed by a spring of bituminous water, which according to tradition, afterwards disappeared. El Arbʿain, the locality of the “forty” martyrs, is a holy place; and ʿAli, our muleteer, in his pious zeal, took up a handful of the sacred earth and sprinkled it over us. It is a most picturesque spot. Keeping then along the wild plain covered with a thick underwood of myrtle, we beheld in the distance the highly picturesque and beautiful Mount Zaghwán, the Holy Mountain of the ancient inhabitants, which rose in a majestic form; and we at length reached Bir el buwíta, “the well of the little closet,” at one o’clock in the afternoon. The “little closet,” however, had given place to a most decent-looking whitewashed khán, where we took up our quarters in a clean room. But our buoyant spirits did not allow us long repose; and a quarter before eleven at night we were again on our mules. I shall never forget this, the last night of the year 1849, which opened to us a new era with many ordeals, and by our endurance of which we were to render ourselves worthy of success. There were, besides ourselves, our servants, and our two muleteers, four horsemen of the Bey, and three natives from Jirbi. When midnight came my fellow traveller and I saluted the new year with enthusiasm, and with a cordial shake of the hand wished each other joy. Our Mohammedan companions were greatly pleased when they were informed of the reason of our congratulating each other, and wished us all possible success for the new year. We had also reason to be pleased with them; for by their not inharmonious songs they relieved the fatigue of a long, sleepless, and excessively cold night. Having made a short halt under the olive-trees at the side of the dilapidated town of Herkla, and taken a morsel of bread, we moved on with our poor animals without interruption till half an hour after noon, when we reached the funduk (or caravanserai) Sidi Bú Jʿafer, near Súsa, where we took up our quarters, in order to be able to start again at night, the gates of the town being kept shut till morning. Starting before three o’clock in the morning, we were exactly twelve hours in reaching el Jem, with the famous Castle of the Prophetess, still one of the most splendid monuments of Roman greatness, overhanging the most shabby hovels of Mohammedan indifference. On the way we had a fine view, towards the west, of the picturesque Jebel Trutsa, along the foot of which I had passed on my former wanderings, and of the wide, out-stretching Jebel Useleet.