We made a short march in advance, and transferred our encampment to Díggera, through a country where wilderness and cultivated ground alternated. Here we remained the five following days; and I had sufficient leisure to regret that I was not better provided with books. Anxious to employ my time usefully, I began, with the assistance of two Mándará, or rather Wándalá slaves, to write down a vocabulary of the language of that country, which by the natives themselves is called “Ára-Wándalá,” as they call their country “Khakh-Wándalá,” or “Khákh- Úndalá.” The cold which we experienced during our stay here we considered very severe—at least from an African point of view and feeling; for in Europe it would have been thought very moderate. Fortunately our encampment was more comfortable than it had been at Delhé, and presented features of considerable interest; for here we saw the first complete example of those shallow stagnant watercourses which are so highly characteristic of the equatorial regions of this continent, and explain at the same time the conflicting statements with regard to the direction of so many watercourses in these regions. However, there are two different kinds of these shallow waters: first, such as are in immediate connection with larger rivers, and often run parallel to them, and which most appropriately deserve to be called backwaters; and, secondly, those which are quite independent, and form a small water-system by themselves. To the latter kind seems to belong this swampy sheet of water, or “ngáljam,” of Díggera, although I heard some Shúwa affirm that it extended to the Tsád. I first turned my steps eastward, where the encampment extended to the very foot of the beautiful trees which, forming a rich border of the finest embroidery from the hand of nature, girt the water. Most of them were either fig (sycamore) or tamarind-trees. The aspect of the scenery was most interesting, and under almost every tamarind-tree a group of people was encamped.