_Feb._ 20. This morning, at six, we left the Bishareen quite in joyance at having received a trifle more than the customary gift of a few piasters, and delighted with the privilege of scrambling for a few pieces of broken glass, which had been thrown out of my tent. I should state that last night, and also for two hours before we set out this morning, they had stationed themselves close to our encampment, like wild animals seeking their prey. Three quarters of an hour after our departure from the well, we left the mountains, and our road then lay over an immense plain of sand, sometimes very difficult for the camels to wade through, but generally not very soft, and indeed, occasionally quite hard. This plain, which is ten hours, or thirty miles, in extent, is almost entirely surrounded by hills. The width varies from about ten to fifteen miles. At five P.M. we again entered into the mountains, and waded through several narrow valleys, containing acacia trees. At six, that is, after twelve hours’ ride, we encamped. The mountains, called Cab el Kofas, or the Spilling of the baskets, particularly one about 400 feet high, at the entrance of this chain, are very picturesque. The effect of a tropical sunset upon them was magnificent. Their general height was about 200 feet, and some were of less altitude. Their form was generally a long continuous chain, with peaks of various forms. I observed some in the distance totally isolated, and having the appearance of pyramids. We should not have passed this plain so rapidly but for the common custom of the Arabs, before mentioned, of urging on their camels by singing: the effect is very extraordinary; this musical excitement increases their pace at least one fourth. I often asked the camel drivers to sing, not only to hasten our progress, but also for the pleasure of hearing their simple melodies. Some of their best songs possess a plaintive sweetness that is almost as touching as the most exquisite European airs. The words are often beautiful, generally simple and natural, being improvisatory effusions. The following is a very imperfect specimen. One takes up the song:—“Ah, when shall I see my family again; the rain has fallen, and made a canal between me and my home. Oh, shall I never see it more?” The reply to this and similar verses was always made by the chorus, in words such as these:—“Oh, what pleasure, what delight, to see my family again; when I see my father, mother, brothers, sisters, I will hoist a flag on the head of my camel for joy!” I asked a fine, handsome lad, who was singing this _ranz des vaches_ of the desert with the feeling of a Swiss, if he would go with me to England, to my village. He asked me how long I had been absent; I told him three years. “No,” said he, “I cannot go with you; if I were to be absent from my family three years, I should be very unhappy—I should be ill.” Near the place where we are encamped is another well, now dry.