When I arrived at Lobeid I only found one single European living, Dr. Iken, whom I have before mentioned, a native of Hanover, who, like most of the Europeans, after a short residence there paid his tribute to the climate. He is buried in the court of his own house, which is situated in the quarter or village of _Takarir_, near the residence of the sultan Abumedina of Darfûr. The government has appropriated his house to themselves, and converted it into a magazine for leather. Seven other Europeans, besides Dr. Iken, breathed their last at Lobeid, and are buried on the north side of the hospital square. I planted a tree on each grave, and had already fixed upon a place of rest near them. After I had recovered from my dangerous illness in a slight measure, and was just able to creep along with the assistance of a stick, my favourite promenade was to those graves; they were the only relics of Europeans I could find in that distant country, and I was under the influence of a peculiar feeling when arriving at those hillocks; I knew myself in the company of Europeans, although departed from this world; I fancied myself in reality in their presence, and I could have believed that they were listening with sympathy to my soft complaints, heard my longing voice for my distant fatherland, and were congratulating me on my recovery and speedy departure from this country, so fatal to Europeans. When I paid my last visit to this spot I was overpowered by that same feeling we experience when parting with our friends.