The diseased, emaciated camel lay groaning just without the semicircle. There was a large abscess over the shoulders, produced by the loads it had carried, besides other sores. A million of flies was then settled on the abscess, which was a running sore. It was a most disgusting sight. But not to the people who eyed the poor animal as connoisseurs. I learnt afterwards the Kady's decision was: "The camel is incurable, but may be killed and eaten." I asked the people whether they were not afraid to eat an animal which was so much diseased. They replied, "No, it is the judgment of the Kady. To-morrow we shall kill and eat it. To-day there's camels' flesh enough." I was astonished at the Kady's decision, and told the people diseased animals were not allowed to be killed for eating in our country, for there was danger in their making people ill. Some approved of this; but the population is much poorer than I, at first, thought, and the indigent are glad to catch anything. The few rich bury their money in foreign speculations, or hoard it up in their houses. After the decision, the miserable camel was left alone in the Souk, a prey to the flies, which were voraciously feeding on its running sores, till the next day. Semi-civilized people cannot comprehend the mercy or duty of alleviating the sufferings of the inferior creation. To-day a new case of severe ophthalmia. This was that of a woman, who also had a fever. To my agreeable surprise, a number of her friends decided that she should take a fever-powder, in spite of the Ramadan. I administered it myself, and she drank it greedily. I was glad of such a marked exception to the rigid fasting. Her relatives said she was permitted to drink it, first, because she was _a woman_, and, secondly, because she was sick. This was the law of the Kady. Met a remarkable Touarick in the streets. This is an old worn-out man, with one eye, and that much damaged. In his day he has been a famous bandit, has plundered many a caravan and murdered the hapless merchants. He is now, in his dreadful old age, sheltered in the very city whose wayfaring merchants he so often plundered and murdered. The judgment of heaven seems pressing hard upon him; for he is poor and miserable, a beggar in the streets--all his ill-gotten wealth is gone! He leads about a little lad, whom he calls his son, and who seems to afford the wretched old villain his only repose of mind, if repose he can have from so horrible a conscience. I gave the child a small coin. The inhabitants feed the bandit, and tolerate him with an admirable spirit of merciful forgiveness. And if _they_ do, who cries for vengeance? Wrote to-day a letter to the Pasha of Tripoli, thanking His Highness for the kind attentions I had received from the Governor of Ghadames. I never did anything with such good will. It was, besides, an absolute duty.