The old bandit calls and says:--"Your friend, the _long_ man, has finished to-day all his tobacco." The long man is the Giant Touarick. I took no notice of this polite hint to furnish a new supply. I might furnish with tobacco all the Touaricks who came here, if I were to attend to these Irish hints. The old bandit, who is cramped up like a wizened apple, is said by people still to carry on his nefarious trade. The proof of this they give to be, his always _going alone_ when he travels. The old villain then catches what he can. Myself, I hardly believe he continues his brigandage. He appears wholly worn out. I gave his little son 20 paras to buy camel's flesh. The old freebooter grinned a ghastly smile. Walking in _Ben Weleed_ quarters, I heard a great to-do, and went to see what it was, when I saw the old chief, Haj Ben Mousa Ettanee, standing over his young truant son, whilst with a thick stick the servant of the schoolmaster was belabouring the feet of the child. Never was a more complete bastinadoing. The urchin cried to his father for mercy. It was perfectly in character with the old man, and the austere manners of his family. I do not wonder that all the people read and write in Ghadames, when such severity is practised by the very aristocrats of the city. Whilst standing by, another Moor went up to the old man, and said, "Stop, stop, here's the Christian looking on." They stopped, but it appeared a mere pretence for leaving off, for already they had unmercifully belaboured the truant.