_7th._--Started a little before sun-rise, when a clear mist was spread like a mantle of gauze over old Sahara, and lost the sight of the sand-hills in the course of the morning. I joyfully bid them adieu, though it may be very fine and Desert-like to talk and write of regions of sand and sandy billows, furrowing the bosom of Sahara. Winding about, but always making south. Wind now from the west; the sky mostly overcast, but no signs of rain. No living things _en route_, but a solitary crow, and another solitary butterfly. The mirage again visible. Very little herbage for the camels, and no wood for the fire. On our right long ranges of low hills, dull and drear outlines of The Desert. In some masses, the stone and earth and chalk are thrown together in confusion, as so many materials for creating a new world. Those who traverse these Saharan desolations, cannot but receive the impression, that old mother earth, slung on her balance, and revolving on her axis, has performed eternal cycles of decay and reproduction. Time was, when these heaps of desolation were fruitful fields of waving corn and smiling meadows, and fair branching woods, meandered about with running rills of silvery streams, where cattle pastured lowing, and birds sang on the trees. Now, heap upon heap, and pile upon pile of the ruins of nature deform the dreadful landscape, one feature being more hideous to look upon than the other: and the whole is a mass of blank existence, having no apparent object but to daunt and terrify the hapless wayfarer, who with his faithful camel, slowly and mournfully winds his weary way through the scene of wasteful destruction. . . . . In the sand, the pebbles are as bright and smooth as those washed by the sea-spray, or chafed by a running brook. I have observed minutely the system of living amongst our people, and really believe they have not enough to eat. When they invite me to supper, and give me a share of _bazeen_, I always require another supper on my return, before going to bed. Besides, I always make a slight repast in the morning, which they do not. Then I eat dates and a piece of cake during the day's riding, for we never stop during the day's march. They also munch a few dates themselves. But, altogether, though I'm a moderate eater, I believe I eat every day twice, and sometimes thrice, as much as they eat. With respect to clothing, I wear double the quantity they do, and, nevertheless, feel cold at night. I may say with truth, they are poorly fed and badly clothed. It is this miserable system of living which makes them such lanky bare-boned objects. I observe, also, they feel the fatigue very much, as much as I myself, though unwell with drinking the water and serving a hard apprenticeship to Desert-travelling.