I can't help observing the habits of the camels, for our continued marching affords us ample leisure. When these melancholy creatures can find no other occupation _en route_, or when there is nothing _en route_, or after a full belly, they set to work, like men, and bite one another. Often one of the camels falls, or throws its load, in a regular encounter. The Moors and Arabs are bad loaders of the camels, and there is always some camel with its load falling off. In fact, the people do nothing neat and well. Even the little gear required for these animals is continually breaking and getting out of order. People look to the immediate hour before them: not excepting even the necessary articles of fodder and water, and food for themselves, of which they often neglect to take a sufficient supply. And yet if anything could teach a man to be provident it is The Desert. If this Saharan travelling were placed under the management of Europeans, it would be infinitely more secure. Our camels are nearly all coast-camels, we shall soon have to speak of the maharee. The Touarghee uses quite a different style of address when he coaxes along the camels; it is bolder and quicker in its intonations, suited to the language of the Touaricks. A frequent address of encouragement is, "_Bok, bok bok, bokka bokka_." The Arabs usually command the movement of the camels by "Tzâ;" and when they are to stop, by "Ush;" and, to kneel down, it is a prolonged pronunciation of the guttural ‮خ‬ or Kh-h-h. We may well suppose, however, that the camels which travel this route are expert linguists in the Touarghee and Arabic. We continued all day till the last dull departing solar ray of the west had left us. A long dark, dismal, dreary day it has been. We encamped amidst two long ranges of Saharan mountains as a shelter from the wind. Our people detest the wind, they prefer burning heat to wind. The mountains only deserve the name from their frightfully gloomy aspect, not from their consistence or magnitude, for in reality they are so much stony and earthy rubbish shovelled up into long ridges. There is nothing in shape or consistence of granite. I picked up several pieces of petrified wood, but none of them pretty or remarkable. So far as I can judge, there are no minerals or rare stones to repay the researches of the geologist in these regions of desolation. Noticed a quantity of soft grey stone, as also of slate stone: observed some lime-stone gradually acquiring the consistence and colour of fine streaky marble.