discharge the quarrelsome Ali.


We started for Mizdah, at length, towards noon, Sheikh Omer bringing us
a little on our way, and, begging to be well spoken of in high quarters;
and after passing the ruins of two Arab castles that frown over the
southern side of Wady Esh-Shrâb, got into a gloomy country, exactly
resembling that on the other side of the oasis, except that the strata
of the limestone rocks, instead of being horizontal are inclined. The
whole desert, however, wears a more arid appearance. Yet there were some
lote-trees here and there, and a few tholukhs. The, traces of the aoudad
were noticed; and the blacks, picking up its dung, smelt it as musk,
saying, "It is very good." As I jogged on upon my camel, the oppressive
heat caused me to sleep and dream in the saddle of things that had now
become the province of memory.

More quarrels! The chaouches are boiling over again; they must fight it
out between them. No doubt they are both correct in exchanging the
epithet of "thief." Scarcely has the grumbling of these two terrible
fellows died away, when the blacks are at it amongst themselves. He who
has two wives gets hold of his blunderbuss, and threatens to blow
himself to pieces. Nobody interferes; there is little public spirit in a
caravan: so he consents to an explanation, saying sententiously, "My
little wife is mad." The fact is, his two helpmates, one young and one
old, are vastly too much for him, as they would be for most men. He
moves along in a perpetual family tornado. The mother of the young one,
a sort of derwish negress, is a tremendous old intriguer, and stirs up
at least one feud a day. Quarrelling is meat and drink to her.

It would have been out of character had not Ali got up a little