_11th._--There is excitement in the town. What news? The new acting Governor, my old acquaintance of Ghadamez, Rais Mustapha, is in sight, hull above the horizon. We all go out to meet him, and soon see his _cortège_ breaking between the groves. This is the gayest and most spirited scene I have witnessed since leaving Tripoli. Mustapha brings his staff and 200 Arab cavaliers with him, to relieve the Fezzan irregulars. They make a gallant-looking body of men as they come swiftly on. All the authorities of the town, with whatever cavalry is already collected here, pour out of the gates to pay their compliments; and then come crowds of the lower classes of citizens, with their rude bagpipes, which scream discordantly. The horsemen galloped hither and thither in the plain whilst the interview between the great men took place, and effectually drowned all the polite things that were said by their trampling and hurrahing. We rode up likewise to welcome the new great man. Mustapha looked well, was excellently mounted, and dressed almost like an European officer. He smiled graciously on seeing his old friend of Ghadamez, and shook me by the hand; he also recognised the Germans, having seen them at Zaweeah, near Tripoli. Satisfied with this little interview, we drew aside, and the procession moved towards the gate. There was instantly a rush of the Arab horsemen, every one trying to get in front; and as the entry was narrow an obstruction soon took place. We drew aside, and called out to those who were pressing on to make way for the Governor. One fellow would not hear; and Mustapha himself riding up, lashed him with a small whip across the shoulders. Bad taste; but perhaps excusable in this case, if ever. These lawless soldiery can never be taught good manners, without which true discipline is impossible. However, we at length got within the gate, and the procession poured along the streets, the women _loo-looing_ as we passed, the bagpipes shrieking louder than ever, the crowd buzzing, the horses thundering, the cavaliers shouting. In fine, this hubbub carried us quite back into the regions of civilisation, where men collect on public occasions often without any real joy, and by mere process of action and reaction succeed in working themselves up into a state of boisterous enthusiasm.