36 RAMBLES OF A NATURALIST. 
further south, which would seem to attest that beyond 
Djelpha the Romans never penetrated into the Sahara, 
As I was in haste to get to Laghouat I did not sleep 
at Djelpha, but pressed on as soon as dinner was over. 
Near the “Assassination Rock,” so named from several 
dreadful murders having been committed there, we passed 
through a small flight of locusts, and that was the only 
incident worth mentioning, until tired and weary we beheld 
the banner of France floating over the fortress of El 
Aghouat, the pearl of the desert, the key of the Great 
Sahara. Laghouat (Larouat) or El Aghouat, according 
as we prefix the French or Arab article, is the last French 
outpost. So far civilization extends and no further; be- 
yond is nominal submission of the “tribus indigénes,” men 
who, like the Chamba and the Touareg, trust to the fleet- 
ness of their camels, and own no master. An exception 
only must be made in the case of the Mzab, who are a 
peaceful nation and the good allies of the French. 
Situated on the right bank of the river Mzi—I should 
hesitate to say river, for it is only in wet seasons that there 
is any water—Laghouat is, in fact, the first oasis. Twenty 
thousand matchless palms encompass the town, forming a 
noble: belt of verdure, beneath which the vine, the fig, the 
pomegranate, and the apricot interlace their foliage, ming- 
ling in rank confusion. About halfa mile to the north the 
“river” forms a small marsh, which I found to be an ex- 
cellent collecting ground. Nearly all the houses are white, 
flat-roofed, and made of mud-bricks. The same materials 
partition off the Arab gardens. In the centre of the town, 
and half way between the two forts, is the Place de Randon, 
named after Marshal Randon. It is a neat French square, 
with a sort of bazaar on one side and the officers’ club on 
the other, embellished by about a dozen palms. Many of 
the streets are entirely occupied by Arabs, and present a- 
very uninviting appearance. The heat inducing a natural 
