ght have regaled on turtle soup,
aspic jellies, quails, and _pate de foie gras_ galore throughout
Persia. Mr. R. N----, an _attache_ to the British Legation at Teheran,
is justly celebrated for his repasts _en voyage_, and assured me that
he invariably sat down to a _recherche_ dinner of soup, three courses,
and iced champagne, even when journeying to such remote cities as
Hamadan or Meshed, thereby proving that, if you only take your time
about it, you may travel comfortably almost anywhere--even in Persia.

[Footnote A: The word _Demavend_ signifies literally "abundance of
mist," so called from the summit of this mountain being continually
wreathed in clouds.]

[Footnote B: A pipe similar to the Turkish "hubble-bubble," wherein
the tobacco is inhaled through plain or rose water.]

[Footnote C: Harem.]

[Footnote D: A badge of royalty in Persia.]

[Footnote E: A stringed instrument played in the same way as the
European guitar.]

CHAPTER VI.

TEHERAN--ISPAHAN.

We are already some farsakhs [A] from Teheran when day breaks on the
4th of February, 1889. The start is not a propitious one. Hardly have
we cleared the Ispahan gate than down comes the Shagird's horse as
if he were shot, breaking his girths and rider's thumb at the same
moment. Luckily, we are provided with rope, and Persian saddles are
not complicated. In ten minutes we are off again; but it is terribly
hard going, and all one can do to keep the horses on their legs.
Towards midday the sun slightly thaws the surface of the frozen snow,
and makes matters still worse. Up till now the pace has not been
exhilarating. Two or three miles an hour at most. It will take some
time to reach India at this rate!

Four or five hours of this work, and there is no longer a sign of life
to be seen on the white waste, saving, about a mile ahead of us,
a thin wreath of grey smoke and half a dozen blackened tents--an
encampment of gypsies. Far behind us the tallest minarets of the
capital are dipping below the horizon, while to the left the white and
glittering cone of Demavend stands boldly out from a background of
deep cloudless blue. Though the sun is powerful--so much so, indeed,
that face and hands are already swollen and blistered--the cold in the
shade is intense. A keen, cutting north-easter sweeps across the white
waste, and, riding for a time under the shadow of a low ridge of
snow, I find my cigar frozen to my lips--nor can I remove it without
p