t the caravan trade is
now insignificant. There is in the season a considerable traffic in
dates, but that is all, for the roads to Persia and Afghanistan are
very unsafe. Only a few weeks previous to my visit, a Kelat merchant,
proceeding with a large caravan to Kerman, in Persia, was robbed and
murdered in the frontier district west of Kharan. Few now attempt the
journey, most of the goods being sent to Quetta, and thence by rail to
various parts of India, by sea to Persia.

Art and industry are, as well as trade, practically at a standstill in
the Khan's city, though a handsome embroidery, peculiar to Kelat, is
made by the women, and fetches high prices in India, while some of the
natives are clever at brass work and ironmongery. Noticing a Russian
samovar in one of the shops, I entered and inquired of the owner
(through the Wazir) how it had reached Kelat. "From Russia," was
the reply, "_via_ Meshed, Herat, and Kandahar. There is a good
caravan-road the whole way," added the Baluchi, taking down a small
brass shield from a peg in the wall. "This came from Bokhara, _via_
Cabul, only ten days, ago; but trade is not what it was." "Would there
be any difficulty in making that journey?" I asked. "For you--an
Englishman--yes," said the man, with a queer smile, and was
continuing, when "The Khan will be growing impatient," broke in the
Wazir, taking my hand and leading me hurriedly into the street.

An Afghan guard of honour was drawn up at the entrance of the palace,
wearing the nearest approach to a uniform I had yet seen--dark-green
tunics, light-blue trousers, and white turbans, clean, well fitting,
and evidently kept for state occasions. Each man carried a Berdan
rifle and cavalry sabre. It struck me as a curious coincidence that
the former rifle is in general use throughout the Russian army.
Leaving my escort with strict injunctions to keep their tempers, and
under no circumstances to allow themselves to be drawn into a quarrel,
I followed the Wazir and his attendants into the Mir. The entrance is
through an underground passage about forty yards long by seven wide,
ill-smelling and in total darkness. Arrived at the end, we again
emerged into daylight, and, ascending a flight of rickety wooden
steps, found ourselves in the durbar-room--a spacious apartment, its
walls decorated with green, gold, and crimson panels, alternating with
large looking-glasses. Costly rugs and carpets from Persia and Bokhara
strewed the gri