m
'darkest Africa,' who attached himself as a charity-pensioner to the
British Legation in Tehran, and was to be seen in all weathers, snow and
sunshine, fantastically dressed, chattering and chuckling in real Sambo
style. He knew that his religious cry of 'Ya Hoo' was characteristic of
him, and he was always ready to shout it out to the 'Ingleez,' whose
generosity he had reason to appreciate. He had a story of being a prince
of fallen fortune, who was kidnapped in Central Africa, traded and
bartered across Arabia, and abandoned in North Persia. He was known as
the Black Prince. During the cholera epidemic of 1892, he took up his
residence under some shady chenar-trees of great age, a recognised
resting-place for dervishes, close to the summer-quarters of the English
Legation at Gulhek, in the vicinity of Tehran. One day he sat outside
the gate and poured forth a pitiable tale of the death of his wife from
cholera during the night, and begged for money to pay for her burial.
Having made his collection, he disappeared at nightfall, leaving his
dead partner under the chenar-trees, and it was then discovered that he
had possessed two wives, who called him _agha_, or master, and he had
departed with the survivor, leaving the other to be buried by strangers.
After that he was known as the Prince of Darkness.

The privileged beggars or mendicant dervishes of Tehran are not all of
the stained, soiled, dust-and-ashes description; some are occasionally
seen presenting a pleasing contrast in washed white garments, and of
neat appearance. There was one such in Tehran, a well-known cheerful old
man, who looked as if he could, in quiet company, tell entertaining
stones, for recitation is adopted by some of these wandering dervishes
as a pleasant means of livelihood, and many of them in the storytelling
art show considerable talent, cultivated taste, and retentive memory.
But, to be successful, they must be able to indulge in variations of
their old stories by the introduction of new incidents which they have
heard or invented. One who is known for good style is always welcomed at
the many tea-shops and gardens in village and town.

[Illustration: A DERVISH STORY-TELLER OF TEHRAN]

In a most unlikely spot, on a long stretch of sand in the Yezd Desert, I
met a well-dressed dervish in clean, cool white clothes, who stopped on
perceiving that I was a 'Firanghi,' and, gently swaying his neat
dervish-dole dish, said quietly, 'Charity; a