ur discoveries and delighted with the strange scene. The
sunshine is of dazzling brightness, birds are singing everywhere, and
the ruins are gay with gorgeous wild flowers. We soon found ourselves
in what was once a public square, now for the most part a shady grove.
(Afterward ascertained to be the square of the City Hall.)

[Illustration: "We soon found ourselves in what was once a public square."]

As we sat on a fallen cornice and gazed on the lofty buildings about
us I asked Nofuhl if he was still in ignorance as to where we were,
and he said:

"As yet I know not. The architecture is much like that of ancient
Europe, but it tells us nothing."

Then I said to him in jest, "Let this teach us, O Nofuhl! the folly of
excessive wisdom. Who among thy pupils of the Imperial College at
Ispahan would believe their venerable instructor in history and
languages could visit the largest city in the world and know so little
about it!"

"Thy words are wise, my Prince," he answered; "few babes could know
less."

As we were leaving this grove my eyes fell upon an upturned slab that
seemed to have a meaning. It was lying at our feet, partly hidden by
the tall grass, having fallen from the columns that supported it. Upon
its surface were strange characters in bold relief, as sharp and clear
as when chiselled ten centuries ago. I pointed it out to Nofuhl, and
we bent over it with eager eyes.

It was this:

ASTOR HOUSE

"The inscription is Old English," he said. "'House' signified a
dwelling, but the word 'Astor' I know not. It was probably the name of
a deity, and here was his temple."

This was encouraging, and we looked about eagerly for other signs.

Our steps soon brought us into another street, and as we walked I
expressed my surprise at the wonderful preservation of the stone work,
which looked as though cut but yesterday.

"In such an atmosphere decay is slow," said Nofuhl. "A thousand years
at least have passed since these houses were occupied. Take yonder
oak, for instance; the tree itself has been growing for at least a
hundred years, and we know from the fallen mass beneath it that
centuries had gone by before its birth was possible."

He stopped speaking, his eyes fixed upon an inscription over a
doorway, partly hidden by one of the branches of the oak.

Turning suddenly upon me with a look of triumph, he exclaimed:

"It is ours!"

"What is ours?" I asked.

"The knowledge we sought;" and he poi