or this distance I shall be retraversing the road by which I came, and
shall be confronted at every turn of my wheel by reminiscences of dried
fish, a Mazanderau dervish, and an angular steed.

The streams that under the influence of the storm ran thigh-deep have now
dwindled to mere rivulets, and the narrow, miry trail through the melting
snow has become dry and smooth enough to ride wherever the grade permits.
The hills are verdant with the green young life of early spring, and are
clothed in one of nature's prettiest costumes--a costume of seal-brown
rocks and green turf studded with a profusion of blue and yellow flowers.

Shahriffabad is reached early in the afternoon, and the threatening
aspect of the changed weather forbids going any farther today.

Shortly after taking up my quarters in the chapar-khana, a party of
Persian travellers appear upon the scene, and with them a fussy little
man in big round spectacles and semi-European clothes. Scarcely have they
had time to alight and seek out quarters than the little man makes his
appearance at my menzil door in all the glory of a crimson velvet
dressing-cap and blue slippers, and beaming gladsomely through his
moon-like spectacles, he comes forward and without further ceremony
shakes hands. "Some queer little French professor, geologist,
entomologist, or something, wandering about the country in search of
scientific knowledge," is the instinctive conclusion I arrive at the
moment he appears; and my greeting of "bonjour, monsieur," is quite as
involuntary as the conclusion.

"Paruski ni?" he replies, arching his eyebrows and smiling.

"Paruski ni; Ingilis."

"Parsee namifami?"

"Parsee kam-kam."

In this brief interchange of words in the vernacular of the country we
define at once each other's nationality and linguistic abilities. He is a
Russian and can speak a little Persian. It is difficult, however, to
believe him anything else than a little French professor, wise above his
generation and skin-full of occult wisdom in some particular branch of
science; but then the big round spectacles, the red dressing-cap, and the
cerulean leather slippers of themselves impart an air of owlish and
preternatural wisdom.

Six times during the afternoon he bounces into my quarters and shakes
hands, and six times shakes hands and bounces out again. Every time he
renews his visit he introduces one or more natives, who take as much
interest in the hand-shaking as they do i