g ditches; and two hours after obtaining
the first view of Herat finds us camped in a walled apricot garden in the
important village of Rosebagh (?).

Overtopping our camping ground are a pair of dilapidated brick minarets,
attached to what Kiftan Sahib calls the Jami Mesjid, and which he
furthermore volunteers was erected by Ghengis Khan. The minarets are of
circular form, and one is broken off fifteen feet shorter than its
neighbor. In the days of their glory they were mosaicked with blue, green
and yellow glazed tiles; but nothing now remains but a few
mournful-looking patches of blue, surviving the ravages of time and
decay. Pigeons have from time to time deposited grains of barley on the
dome, and finding sustenance from the gathered dirt and the falling
rains, they have sprouted and grown, and dotted the grand old mosque with
patches of green vegetation.

One corner of the orchard is occupied by a stable, to the flat roof of
which I betake myself shortly after our arrival to try and ascertain my
bearings, and see something of the village. High walls rise up between
the roofs of the houses and divide one garden from another, so that
precious little opportunity exists for observation immediately around,
and from here not even the tall minarets of Herat are visible.

The adjacent houses are mostly bee-hive roofed, and within the little
gardens attached the soil is evidently rich and productive. Pomegranate,
almond, and apricot trees abound, and produce a charming contrast to the
prevailing crenellated mud walls. A very conspicuous feature of the
village is a cluster of some half-dozen venerable cedars.

The stable roof provides sleeping accommodation for the chief of the
sowars, Kiftan Sahib, and myself, the remainder of the party curl
themselves up beneath the apricot-trees below. During the night one of
the sowars, an old fellow whose morose and sulky disposition has had the
effect of rendering him socially objectionable to his comrades on the
march from Furrah, comes scrambling on the roof, and in loud tones of
complaint addresses himself to Kiftan Sahib's peacefully snoozing
proportions. His midnight eruption consists of some grievance against his
fellows; perhaps some such wanton act of injustice as appropriating his
blanket or stealing his "timbakoo" (tobacco).

The only satisfaction he obtains from his superior takes the form of
angry upbraidings for daring to disturb our slumbers; and, continuing his
com