he village did not return to-day, which was
something to be thankful for, although towards evening I should have
hailed even them with delight--dirt, vermin, and all. Patience was
rewarded, for next day I was able to stand, and towards evening set
out for Kawamabad, twenty-four miles distant. Though still painful and
almost black, all inflammation had subsided, and three days later I
was able to get on a boot "You'd have been well in half the time,"
insisted Gerome, "if you had only let me apply a blister."

The road from Mourghab to Kawamabad is wild and picturesque, leading
through a narrow gorge, on either side of which are precipitous cliffs
of rock and forest, three or four hundred feet high. A broad, swift
torrent dashes through the valley, which is about a quarter of a mile
broad. In places the pathway, hewn out of the solid rock, is barely
three feet wide, without guard or handrail of any kind. This part of
the journey was reached at sunset, and we did not emerge on the plain
beyond till after dark. Our horses were, fortunately, as active as
cats, and knew their way well, for to guide them was impossible. In
places one's foot actually swung over the precipice, and a false step
must have sent one crashing over the side and into the roaring torrent
below, which, perhaps luckily, we could only hear, not see.

The ruins of Persepolis are situated about fifty miles north-east of
Shiraz, two or three miles from the main road. Signs that we were
approaching the famous city were visible for some distance before we
actually reached them. Not fifty yards from the post-house of Poozeh,
a picturesque spot surrounded by a chain of rocky, snow-capped hills,
we came upon a kind of cave, with carvings in bas-relief on its
granite walls, representing figures of men and horses from eight to
ten feet high, evidently of great antiquity. The desecrating hand of
the British tourist had, however, left its mark in the shape of the
name "J. Isaacson" cut deep into one of the slabs, considerably
marring its beauty.

It is not my intention to write a description of the ruins that now
mark the spot where once stood the capital of the Persian Empire. To
say nothing of its having been so graphically portrayed by far more
competent hands, my visit was of such short duration that I carried
away but faint recollections of the famous city. The fact that it
had been persistently crammed down my throat, upon every available
occasion, ever since