ection, saving a smaller apartment at the back of each
stall, a kind of strong-room, guarded by massive iron-bound doors,
in which the most valuable goods are kept. There is no attempt at
decoration; a few only of the jewellers' shops are whitewashed inside,
the best being hung with the cheapest and gaudiest of French or German
coloured prints. The stalls are usually opened about 6.30 a.m., and
closed at sunset. An hour later the bazaar is untenanted, save for
the watchmen and pariah dogs. The latter are seen throughout the day,
sleeping in holes and corners, many of them almost torn to pieces from
nightly encounters, and kicked about, even by children, with impunity.
It is only at night that the brutes become really dangerous, and when,
in packs of from twenty to thirty, they have been known to attack and
kill men. Occasionally the dogs of one quarter of the bazaar attack
those of another, and desperate fights ensue, the killed and wounded
being afterwards eaten by the victors. It is, therefore, unsafe to
venture out in the streets of Teheran after dark without a lantern and
good stout cudgel.

From 11 to 12 a.m. is perhaps the busiest part of the day in the
bazaar. Then is one most struck with the varied and picturesque types
of Oriental humanity, the continuously changing kaleidoscope of
native races from Archangel to the Persian Gulf, the Baltic Sea to
Afghanistan.

Nor are contrasts wanting. Here is Ivanoff from Odessa or Tiflis, in
the white peaked cap and high boots dear to every Russian, haggling
over the price of a carpet with Ali Mahomet of Bokhara; there
Chung-Yang, who has drifted here from Pekin through Siberia, with a
cargo of worthless tea, vainly endeavouring to palm it off on that
grave-looking Parsee, who, unfortunately for the Celestial, is not
quite such a fool as he looks. Such a hubbub never was heard.
Every one is talking or shouting at the top of their voices, women
screaming, beggars whining, fruit and water sellers jingling their
cymbals, while from the coppersmiths' quarter hard by comes a
deafening accompaniment in the shape of beaten metal. Occasionally a
caravan of laden camels stalk gravely through the alleys, scattering
the yelling crowd right and left, only to reassemble the moment it has
passed, like water in the wake of a ship. Again it separates, and a
sedan, preceded by a couple of gholams with long wands, is carried
by, and one gets a momentary glimpse of a pair of dark eyes and