s to be a sensible,
enlightened fellow, and quite matter-of-fact in his manner for a Persian;
apart from his duty to the Governor and a few bigwigs of the place, whom
it would be unpardonable in him to overlook or ignore, he saves me as
much as possible from the worrying of the people.

Prince Anushirvan Mirza, Governor of Semnoon, Damghan, and Shahrood, is
the Shah's cousin, son of Baahman Mirza, uncle of the Shah, and formerly
Governor of Tabreez. Baahman Mirza was discovered intriguing with the
Russians, and, fearing the vengeance of the Shah, fled from the country;
seeking an asylum among the Russians, he is now--if not dead--a refugee
somewhere in the Caucasus. But the father's disgrace did not prejudice
the Shah against his sons, and Prince Anushirvan and his sons are honored
and trusted by the Shah as men capable of distinguishing between the
friends and enemies of their country, and of conducting themselves
accordingly.

The Governor's palace is not far from the north gate of the city, and
after the customary round of tea and kalians, without which nothing can
be done in Persia, he walks outside with his staff to a piece of good
road in order to see me ride to the best advantage. (As a specimen of
Persian extravagance--to use a very mild term--it may be as well to
mention here as anywhere, that the Governor telegraphed to his son,
acting as his deputy at Shahrood, that he had ridden some miles with me
out of the city!)

During the evening one of the Governor's sons, Prince Sultan Madjid
Mirza, comes in with a few leading dignitaries to spend an hour in
chatting and smoking. This young prince proves one of the most
intelligent Persians I have met in the country; besides being very well
informed for a provincial Persian, he is bright and quick-witted. Among
the gentlemen he brings in with him is a man who has made the pilgrimage
to Mecca via "Iskenderi" (Alexandria) and Suez, and has, consequently,
seen and ridden on the Egyptian railway. The Prince has heard his
description of this railway, and the light thus gained has not
unnaturally had the effect of whetting his curiosity to hear more of the
marvellous iron roads of Frangistan; and after exhausting the usual
programme of queries concerning cycling, the conversation leads, by easy
transition, to the subject of railways.

"Do they have railways in Yenghi Donia?" questioned the Prince.

"Plenty of railways; plenty of everything," I reply.

"Like the one a