t Iskenderi and Stamboul?"

"Better and bigger than both these put together a hundred times over; the
Iskenderi railroad is very small."

Nods and smiles of acquiescence from Prince and listeners follow this
statement, which show plainly enough that they consider it a pardonable
lie, such as every Persian present habitually indulges in himself and
thinks favorably of in others.

"Railroads are good things, and Ferenghis are very clever people," says
the Prince, renewing the subject and handing me a handful of salted melon
seeds from his pocket, meanwhile nibbling some himself.

"Yes; why don't you have railroads in Iran? You could then go to Teheran
in a few hours."

The Prince smiles amusingly at the thought, as though conscious of
railroads in Persia being a dream altogether too bright to ever
materialize, and shaking his head, says: "Pool neis" (we have no money).

"The English have money and would build the railroad; but, 'Mollah neis'
--Baron Reuter?--you know Baron Reuter--' Mollah neis,'
not 'pool neis.'"

The Prince smiles, and signifies that he is well enough aware where the
trouble lies; but we talk no more of railroads, for he and his father and
brothers belong to the party of progress in Persia, and the triumph of
priests and old women over the Shah and Baron Reuter's railway is to them
a distressful and humiliating subject.

The late lamented O'Donovan, of "To the Merve" fame, used to make Semnoon
his headquarters while dodging about on the frontier, and was personally
known to everyone present. Semnoon is celebrated for the excellence of
its kalian tobacco, and O'Donovan was celebrated in Semnoon for his love
of the kalian. This evening, in talking about him, the telegraph-jee says
that "when he pulled at the kalian he pulled with such tremendous
eagerness that the flames leaped up to the ceiling, and after three
whiffs you couldn't see anybody in the room for smoke!"

The telegraph-jee's farrash builds a good wood fire in a cozy little room
adjoining the office; blankets are provided, an ample supper is sent
around from the telegraph-jee's house, and what is still better
appreciated, I am left to enjoy these substantial comforts without so
much as a single spectator coming to see me feed; no one comes near me
till morning.

The morning breaks cold and clear, and for some six miles the road is
very fair wheeling; after this comes a gradual inclination toward a
jutting spur of hills; the followi