ntion of rising, this courtesy was somewhat superfluous, but
the incident serves to show how greatly these simple villagers are
impressed with the idea of a seyud's superiority, to say nothing of the
seyud's assumption of the same. They explain to me that the little,
unwashed, unkempt, and well-nigh unclad specimen of humanity examining
the bicycle is a seyud, with the manner of people pointing out a being of
unapproachable superiority. Still, looking at the poor old fellow's rags,
and remembering that it is new year and the time for a change of raiment,
one cannot help thinking, "Old fellow, you evidently come in for more
resect, after all, than material assistance, and would, no doubt,
willingly exchange a good deal of the former for a little of the latter."
Still, one must not be too confident of this; the bodily requirements of
a wrinkled old seyud would be very trifling, while his egotism would, on
the other hand, be insufferable. This is a grazing village chiefly, and
the gravelly desert comes close up to the walls, so that there is no
difficulty about pushing on immediately after it ceases raining.

Two farsakhs of variable wheeling through a belt of low hills and broken
country, and two more over the level Miandasht Plain, and the
caravanserai of Miandasht is reached. Here the village, the telegraph
office and everything is enclosed within the protecting walls of an
immense Shah Abbas caravanserai, a building capable of affording shelter
and protection to five thousand people. In the old--and yet not so very
old--dangerous days, it was necessary, for safety, that travellers and
pilgrims should journey together through this section of country in large
caravans, otherwise disaster was sure to overtake them; and Shah Abbas
the Great built these huge caravanserais for their accommodation. In
deference to the memory of this monarch as a builder of caravanserais all
over the country, any large serai is nowadays called a Shah Abbas
caravanserai, whether built by him or not. Certainly not less than three
hundred pack-camels, besides other animals, are resting and feeding, or
being loaded up for the night march as I ride up, their myriad clanging
bells making a din that comes floating across the plain to meet me as I
approach.

Miandasht is the first place in Khorassan proper, and among the motley
gathering of charmdars, camel-drivers, pilgrims, travellers, villagers
and hangers-on about the serai, are many Khorassanis w