ersian Mecca.

Meshed is a strange city for a Ferenghi to live in; every day are heard
the chanting and singing of newly arriving bands of pilgrims, the
strange, wild utterances of dervishes preaching on the streets, and the
shouting responses of their auditors. Conspicuous above everything else
in the city, as gold is conspicuous from dross, is the golden dome and
gold-tipped minarets of the holy edifice that imparts to the city its
sacred character. The gold is in thin plates covering the hemispherical
roof like sheets of tin; like most Eastern things, its appearance is more
impressive from a distance than at close quarters. Grains of barley
deposited on the roof by pigeons have sprouted and grown in rank bunches
between the thin gold plates, many of which are partially loose,
imparting to the place an air of neglect and decay. By resting their feet
on the dome of this sacred edifice, the pigeons of Meshed have themselves
become objects of veneration; shooting them is strictly prohibited, and a
mob would soon be about the ears of anyone venturing to do them harm.

The two most important persons in Meshed are the acting Governor-General
of Khorassan, and Mardan Khan, Ex-Governor of Sarakhs and Hereditary
Chief of the powerful tribe of Timurees. Of course, the Governor sends
his salaams, and invites me to come round to the government konak and
favor him with an exhibition. Since our refusal to entertain any more of
the "Shah's relations," we find that the worthy and long-suffering Abbas
Khan has been worried almost to the verge of despair by requests from all
over the city begging the privilege of seeing me ride.

"Knowing that you have been worried in the same way yourselves," says
Abbas Kahu, "I have replied to them, 'Is the Sahib a giraffe and I his
keeper? Why, then, do you come to me? The Sahib has travelled a long way,
and is stopping here to rest, not to make an exhibition of himself."

An exception is of course made in favor of the Governor-General and
Mardan Khan. The Government compound is a large enclosure, and to reach
the Governor-General's quarters one has to traverse numerous long
court-yards connected with one another by long, gloomy passage-ways of
brick, where the tramping of the sentinels and the march of retiring and
relieving guards resound through the vaults like an echo of mediaeval
times.

There is nothing particularly interesting about the Governor's
apartments, but Mardan Khan's palace is a