n is
the ordinary sowar, or irregular horseman of the country. They announce
themselves as bearers of the Ameer's salaams, and as my escort to Tabbas,
a village two marches to the east.

A few miles of plain, with a gradual inclination toward the mountains;
ten miles up the course of a mountain-stream-up, up, up to where thawing
snow-banks make the pathway anything but pleasant for my escort's horses
and ten times worse for a person reduced to the necessity of lugging his
horse along; over the summit, and down, down, down again over a fearful
trail for a wheelman, or, more correctly, over no trail at all, but
scrambling as best one can over rocks, along ledges, often in the water
of the stream, and finally reaching the village of Darmian, the end of
our first day's march, about 3 p.m.

Darmian is situated in a rugged gulch, and the houses, gardens, and
orchards ramble all over the place--with little regard to
regularity, although some attempt has been made at forming streets.
Darmian and Poorg are twin villages, but a short distance apart, in this
same gulch, and are famous for dried apricots, pears, and dried
beetroots, and for the superior quality of its sheerah.

Among the absurdities that crop up during the course of an eventful
evening at Darmian is the case of a patriarchal villager whose broad and
enlightening experience of some threescore years has left him in the
possession of a marvellously logical and comprehensive mind. Hearing of
the arrival of a Ferenghi with an iron horse, this person's subtle
intellect pilots him into the stable of the place we are stopping at and
leads him to search curiously therein, with the expectation, we may
reasonably presume, of seeing the bicycle complacently munching kah and
jow. This is perhaps not so much to be wondered at, when it is reflected
that plenty of people hereabout have no conception whatever of a wheeled
vehicle, never having seen a vehicle of any description.

The good people of Darmian, as is perhaps quite natural in people near
the frontier, betray a pardonable pride in comparing Persia with
Afghanistan, always to the prodigious disadvantage of the latter. In the
course of the usual examination of my effects, they are immensely
gratified to learn from my map that Persia is much the larger country of
the two. A small corner of India is likewise visible on the map, and,
taking it for granted that the map represents India as fully as it does
Persia, the khan,