SH1RAZ TO BUSHIKE. 7 



from the day we crossed the Turko-Persian frontier, 

 was an ovation the whole way. The boom, of those 

 big guns of the English had inspired the Persian 

 mind with a wholesome dread of England's power of 

 retaliation, at all events for the time being. The 

 journey was a sort of daily recurring fete champetre. 

 Tents of gorgeous hues were pitched in shady spots, 

 tiny streams of water brought their pleasant music 

 to our ears the livelong day and night. Lumps of 

 snow, dipped in delicious sherbets, were handed to 

 us in delicately-carved wooden spoons the instant our 

 feet were out of the stirrup at the end of the morn- 

 ing's march. Scores of wild-looking Kurdish horse- 

 men scoured the country in all directions. Wheeling 

 in circles, pursuing one another at tip-top speed over 

 sometimes roughish ground, they playfully sent their 

 jerreeds humming through the air under our very 

 noses. They plunged boldly miles away to the right 

 and left into every wooded hollow and dell, so assur- 

 ing themselves that no murderous, plundering Buk- 

 tiaree was there lying concealed, meditating mischief 

 to our precious persons. Our Mehmandar, the officer 

 appointed by the Shah to accompany the Minister, 

 was a stout, handsome-looking man, who had an easy 

 off-hand manner of telling most astonishing lies. 

 Our early experience of his Munchausen talents dated 

 from the very first morning he met us at the frontier. 

 That day the camp was pitched on the banks of a 

 small stream, whose clear rapids and still, deep pools 



