292 FROM GOKTCHAI TO LENKORAN. 



since it is no uncommon thing to meet with a 

 village boasting of nearly as many names as 

 inhabitants. Tchaillee is as near the phonetic 

 spelling of the name of this villanous collection 

 of hovels as 1 can make it. 



When we arrived, night had set in, and with 

 it foul weather. We were tired, wet, and hungry. 

 No horses could have been had even if we would 

 have continued our journey that night ; so we 

 decided to remain, and asked our way to the 

 traveller's room. The station is placed on very 

 high ground, and in an exposed position. At 

 the most exposed corner is the room in which 

 we were to pass the night. The floor was literally 

 more wet and filthy than the road without ; you 

 could not stand out of a puddle unless you stood 

 on the only piece of furniture in the room a soli- 

 tary bench, extremely rickety with old age, and 

 not large enough to hold one man in a recum- 

 bent position. The hearth was in ruins, the 

 window blown in, the door off its hinges, the 

 ceiling had partially fallen, and even the coloured 

 print of the Emperor, with which no post-house 

 or public office can ever dispense, hung in 

 wet fragments flapping against the mouldy 

 walls. 



We tried to bale the water from the floor, but 

 it was labour wasted ; it returned as last as we 

 expelled it. Do what we would to block out the 



