In the land of the lion and sun, or, modern Persia

The “poor prince,” Abu Seif Mirza, called one day and suggested our going the next morning to hunt antelope, promising to show us sport. When posting from Teheran we had seen several herds of antelope, generally five or six animals together; and on one occasion, as I have noted, a string had suddenly crossed the road within ten yards of us—a thing very unusual, and which never occurred to me since. The hunting of the antelope is a favourite pastime among the grandees of Persia, and is also practised by the villagers, who will frequently get a pot-shot from behind a stone when the animals visit their drinking-places. They are either pursued with relays of dogs, shot from the saddle, or, rarely, hawked with a specially large kind of falcon, who always succeeds in stopping them till the dogs pull them down. Our plan was the second one. After drinking tea, we started one afternoon and marched out some seven farsakhs into a sandy wilderness; the shah-zadeh (or prince), who was a well-known shikari, shooting several small birds from the saddle while at full gallop, to show his skill.

Abu Seif Mirza, after holding small offices at the courts of the different Governors of Hamadan, such as mirshikar (or chief huntsman), ser-cashikji-bashi (or chief of the guard), etc., had given up the life of a courtier, and tried to support himself by agriculture; this did not answer, for the prince, though a sober man, was a spendthrift. He told us an anecdote, which we found on inquiry to be quite correct.

On one occasion the Governor of Hamadan sent for him, and offered him a present of forty pounds and a dress of honour if he would rid the environs of the town of a certain highway-robber. The grandson of a king did not hesitate, and set about the matter in a business-like way.

“My great object,” said he, “was to obtain the reward intact, and so the only thing was to do the job myself, as going out in a party in search of the robber would have been expensive, and he would have got wind of it and kept out of the way. I consequently put on the dress of a substantial villager, disguised myself as a man of the pen by a big turban and huge slippers down at heel, mounted a donkey provided with a big pair of full saddle-bags, and started for the neighbourhood where the robber carried on his trade. At the first stage I purposely started after all other travellers had left, so as to make myself a conspicuous mark for attack, and as I apparently carried no weapons, I seemed, doubtless, an easy prey.

“On getting some half-way to the village to which I was proceeding, I was suddenly pounced upon by two men armed to the teeth, who rushed out from behind a ruined wall and covered me with their guns. I placed my donkey whom I was driving between us, and immediately simulated abject fear. ‘Amān, amān!’ (‘Mercy, mercy!’) ‘Oh, masters!’ I cried out; ‘I am a poor priest.’

“The men, seeing me apparently unarmed, lowered their guns and demanded my money; with many protestations I thrust each hand into the long pockets of my outer garments, and whipping out a brace of pistols before they had time to raise their weapons, I had shot one through the heart, and now rushed on the other, ordering him to drop his gun or I would fire; he was too astonished to resist. I bound him firmly, and informing him that on the first attempt to escape I should either hamstring or shoot him, I proceeded to reload my discharged pistol. I now searched them both, but only found a few kerans on them. I laid the dead man across my donkey—he it was on whom the price had been set; I shook the priming out of their guns and removed the flints, and we got safely back to the caravanserai from which I had started. The next morning I brought my prisoner and the dead man into Hamadan. Of course the fellow was duly executed, but the dog of a Governor never gave me anything but a colt worth some fifty kerans—a bad business, sahib; and though the catching the thieves did not cost me much, on other occasions I didn’t get off so cheaply.” Here he showed us several scars of sword-wounds.

The prince now changed the subject to that of servants. Addressing Pierson, he asked him what wages he gave his head-man (nazir).

Pierson told him he gave two pounds a month.

“And he robs you, I suppose?”

“Of course.”

“Why not engage an intelligent and honest man?”

“You know, Prince, I can’t find such a man in Persia.”

“Don’t call me ‘Prince,’” he said. “A man so poor as I am should do as I have done and drop the title; I only call myself ‘Khan’”—and here the tears were in his eyes—“till—till I can find myself in bread and my horse in food. Let me see; five tomans a month, the usual modakel—say ten tomans, my commission say twenty tomans; thirty-five tomans—a noble position! try me.”

Pierson was amused, and treated the matter as a joke.

“No,” said the prince, “it is real earnest. I will come to you the day after to-morrow.”

Pierson pointed out that it was impossible.

“I can’t see it,” said the prince; “in Persia the servants of the king may attain the highest offices of the State; there is no degradation in being a servant. What is the chief vizier but the king’s head-servant?”

The matter passed over, and Pierson did not engage a King of Persia’s grandson as his domestic.

We put up for the night in a village, and were sufficiently comfortable. At two A.M. we rose, and started at three. Abu Seif Khan (as I may now call him, for so he desired to be addressed) directed us to load with slugs, which he declared much more favourable than a bullet, and gave us his directions, which Pierson explained to me. They were, first, that it is no use to follow an antelope unless he is hit; second, to be sure not to fire until near enough; third, to keep our eyes open, and note the animals ere they could see us. The antelope, the prince told us, always make straight for their lairs, avoiding the mountains, and the only way to get a shot is to attempt to cross their track, and to fire at the point where the animal is actually nearest. He particularly warned us as to the futility of following the animal, unless wounded, and definitely instructed us always to fire on the slightest chance, and to keep the horse at his greatest speed when doing so, “as unless he is really going ventre à terre it is impossible to attain accuracy. If you do make a hit, follow the beast as long as you can see him, then follow his track if you can find it.”

It was now nearly dawn, and we were going straight for a range of low hills, and as yet had seen nothing. Our Nimrod now stopped, and directed our two grooms to continue slowly straight towards the hills, now three miles off, in order to disturb the animals, while we turned our horses’ heads to a direction nearly parallel with the range, but tending towards it, going at an amble.

Every now and then we saw groups of antelope in the distance, on the plain on our right, but nothing between us and the hills. Abu Seif Khan explained that to follow these would be hopeless, and that our chance was that the servants, with whom were the dogs, would put something up, and that we should attempt to head them, in which we should certainly fail, but that we should have a chance for a shot. All the dogs had been sent with the servants except the Persian’s, which, though of strange appearance, could both, so the prince said, hunt by sight and scent, and would find an antelope if we had the luck to wound one.

The ground was good going, a plain of sand and gravel, a few loose stones lying about, and a rock or two protruding occasionally; the whole having a greenish tinge from the tufts of young spring grass growing here and there, and as yet undried by the fierce sun: patches of thorn-bushes (bhuta) were frequent, but there was no cover of any kind. The sun now rose, and the few antelope we had seen, which before had appeared black, now became white, but they were all on the open plain and quite out of our reach, of which they seemed well aware, as they continued grazing.

Our leader adjured us to keep a sharp look-out, and kept himself carefully watching the space between the hills and us, more especially in our rear.

At last we saw four rapidly moving spots: to dash for the hills was the work of a moment. The spots on our left became galloping antelope. How we thirsted for their blood, and we raced apparently with them as to who should attain first a point half-way between us and the hills. On they came, and on we went; our horses needed no stimulus, our guns were on full cock. Pierson, who had borne too much to the left, came near them first, or rather, they came near him, for they seemed to fly. He did not raise his gun.

Now was my turn. I was, I fancy, some hundred or perhaps ninety yards from the animals, and I should have fired as they crossed me, bearing to my left, and thus had them broad-side on, but I forgot the Persian’s caution; my horse was going well, and I thought I must get nearer. I bore to my right and followed; but, alas! I found my “Senna” seemed, having made a supreme effort, to die away; the antelope were doubtless well out of range when I fired my two barrels, without effect of course.

I did not attempt to reload, but watched the prince, who with loud cries had kept well to the right, fire first one barrel and then the other; at the second discharge the third antelope swerved, but kept on his course, and the animals were soon out of sight, Abu Seif Khan tearing after them in hot pursuit, loading as he went. Pierson now galloped up, and we cantered after the prince, although we were doubtful if his eager pursuit was aught but mere bounce. But, no; after a smart canter of about two miles, we saw the Persian stop behind a low sandhill, dismount, look carefully to his gun, ramming down his charge again for precaution’s sake, and flinging off his huge, loose riding-boots and his heavy coat, he commenced climbing the mound, crouching as he went. He had previously by a gesture warned us to remain where we were.

As soon as he reached the top of the mound he fired and disappeared on the other side. We cantered up, and found him cutting the throat of a fine buck ahū (antelope). He now set to in a sportsman-like manner to disembowel the animal, and it was soon slung en croupe on his horse.

It appeared that his first shot was unsuccessful, but the second had injured the fore-leg of one of the herd. As he instantly followed, he noticed that one lagged a little behind, and that four passed behind the sandhill but only three reappeared. The sequel we had seen.

The sun was now high, and it was close on eight; we marched slowly back to the village and breakfasted on antelope kabobs; that is to say, small lumps of meat of the size of a half walnut skewered in the usual manner—of a piece of meat, a shred of onion, a piece of liver, a shred of onion, a piece of kidney, and so on; they were impaled on a long skewer and turned rapidly over a fierce fire of wood-ashes until cooked; and very tender they were.

The Persians always cook an animal before it is yet cold, and thus ensure tenderness, otherwise antelope-meat must hang ten days to be eatable, for we do not boil venison as they do in Persia.

We started from the village at midnight, and marched till nine A.M., arriving at a large village by a river, called Mahrand, thirty miles from Hamadan, the owner of which, Mahommed Houssein Khan, Mahrandi, had invited us to visit him for a few days; we were to hunt the antelope and have some quail-shooting. Our host, a great friend of Pierson’s, was an enormous man of great wealth, whose life was a harmless one, passed generally in his own village, and he was liked by his acquaintances, and adored by his ryots (villagers). Simple-minded in the extreme, he had, save a fondness for the bottle—a fault common with the wealthy in Persia—no vices such as are usual in the Persians of towns.

We stayed with him four days; the first morning some fifty horses were paraded for our inspection, for our host bred very fine animals, and among other taxes had to find yearly three fine beasts fit for the royal stables. As we sat at a window just raised from the ground, the entire string were led or ridden past us; but as the clothing was on, one could not see much of them.

This clothing consists of a perhan (shirt) of fine woollen blanketing, which envelops the whole body of the animal, being crossed over the chest, but all above the withers is bare. Over this is the jūl, or day clothing; this the horse wears summer and winter, save during the midday time in summer, when he is either naked or has only the perhan on. The jūl is of the same shape as the perhan, but is of coarser texture and lined with felt. Over the jūl is the nammad,[13] or outer felt.

This is a sheet of felt half or three-quarters of an inch thick, and so long that it can be drawn over the horse’s head and neck while the quarters are still well covered, thus completely enveloping the animal in a warm and waterproof covering, and enabling him to stand the cold of winter in the draughty stables of the caravanserai, or even, as is frequently required, to camp out. (During all the summer months in Persia the horses sleep outside.)

This nammad is held in its place by a long strip of broad cotton webbing, which is used as a surcingle, and usually, except at night, the part of the nammad used to cover the neck is doubled down over the animal’s body.

As the procession went by we gave free vent to our admiration; as Pierson acknowledged, he had never seen such a collection of horses. I, too, was surprised. Some dozen of the finer animals were stripped, and as we admired each, the usual empty compliment of “Peishkesh-i-shuma” (“A present to you”) was paid us.

The quail-shooting was good fun; we marched through the green wheat in a row of some ten, horses and servants following, and the birds got up in every direction, a very large bag being made, though probably as many more were lost in the high wheat. The peculiar cry of the bird resounded in every direction.

Several princes were among the guests of Mahommed Houssein Khan, and he and his sons showed us and them the greatest kindness and attention.

In the afternoon suddenly arrived Suleiman Mirza (literally Prince Solomon), a near relative of the king, who was returning from a pilgrimage to the burial-place of the saints at Kerbela, near Baghdad. This man was quite a Daniel Lambert, moving with difficulty, very old, but of a very merry disposition; a good deal of joking took place after his arrival.

After an apparently interminable Persian dinner, which consisted of some hundred plats, among which may be favourably mentioned the pillaws of mutton or fowls, boiled and smothered in rice, in rice and orange-peel, in rice and lentils, in rice and haricots, in rice and “schewed,” a herb somewhat resembling fennel; the fizinjans of fowls and boiled meats; also partridges boiled and served with the concentrated juice of the pomegranate and pounded walnuts; kabobs of lamb and antelope; a lamb roasted whole, stuffed with dates, pistachios, chestnuts, and raisins; salt fish from the Caspian; extract of soup with marrow floating in it; dolmas, or dumplings, made of minced meat and rice, highly flavoured and wrapped in vine leaves and fried; rissoles; wild asparagus boiled; new potatoes, handed round cold, and eaten with salt; while roast quails, partridges, and doves were served with lettuces, drenched with honey and vinegar.

Each guest was supplied with a loaf of flat bread as a plate, and another for eating.

We sat on the ground, some twenty in all, round a huge tablecloth of red leather, if I may use that expression, for a large sheet of leather laid on the ground. Suleiman Mirza, as the king’s relative, occupied the place of honour. On the other hand of our host sat Pierson, and I next him, while Abu Seif Mirza, as a prince, took his position by right on the other side of the great man, and was by him punctiliously addressed as prince, and generally treated as one. Huge china bowls of sherbet were placed down the centre of the sūfrah (tablecloth), and in each bowl was an elaborately-carved wooden spoon, which were used indiscriminately; these spoons held a gill, and were drunk from, no glasses being used.

During the time the dinner was progressing little conversation took place, everybody being engaged in eating as much of as many dishes as possible. But a band of villagers played the santūr, a sort of harmonicon; the tūmbak, or small drum, played on with the tips of the fingers—there were two tūmbak players; the neh or flute, or, more properly speaking, reed; and the deyeereh, literally circle, a kind of large tambourine, played, like the tūmbak, with the tips of the fingers.

As soon as every one had (literally) eaten his fill, Suleiman Mirza, the king’s relative, rose, and we all got up.

In lieu of grace each man said, “Alhamdillilah!” (“Thank God!”) and from politeness most of the guests eructated, showing that they were thoroughly satisfied.

This ceremony is common through the East, and it is considered the height of rudeness to the host to abstain from it. Coffee was now handed round, and pipes were brought. A singer, too, commenced a ditty, which he shouted as do costermongers when crying their wares in England; he put his hand to the side of his mouth to increase the sound, his face became crimson with his efforts, the muscles and veins stood out in relief on his neck, and his eyes nearly started from their sockets. He frequently paused to take breath, and ceased amid loud applause. The singing and music were kept up till a late hour.

Politeness prevented our retiring, but we longed for rest; and on Pierson’s being tormented into a long disquisition on magic, he seized the opportunity to get away by stratagem. Telling the fat prince that, as he insisted on seeing the magic of the West, he would gratify him, he placed the old gentleman on a mattress, and putting four princes (he insisted on royal blood), standing each on one leg at the four corners, with a lighted lamp in each hand, he gravely assured them that we should retire and perform an incantation, while, if no one laughed or spoke, on our return the lights would burn blue. We got to bed, barricaded ourselves in our room, and tried to sleep. After some few minutes, loud shouts announced the discovery of the ruse, and a party arrived to bring us back, but too late, for we had retired.

Next morning I was asked to see some of the ladies of the family. So little does this village khan observe the Mahommedan rule of veiling the women, that I was allowed to pass my whole morning in his anderūn. My host’s wife, a huge woman of five-and-forty in appearance, but in reality about thirty-five, was intent on household cares; she was making cucumber-jam. The cucumber having been cut into long slices the thickness of an inch, and the peel and seeds removed, had been soaked in lime-water some month; this was kept frequently changed, and the pieces of cucumber were now quite transparent. They were carefully put in a simmering stew-pan of strong syrup, which was placed over a wood fire, and, after cooking for a quarter of an hour, the pieces of cucumber were carefully laid in an earthen jar, and the syrup poured over them, spices being added.

I fancy that about a hundredweight of this preserve was made that morning. When cold the cucumber was quite crisp; the result satisfied our hostess, and she presented me with a seven-pound jar.

Our host’s young son, a youth of seventeen, caused considerable commotion among the two or three negresses by his efforts to get his fingers into the cooling jam-pots; while his two sisters, nice-looking girls of fifteen and sixteen, tried to restrain his fancy for preserves in vain. We all laughed a great deal, and mother and daughters were full of fun, while the grinning negresses thoroughly enjoyed the noise and laughing.

Not having seen a woman’s face for three months, these girls seemed to me perhaps better looking than they really were, but I confess returning to the outer regions of the berūni with regret; and Pierson envied my good fortune in having, as a medico, had a glimpse of Persian home-life which he could never hope for. Really the patient was, as it often is, a mere excuse for entertaining so strange a being as a Feringhi, and getting thus a good look at him.

We went out twice after antelope, which we hunted with relays of dogs; but as we were not successful, there is little to tell. We returned to Hamadan, regretting the end of a very pleasant visit.

On our arrival a grateful patient among the Armenians sent me eighty kerans (three pounds ten) in a little embroidered bag. As the woman could ill afford it, I told her that I would accept the bag as a keepsake, and returned the money. So unheard-of a proceeding astonished the Armenian community, and the priest, a wealthy old sinner, saw his way, as he thought, to a stroke of business. I had treated him, too, and he brought me a similar sum in a similar bag. Great was his disgust when I thanked him for the money and politely returned the bag, and he confided to my servant that, had he thought this would have been the result, he would never have paid a farthing.

One day a villager brought us two large lizards, some three feet from snout to the tip of the tail, and we secured them for a couple of kerans. They ran about the place for a week or two, interfering with no one, but did not get tame. The dogs chased them when they were not on the face or top of a wall, and they at first used to bolt; but after a time they stood still, allowed the dog to get within range, and then—thwack—the tail was brought down with tremendous force, and the dog retired howling. After a day or two no dog would go near the lizards. They were uninteresting as pets, and as Pierson once got a severe blow on the shin from one he stumbled over in the dark, we sent them away. They were huge beasts, of a yellow-ochre colour, and lived on flies and chopped meat; they were never seen to drink.

I purchased about this time a talking lark: he seemed the ordinary lark such as we see in England; “torgah” is the Persian name. The bird never sang, but said very plainly, “Bebe, Bebe Tūtee,” which is equivalent to “Pretty Polly”—being really “Lady, lady parrot;” he varied occasionally by “Bebe jahn” (“Dear lady”). The articulation was extremely clear. There are many talking larks in Persia. The bazaar or shopkeeper class are fond of keeping larks, goldfinches, and parrots, in cages over their shops.

Sitting, too, on our roof, we could see the pigeon-flying or kafteh-bazi. A pigeon-fancier in Persia is looked upon as a lūti (blackguard), as his amusement takes him on the roofs of others, and is supposed to lead to impropriety; it being considered the height of indecency to look into another’s courtyard.

The pigeons kept are the carrier, which are very rare; the tumbler, or mallagh (mallagh, a summersault), and the fantail, or ba-ba-koo. The name exactly represents the call of the fantail. It was this bird which was supposed to bring the revelations to the prophet Mahommed, and consequently keeping a fantail or two is not looked on as discreditable. They are never killed. These fantails do not fly with the rest, keeping in the owner’s yard and on the roof. The yahoo is the other ordinary variety, and is only valued for its flesh, being bred, as we breed fowls, by the villagers. It has a feathered leg, and will not fly far from home.

The pigeons are flown twice a day, in the early morning and evening, and it is a very pretty thing to watch.

The owner opens the door and out fly all the pigeons, perhaps thirty, commencing a circular flight, whose circles become larger and larger. The fancier watches them eagerly from his roof, and when he has given them a sufficient flight and there are none of his rival’s birds in view, he calls and agitates a rag affixed to a long pole. This is the signal for feeding, and the weaker birds generally return at once to their cupboard, the stronger continue their flight, but lessen the diameter of the circle, and one by one return, the best birds coming back last. As they come over the house they commence to “tumble” in the well-known manner, falling head over heels as if shot; some birds merely make one turn over, while others make twenty. It is a very curious and a very pretty sight. The birds are extremely tame, and settle on the person of the fancier.

Hitherto there has been nothing more than a flight of pigeons, but in the afternoon, about an hour or two hours before sunset, the real excitement commences. Up goes a flight of some twenty pigeons, they commence to make circles; no sooner does their course extend over the house of a rival fancier than he starts his birds in a cloud, in the hope of inveigling an outlying bird or two into his own flock; then both owners call, whistle, and scream wildly, agitating their poles and flags.

The rival flocks separate, but one bird has accompanied the more successful fancier’s flight. As it again passes over the house of the victimised one, he liberates two of his best birds; these are mixed with the rest, but ere they have completed half a circle they, with the lost one, rejoin their own flight. Their delighted owner now calls down his birds, and in a few moments envelops a pair of his rival’s in a crowd of his own.

Then again commence the cries, the whistlings, the agitating flags, and the liberation of single or pairs or flights of birds. As one of Mr. A.’s birds is being convoyed towards B.’s roof with a pair of his, Mr. C. envelops the three in a cloud of pigeons, and the whole flock alight—C.’s flight in his own dovecot, and A.’s bird and B.’s pair, as timid strangers, on a neighbouring wall; A. and B. vainly screaming while their two flocks keep circling high in air. C., B., and A. simultaneously run over roofs and walls to get near the birds. But B. and A. have a long way to travel, while happy C. is close by; he crouches double, and carrying in one hand a kind of landing-net, makes for the birds; in his bosom is a fantail pigeon, in his left hand some grain. Artful B. throws a stone and his two birds rise and fly home, and with a fancier’s delight he watches C.; but A. is too far off for this manœuvre, and hurries over roof after roof. Too late! C. has tossed his fantail down near A.’s bird, the fantail, struts about calling “Ba-ba-koo, ba-ba-koo!” The prize has his attention taken and stoops to peck the seed that C. has tossed over a low wall. As he does so C.’s landing-net is on him, the fantail flies lazily home, and C., shouting and brandishing his capture, makes the best of his way to the roof of his own premises.

Then the flights begin again, rival fanciers from distant roofs liberate their flocks, flags are waved, and the drama, with endless variations, is repeated. Once a fancier always a fancier, they say.

A. repairs to C.’s house to buy back his bird at six or more times its intrinsic value, for to leave a bird in the hands of a rival fancier might cost the man his whole flock on a subsequent occasion, the captured birds, of course, acting as the best of decoys.

The favourite birds are ornamented with little rings or bracelets of silver, brass, or ivory, which are borne like bangles on the legs (the mallagh, or tumbler, has no feathers on the leg) and rattle when the bird walks; these bangles are not ransomed, but remain lawful prize.

As the colours of the birds are very different, one soon recognises the individual birds of one’s neighbours’ collections, and the interest one feels in their successes and defeats is great. Our high roof, towering over most others, made us often sit and watch the pigeon-flying; and the circling birds as they whirred past us, flight after flight, against the blue, cloudless sky near sunset, was a sight worth seeing. The fanciers were many of them old men, and some actually lived on the ransom exacted from the owners of their captives.

These pigeon-fanciers had a slang of their own, and each coloured bird had a distinctive name. So amused were we that I ordered my groom to buy a flight of pigeons and commence operations; but Syud Houssein, the British Agent, pointed out that it would be infra dig. to engage in a practice that was considered incorrect. It is strange that sporting, or what is called sporting, generally leads, even in the East, to blackguardism.

Card-playing, too, is only indulged in by the less reputable of the community; there is only one game, called Ahs an Ahs; it is played with twenty cards—four kings, four soldiers (or knaves), four queens (or ladies), four latifeh (or courtesans), and four ahs (or aces). This latter is shown generally by the arms of Persia, “the Lion and Sun.” The lion is represented couchant regardant, bearing a scimitar, while the sun (“kurshid,” or head of glory) is portrayed as a female face having rays of light around it; this is shown as rising over the lion’s quarters. There is only this one game of cards played with the gungifeh (or cards); they can hardly be called cards, as they are made of papier-maché an eighth of an inch thick, and elaborately painted. As much as ten tomans can be given for a good pack. European cards are getting generally used among the upper classes, who, under the name of bank or banco, have naturalised the game of lansquenet. But as Persians have an idea that all is fair at cards, like ladies at round games, they will cheat, and he who does so undetected is looked on as a good player (“komar-baz zereng,” clever gamester).

Chess (“shahtrenj”) is much played by the higher classes, but in the Indian manner, the pawn having only one square to pass and not two at the first, as with us. Backgammon, too, is in great vogue; the dice, however, are thrown with the hand, which leads to great “cleverness,” an old hand throwing what he likes; but as the usual stakes are a dinner or a fat lamb, not much harm is done.

The lower orders have a kind of draughts played on a board (marked somewhat similar to our Fox and Geese), and at each angle of which is placed a mor (seal), i. e. piece. This game is generally played on a brick or large tile, the board being chalked, the pieces stones; they are moved from angle to angle. I never could fathom how it is played, the rules being always different and seemingly arbitrary.

Another game is played on a wooden board or an embroidered cloth one; this is an ancient one called takht-i-pul. I have a very old embroidered cloth forming the board, the men being of carved ivory, given me by Mr. G—, of the Persian Telegraph Department, but I never could find two Persians who agreed as to the rules. Pitch-and-toss is constantly engaged in by the boys in the bazaar.

Rounders (a bastard form of it) are played by the Ispahan boys, and they also play at a species of fives. Marbles are unknown, but I have seen the primitive game of “bonse,” which is played by our boys with “bonses” (large marbles), large pebbles being the substitutes for the bonses in Persia, as they are with street-boys here.

Wrestling is in great favour; the gymnasia (Zūr Khana) are frequented by the youth and manhood of all ranks, who meet there on an equality. Wrestling bouts are common among the boys and youths on every village maidān.

In each gymnasium (Zūr Khana, literally “house of force”) the professional “pehliwan,” or wrestlers, practise daily; and gymnastics, i. e. a course of attendance at a gymnasium, are often prescribed by the native doctor. Generally an experienced and retired pehliwan acts as “lanista,” and for a small fee prescribes a regular course of exercises. Dumb-bells are much used; also a heavy block of wood, shield-shape, some two feet by three, and three inches thick, with an aperture in the middle, in which is placed a handle. The gymnast lies on his back, and holding this in one hand makes extension from side to side; a huge bow of thick steel plates, with a chain representing the string, is bent and unbent frequently.

But the great and most favourite implements are the clubs (what we call Indian clubs); these the professional athlete will use of great size and weight; and after going through the usual exercises will hurl them, together or alternately, to a great height, and unfailingly catch them.

The wrestling is carried on, as a rule, good-temperedly; but when done by professionals for reward, awkward tricks are employed, such as suddenly thrusting the fingers into the eye of the adversary, and others still more dangerous.

As a preventive against these, the wrestler always wears knee breeches of stiff horsehide, some of which are beautifully embroidered with blue thread; all above the waist and below the knee being bare. A good deal of time is, as a rule, lost in taking hold and clappings of hands, and then generally the bout commences with one hand grasping the adversary’s, while the other clutches the body. The object is not a clean throw, but to make the knees of the opponent touch the ground, and consequently agility tells more than strength and size. The pairs are always made with regard to skill, size and weight being little considered.

The gymnasia are merely darkened rooms (for coolness), with a sunken ring in the centre, where the wrestling takes place. The floor is nearly always of earth only, to render falls less severe.

A Persian has no idea of the use of his fists. When a street-fight takes place, the combatants claw and slap at each other, and end by clutching each other’s “zūlf” (long love-locks, which most wear), or beards, or clothing. Then comes a sort of wrestle, when they are generally separated.

Every great personage retains among his favoured servants a few pehliwans or wrestlers; and among the artisans many are wrestlers by profession, and follow at the same time a trade.