SAMARKAND.

Whilst I was in Samarkand crowds were always thronging in the bazaars as well as in the public places and streets, to which the soldiers returning from the war contributed, to a great extent. The number of its regular population hardly exceeds fifteen to twenty thousand inhabitants, two-thirds of whom are Uzbegs, and one-third Tadjiks. The Emir, whose seat of government is properly speaking in Bokhara, used to spend two or three months during the summer in Samarkand, owing to its more elevated position and more genial climate.

I had now passed eight days in Samarkand, and I finally came to the conclusion to return to the West by way of Herat, taking the route I have mentioned before. Hadji Bilal still insisted on taking me with him to Aksu, promising to send me safely to Mecca by way of Yarkend, Thibet and Cashmere, or, if favoured by luck, to Peking by the way of Komul. But Hadji Salih was opposed to the plan, laying stress on the great distance and the scantiness of my means. "As far as Aksu, and even Komul," he said, "thou wouldst experience no difficulty, for Mussulmans and brothers are living along the road, and they would have regard for you as a dervish from Roum; but beyond thou wilt meet unbelievers only, who, it is true, will not hurt thee, but will not give you anything either. Therefore be advised, and return to Teheran by way of Herat, with the men we have selected for your travelling companions."

AMBITION AND PRUDENCE.There was a struggle going on within me for a while. To have travelled by land to Peking, through the ancient fastnesses of the Tartars, Khirgizes, Mongols, and Chinese, where even Marco Polo would not have dared to place his feet—would have been indeed a feat without a parallel! The voice of moderation prevailed with me after all. I reflected that it would be a pity to risk losing the fruits of the experiences hitherto gathered, however trifling they might be, by embarking in an enterprise of great uncertainty and undoubted danger. And putting off was not giving up; I was only thirty-one years old, and what I could not well do to-day I might accomplish at some future day. I made up my mind to return.

My preparations for the journey had advanced considerably when the Emir made his triumphal entry into Samarkand. Its taking place had been announced for some days past, and a great multitude had collected on the righistan (principal public place), to witness the show, but I cannot say that any special pomp was displayed in the pageant. The procession was headed by two hundred sherbazes, wearing over the uncouth Bokhara costume some sort of overall of skin, to which piece of additional dress they were indebted for their being called regular troops. They were followed by horsemen with banners and kettledrums, and behind these, at some distance, came Emir Mozaffar ed-din, surrounded by his higher officers and chief men. The Emir was forty-two years old, of middle size, rather stout, but very pleasant in appearance, with fine black eyes and a thin beard. After the Emir came Kiptchaks—rude, martial warriors with features nearly Mongolian, armed with bows and arrows and shields.

The Emir caused a feast to be arranged for the people on the day of his arrival, several gigantic cauldrons being erected, on that occasion, on the righistan, in which the princely pilar was being cooked. Into each of these cauldrons was thrown a sack of rice, three sheep chopped up, a large pan of mutton fat, enough to make five pounds of tallow candles, and a small sack of carrots. Then ensued a scene of eating and drinking beggaring all description.

An arz, that is a day for public audiences, was proclaimed for the following day. I took advantage of this occasion to present myself in the company of my friends to the Emir. As we were entering the interior of the city, we were startled to find ourselves stopped by a Mehrem, who gave us to understand that his Badevlet (majesty) wished to see me alone, without my companions. My friends were this time of my opinion, that this message boded ill to me. But what was to be done but to follow the Mehrem to the palace. After being made to wait for about an hour I was conducted into a room where I found the Emir reclining on a mattress of red cloth, amidst books and papers lying about. I recited a short Sura, accompanying it with the usual prayer for the welfare of the governing prince, and after saying amen, to which the Emir responded, I sat down in close vicinity to him without having first received his invitation to do so. A ROYAL CROSS-EXAMINER.The Emir was struck by my bold behaviour, which was in fact in perfect keeping with the character of a dervish. He fixed his eyes severely on mine as if wishing to embarrass me, and said:

"Hadji! I hear thou hast come from Roum to visit the graves of Baha-ed-din and the other holy men of Turkestan?"

"Yes, takhsir (sir)! and, besides, to be edified by thy blessed beauty."

"Strange; and hast thou no other object in coming here from such distant lands?"

"No, takhsir! It has ever been the warmest wish of my heart to visit noble Bokhara and enchanting Samarkand, upon whose sacred ground, as is justly observed by Sheikh Djelal, men should walk with their heads rather than their feet. Besides, this is my only vocation, and I having been roaming now through the world for many a day as a djihangheste" (a wanderer through the world).

"How is this, a djihangheste with thy lame foot? This is very strange indeed."

"Let me be thy victim, takhsir! (This phrase answers our "I beg your pardon, sir") Thy glorious ancestor Timur—may he rest in peace—was afflicted in the same way, and yet he became a djihanghir" (a conqueror of the world).

Having bantered me in this preliminary conversation, the Emir inquired what sort of impression Bokhara and Samarkand had made upon me. My answers, which I took occasion to interlard with copious citations of Persian poetry, seemed to make a favourable impression upon the Emir, who was a mollah himself and spoke Arabic pretty well; but I was not altogether sure yet of my success with him. After the audience had lasted for a quarter of an hour he summoned a servant, and telling him something in a cautious undertone he bade me follow the servant.

I quickly rose from my sitting posture and followed as I had been bid. The servant led me through a number of yards and halls, whilst my mind was at the time cruelly agitated by fears and misgivings as to my fate; my perplexed imagination conjuring up pictures of horror and seeing myself already travelling on the road to the rack and that dreadful death which was ever present to my mind. My guide showed me, after a good deal of wandering about, into a dark room, conveying to me by a sign that I should expect him here. I stood still, in what state of mind any one can guess. I counted the moments with feverish excitement—when the door opened again. A few seconds yet of suspense and the servant approached at last, and by the light of the opening door I saw him holding in his hand, instead of the frightful instruments of the executioner, a parcel carefully folded up. In it I found a highly ornamental suit of clothing, and an amount of money destined for my onward journey, sent to me as a present by the Emir.

As soon as I obtained possession of the parcel I hastened away to my companions, wild with joy at my escape. They were quite as glad of my success as I myself had been. I subsequently learned that Rahmet-Bi had sent the Emir an equivocating report about me, in consequence of which I was received with diffidence at first by the Emir, but succeeded in dissipating his mistrust, thanks to the glibness of my tongue.

My fellow-hadjis now advised me to leave Samarkand at once, and not even to sojourn at Karshi, but to cross over as quickly as possible to the other side of the Oxus, and await there in the midst of the hospitable Ersari-Turkomans the arrival of the caravan bound for Herat. I took their advice. The hour of parting was at hand. I feel my pen is too feeble to give an adequate picture of the parting scene. For six months we had been sharing in all the dangers connected with travelling in the desert; we had in common defied robbers, borne the raging elements, and braved hunger and thirst. No wonder then that the barriers of position, age and nationality were all broken down, and that we had come to look on ourselves as one family. It may be easily imagined with what heavy hearts we looked forward to the sad moment when we should have to separate. There is hardly anything more painful to the heart of a true man than to see those ties severed which common hardships, the exchange of mutual acts of friendship and devotion, have firmly knit together. And mine, especially, I own it, nearly broke at the thought of the double-dealing I had to practise upon these friends of mine—the best I had in the world, who had preserved my life—even in these last moments leaving them in the dark as to my identity. But those who know the fanaticism of the Moslems, and the danger I should have exposed myself to by divulging the truth even at the moment of farewell, will surely find no fault with my reserve.