I was roused from these pleasant reveries by our entrance through the Dervaze Herat (Herat Gate). We passed along the wide and long street of Pajin Khiaban (Lower Alley), and proceeded towards the Sahni Sherif (the Holy Vestibule). A very pleasing sight is offered by the broad canal, winding through the city, its banks studded with trees which spread a pleasant shade; indeed this is a feature rendering Meshed one of the most attractive cities in Iran. The concourse of people, representing all the nations of Asia who are adherents of the Shi-ite faith, gives a most striking character to the streets, which are pulsating with stirring life. Every variety of costume prevalent in Persia and the whole of Eastern Asia meet the eye wherever you look. It does not take long to realize the fact that Meshed is one of the strongholds of Shi-itism. The proud Sunnites, the Turkoman and Uzbeg, walk about with an humble and apologetic air as if to beg pardon of those whom he oppressed in his own home; whilst the men of Bokhara, Hezare, India and Herat are treading proudly and lightly on a ground which seems to inspire them with a consciousness of their superiority—their forms erect, their carriage haughty and independent and their looks scornful and defiant. The Sunnite is by no means, however, exposed to any danger of retaliation on the part of those whose compatriots have often been the victims of his ferocity. In Iran he is safe, but he cannot shake off a guilty sense of the merited retribution his cruelty amply deserves, and the impress of this unpleasant consciousness betrays itself in his movements and demeanour.

A MESHED CROWD.Especially during the bright days of autumn the streets are crowded with a dense mass of humanity, rolling in an endless stream along the thoroughfares, and in vain does the eye attempt to find a resting-place amid the varied confusion of the spectacle, nor is it possible in the throng of conflicting sights to treasure up some distinct recollection which might shape itself into a reminiscence at some future day. The neighbourhood of the magnificent building of the Imam for several hundred paces forms the centre of most bewildering sights and sounds. Standing beside their booths or stands, or in front of their shops, on both sides of the street, on the banks of the canal, and moving through the streets, are to be seen and heard a multitude of men, active, scrambling, energetic, carrying their wares on their heads, shoulders, or in their hands, pushing through the crowd, offering them vociferously for sale, and producing a strange din and noise whilst they recommend them to buyers with their sing-song cries. It seems utterly impossible to elbow your way through this compact mass of humanity, and yet there is a sort of order in this wild confusion, for an actual block but seldom occurs. This scene of confusion is only an apparent one, especially to the unfamiliar eye of the European, who cannot separate order from quiet, for an attempt to push your way through the throng is attended with no evil consequences or harm; every one is sure to reach safely the place he is bound for. This bustling life, however, was quite agreeable to me after the experience of the dull and stolid constraint so characteristic of the cities of Turkestan which I had lately seen.I now wished to meet as soon as possible my English friend, Colonel Dolmage, of whom I spoke before. First of all I entered a caravansary in order to wash myself, and to put in some kind of decent order my tattered toilet. This done, the next thing was to find the house where my friend lived. It is always a ticklish thing to go about in Meshed inquiring after the whereabouts of a Frengi, but it becomes immeasurably so in the case of a person like me—who bore about him the unmistakable garb, gait and mien of a hadji—undertaking to do it. AN UNCEREMONIOUS VISITOR.By dint of perseverance, and much ingenious cross-questioning I stood at last in front of his house. Almost overcome with emotion I knocked at the door. I heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later a servant opened the door. The portal was as quickly re-shut in my face, for the servant just deigning to glance at me, overwhelmed me with a volley of oaths, and slammed the door. My emotion disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and angry and impatient at this unexpected rebuff, I vigorously set to rapping at the door again. The servant reappeared, and this time I gave him no opportunity for parley or remark, but went past him into the court without vouchsafing a solitary word of explanation to him. The man was quite dumbfounded with what seemed to him my impertinence, but recovering himself soon, he asked me roughly what I, a hadji, wanted with his master, who, as I knew, was an unbeliever. I very emphatically told him that this did not concern him, but that he should without delay advise his master that a stranger from Bokhara wished to see him.

Whilst the servant was gone, I leisurely found my way into a room, on entering which I was struck with the sight of the furniture, which vividly recalled European comfort and civilization. The furniture was quite plain, merely a table and chairs, but to my unaccustomed eye they looked like an epitome of all the things towards which my orphaned heart was warming. Yes, these lifeless, homely objects of daily use seemed sanctified to me, and I stood gazing at them as if they were things of life. A newspaper on the table, the Levant Herald, caught my eyes next, and to seize it and devour its contents was the work of a moment. How many things had happened since I had a newspaper in my hands! Every item of news, the humblest and that of the highest political importance, possessed an equally intense interest for me, and immersed in the perusal of its columns I even forgot Colonel Dolmage, who had softly entered and was now standing before me. Dressed in a European uniform, a fine specimen of British manhood, he looked at me silently, searchingly, but I vainly watched for a look of recognition. Thus standing face to face for a few moments, the situation became almost painful. To be sure the ravages which hunger, thirst, cold, anxiety, and the thousand trials of the journey had made in my appearance, sadly altered my looks, and no wonder the young colonel failed to recall in the ragged hadji before him his former acquaintance. I broke in upon the silence by exclaiming in English, "What, Colonel, do you not recognize me?" A WELCOME.The familiar voice dispelled like a charm his uncertainty as to who I was, and in an instant we were locked in a close embrace. He now remembered everything, knew even something by hearsay of the perilous journey I had ventured upon, and, seeing the pitiful condition I was in, tears of manly compassion rose to the young officer's eyes.

Distinctions of class, profession, or nationality, entering so largely into European life, separating man from man, lose their hold upon Europeans meeting in the distant East. The great West, seen at that distance, becomes their common country; they are drawn together by the bond of common views, feelings and modes of thought which obliterate the artificial lines of nationality—nay, they feel for, and treat each other as only blood relations and brothers would in Europe. Colonel Dolmage's conduct towards me illustrated this in a conspicuous manner. His very first question, accompanied by a look of almost tender sympathy, "For God's sake, what have you been doing? what has happened to you?" made me feel like a long-lost brother who had found his way home again. I saw the terrible alterations and the sad havoc which hardships had made in my appearance reflected in his questions and accompanying looks. He was a most sympathizing listener to the story of my late experiences, and it was rather late in the evening when I rose to leave him.

Colonel Dolmage proved my staunch friend during the four weeks I stayed in Meshed, and although I dare say I occasioned him no little trouble, I found him unflagging in his zeal for my welfare. Not only did his kind offices largely contribute to making my stay in Meshed an exceedingly pleasant one but to his generosity and active friendship I was chiefly indebted for the means which enabled me to proceed on my journey with renewed vigour and a cheerful mind. And no matter what unpleasantnesses the interest he bore me drew upon him, his invariable good humour and friendly conduct to me remained unaltered.

Upon my arrival in Meshed, after having visited Colonel Dolmage, I felt, above all, the necessity of recuperating somewhat before turning my attention to the remarkable sights of the city. The first few days, therefore, I entirely devoted to rest, a species of dolce far niente which did infinite good to both body and mind, invigorating the one and brightening the other. After my few days' rest I returned with redoubled interest to the main duty of a traveller, to see, observe, inquire, and remember. Nor is there any other city in Eastern Persia abounding in such a variety of curiosities as may be seen here. Indeed I was sorely puzzled which way first to turn my attention. Rich in monuments appealing alike to the student of history, the curious in holy things, and the literary man—it is hard to know where to begin.

Probably led by the dervish instinct, developed in me by months of devout pilgrimage, I found myself entering the Sahni Sherif, looking about me with unfeigned admiration. The quick eyes of several loitering Seids did not fail to discover the stranger and the Sunnite pilgrim in me; and I was soon surrounded by them, each anxious to acquaint me with the notable features and wonders of the holy tomb. That the sanctuary at which Conolly, Fraser, Burnes, Chanikoff, nay, the official Eastwick himself, endeavoured from a safe distance to steal a hasty glance, was thrown open to me, and I was almost forced to enter it by the hungry descendants of the Prophet, involuntarily recurred to my mind as I declined the services proffered by them. For, truth to tell, the months of compulsory pilgrimage I had gone through had strangely palled my appetite for holy sights appertaining to Islamism, and I felt relieved when I was left to myself to continue my observations. My attention was next engaged by the monument lying to the left of the Sahn, and the splendid mosque of Gowher Shah. The former of these two buildings surpasses in magnificence and richness the most renowned tombs to which the Mohammedan world perform their devout pilgrimages, not even excepting those of Medina, Nedjef, Kerbela and Kum. It is inlaid with gold inside and outside. Much of its former glory is gone, and many of its richest ornaments have been carried away at different periods of time by Uzbegs, Afghans and others. Since the monument was first erected it has been several times plundered. Meshed suffered most at the hands of Abdul Mumin, Khan of Bokhara, in 1587, when entering it at the head of the Uzbegs, the city was sacked and its inhabitants carried into slavery. It was laid waste again by the Afghans, and at different times civil wars spread desolation within its very walls. The golden ball on the top of the dome of the tomb, weighing four hundred pounds, is said to have been removed by the impious hands of the sons of Nadir, and several jewels of great price passed, in later times, into the unhallowed possession of the rebel leader Salar. But in spite of the ruthless conduct of foreign enemies and the violence of intestine war, the tomb still harbours an immense amount of treasure. The walls of the monument are fairly resplendent with jewels and trinkets of the rarest kinds offered up to their favourite saint by the devout Shi-ites. The eye is dazzled by the splendour of the pious gifts, consisting of precious ornaments of every imaginable shape, a headgear shaped like a plumed crest (djikka) of diamonds, a shield and sabre studded with rubies and emeralds, massive candelabra of great weight, costly bracelets, and necklaces of incalculable value.

The sight without and the sights within court a like amount of admiration, and the balance is constantly preponderating, now in one, now in the other direction. Without the cupola and the towers with their rich incrustations of gold, within the massive fretted work and grating of silver, the artistically stained windows, the construction of the dome denoting a fine perception of refinement and elegance in form, and rich Oriental carpet stuffs with diamonds and precious stones woven into them, continually challenged and divided my wondering interest. This cold and glittering accumulation of wealth was not wanting in the touch of humanity which warmed it into a scene of life and bustle. The groups within were not mere sight-seers, come to gratify their curiosity. They were pious visitors at a holy shrine, with silent devotion stamped upon their features, denoting ecstasy, enthusiasm, deep contrition, humble self-abasement, and every shade of religious joy and sadness, which none so well as the faces of Islamite devotees know how to express or simulate; whilst to their lips rose muttered prayers, interrupted by guttural yells, their chests were heaving with wild sobs. Those who did not know their prayers by heart, or could not read from the tablets inscribed with them, which were suspended from the grating, had them repeated by the leader of the group they belonged to. All seem anxious to propitiate the divinity by acts and prayers of praise or humiliation in order to secure a place in the dwellings of the blessed and happy. One all-absorbing feeling seems to inspire at such a moment men of all races and classes alike, whether they be lords, merchants, or servants—the cautious dwellers in Central Asia, the shrewd men from Isfahan and Shiraz, the guileless Turks, or the ferocious Bakhtiaris and Kurds. None are too high or too low for the performance of acts of pious tenderness; the sons of Khans, the Mirzas and the poor peasants mingle freely together; and it is a touching and sublime spectacle, indeed, to see these sons of Asia, both rude and refined, pressing forward to kiss, with unfeigned humility, the silver trellis, the padlock hanging from the door of the grating and the hallowed ground itself.

A MESHED MONUMENT.Of the mosque of Gowher Shah, which I visited next, the Persians say with great justice, that whilst the monument of Imam Riza is more gorgeous, the mosque far surpasses it architecturally. The mosque is situated in the same court, opposite to the monument. The kashi work (glazed tiles) enters largely into the structure inside and outside, and there is an artistic beauty about it which more than compensates for the comparative absence of richer materials such as gold and silver. The lofty portal is admirable, both for the elegance of its design, and the rich colouring it derives from the many-hued and brilliant kashi work, especially when lit up by the rays of the sun. The gate is of the same style as those I saw in Herat and Samarkand.

Shaping my course after that of the numerous pilgrims and beggars, who all went in the same direction on leaving this splendid building, I went to the refectory of Imam Riza, or as the natives call it, Ashbaz Khanei Hazret (the kitchen of his Highness). The Hazret, so his Holiness is entitled, par excellence, enjoys the reputation of being immensely rich. He is very hospitable, and every new-comer has the choice of becoming his guest; but this hospitality is limited in point of time to seven days only. The wealthier pilgrims rarely take advantage of this liberal arrangement, but the poorer classes eagerly avail themselves of the privilege of boarding and lodging at his Highness's expense. The convenience of the guest is cared for on a very large scale, and the vast machinery of baths and caravansaries, boarding-houses and soap-boiling houses, of which his Highness is the owner, is put in motion in order to satisfy the various wants of the strangers flocking to the Hazret. I could not resist the temptation of adding one more experience to those for which I was indebted to my Oriental disguise. I squatted down, unheeded in the midst of the crowd of hungry Shi-ite and Sunnite pilgrims. Very soon large dishes of smoking rice were brought in by a troop of servants. Rancid fat and damaged rice, of the kind of which I had already collected reminiscences enough to last me for a lifetime, made up the delicious dish, which gave me but a mean opinion of the boasted riches of his Highness. I pretended to be as eager about fishing out my share of it as any other, splashing about with my fist in the plate, but thought it best to save my appetite for a more favourable occasion.

The avarice and greediness, so characteristic of the Persians, induce me to believe that their admiration for Imam Riza is owing, not so much to the renown of his sanctity and the inviolable right of asylum belonging to him, as to the vast and fabulous wealth of which he is supposed to be the owner.

PERSECUTION OF JEWS.An accident led me to discover the precarious condition in which the Jews were living in Meshed. I met one day in the streets of Meshed a former fellow-traveller of mine, on my journey from Bokhara. As he was about to pass on without heeding me, I called out after him, knowing him to be a Jew, "Yehudi, Yehudi." He hurriedly came up to me and said confidentially in a low voice: "For God's sake, Hadji, do not call me a Jew here. Beyond these walls I belong to my nation, but here I must play the Moslem." It was the old story over again of persecution fanned by bigotry and fanaticism, and taken advantage of by murderers and robbers.

The cause of their present distress and their fear of being recognized as Jews dates from an occurrence which had happened several years ago in Meshed. A Persian doctor, who was consulted by a Jewess about an eruption on her hand, advised her to plunge her hands into the entrails of a newly-slaughtered dog. She took his advice, and had one of those unhappy street scavengers of the East killed in order to try the cure prescribed to her. Unfortunately she had this done on the very day on which the Mohammedans celebrated the Eidi Kurban (Feast of Sacrifice). The rumour of it soon spread amongst the people; and the slaughtering of the dog was interpreted as an impious mockery of the religious rites of the true believers. The rapacity and murderous instincts of the mob gladly seized this frivolous pretext wherewith to cloak their thirst for the blood of the detested Jew, and their love of pillage. In an instant the Jewish quarter of the city was overrun with a savage rabble, rioting, robbing and murdering. Those that survived the fatal day had their lives spared on condition of abjuring the faith of their fathers and embracing that of their oppressors and persecutors. They yielded to dire necessity, but in their hearts they remained Jews, conforming only in outward appearance, as long as they had to stay in Meshed. Years had passed since, and although the tolerant spirit, which began to prevail under the benign influence of European interference, made the Mohammedans relax somewhat their former rigour, the Jews still deemed it more prudent to pass themselves off in Meshed for Mohammedans.

THE TOMB OF FIRDUSI.Among the ruins of Tus to the north of Meshed lies, according to the belief of modern Persians, the tomb of one of the greatest of Iran's bards, the tomb of Firdusi. Before leaving the city I made an excursion to it. It was with feelings of sincere piety and admiration that I approached the modest monument which commemorates the resting-place of one of the greatest national poets in the world. In sixty thousand verses he sang the history of his people, without admitting more than a few foreign, that is Arabic, words into his narration. This wonderful feat will be especially appreciated, if the fact is borne in mind that Persian—which he wrote as well as the modern Persian does—contains four words of Arabic origin to every six words purely Iranian. His generous patriotism rebelled against the thought of employing the language of the oppressors of his country. Not only as a poet, not only as a passionate lover of his country, will Firdusi's memory live for ever, but his exalted private character will always excite the admiration of mankind. He was fearless and independent. As an instance of his high-mindedness, it is told that Sultan Mahmud, the Ghazvenite, sent him on one occasion the remuneration of thirty thousand drachms. This was much less than the sum the Sultan had promised. He happened to be in the bath when the gift was brought, and immediately scornfully directed that the entire sum should be divided among the servants of the bathing establishment. The Sultan, probably repenting of his parsimony, subsequently sent the poet camels laden with treasure, but they came in time only to meet his funeral procession. The gift was sent back to the ungrateful monarch, the poet's proud daughter declining to accept of it. The poet had left a sting in the memory of the Sultan, in a satire which is remembered by the people to this day, which begins with the following verse:

"Oh! Sultan Mahmud, if thou fearest none, yet fear God!"