man, is seated in a room with a couple of seyuds, or descendants of the prophet; they are helping themselves from a large platter of the finest, pears, peaches, and egg plums I ever saw anywhere.  The room is carpeted with costly rugs and carpets in which one’s feet sink perceptibly at every step; the walls and ceiling are artistically stuccoed, and the doors and windows are gay with stained glass.  Abandoning myself to the guidance of the moonshi bashi, I ride around the garden-walks, show them the bicycle, revolver, map of Persia, etc.; like the moonshi bashi, they become deeply interested in the map, finding much amusement and satisfaction in having me point out the location of different Persian cities, seemingly regarding my ability to do so as evidence of exceeding cleverness and erudition.  The untravelled Persians of the northern provinces regard Teheran as the grand idea of a large and important city; if there is any place in the whole world larger and more important, they think it may perhaps be Stamboul.  The fact that Stamboul is not on my map while Teheran is, they regard as conclusive proof of the superiority of their own capital.  The moonshi bashi’s chief purpose in accompanying me hither has been to introduce me to the attention of the “hoikim”; although the pronunciation is a little different from hakim, I attribute this to local brogue, and have been surmising this personage to be some doctor, who, perhaps, having graduated at a Frangistan medical college, the moonshi bashi thinks will be able to converse with me.  After partaking of fruit and tea we continue on our way to the nearest gate-way of the city proper, Khoi being surrounded by a ditch and battlemented mud wall.  Arriving at a large, public inclosure, my guide sends in a letter, and shortly afterward delivers me over to some soldiers, who forthwith conduct me into the presence of — not a doctor, but Ali Khan, the Governor of the city, an officer who hereabouts rejoices in the title of the “hoikim.”  The Governor proves to be a man of superior intelligence; he has been Persian ambassador to France some time ago, and understands French fairly well; consequently we manage to understand each other after a fashion.  Although he has never before seen a bicycle, his knowledge of the mechanical ingenuity of the Ferenghis causes him to regard it with more intelligence than an un-travelled native, and to better comprehend my journey and its object.  Assisted by a dozen mollahs (priests) and officials in flowing gowns and henna-tinted beards and finger-nails, the Governor is transacting official business, and he invites me to come into the council chamber and be seated.  In a few minutes the noon-tide meal is announced; the Governor invites me to dine with them, and then leads the way into the dining-room, followed by his counsellors, who form in line behind him according to their rank.  The dining-room is a large, airy apartment, opening into an extensive garden; a bountiful