post of Russian native Consular Agent, and who vacated all his well-furnished rooms for our benefit, and caused a most recherché dinner to be served. With Oriental courtesy he refused to sit at table, but busied himself with seeing that all our wants were attended to. The next morning, Friday, April 24th, he accompanied us, together with our Astrabad agent, for some miles on our journey to Amol, through a thickly-wooded country, where, owing to the recent rains, the going was exceedingly heavy. We parted from our companions after crossing the Babil river, and continuing our ride at a slow pace — partly in order that our caravan might keep pace, and partly to save our horses, as they laboured heavily through the deep rice swamps, which lie scattered at intervals in the overgrown jungles — we halted at fifteen miles, by the river side, for an al fresco luncheon. Our track at this point turned west, and just before arriving at Amol — a straggling and ill-paved village — we recrossed the river by a curious stone bridge, one hundred yards long, and not more than one yard in breadth. A striking proof of the heavy rains which, in the autumn
