That evening, the Armenian went out to dinner to the Page boy’s, next door, and a creature came in the evening to sing in the servants’ room. How I loathed him! He had a frightful voice. I told them to shut all the windows, but it was no use; I could hear him. He delighted in prolonging an upper note on the vowel e-e-e-e. Imagine it! He indulged copiously in the trill, which he produced by shaking his head. Then he took a run down the scale, slurring one note into the other. When I first came to Mazar, he wanted to sing to me frequently; but I thanked him and said that, not being fond of music, I would pay him a trifling sum _not_ to sing to me. Then he wanted to play to me on the “Rhubarb.” Why the instrument--it is a sort of mandolin--should have the same name as that particularly nasty vegetable, I don’t know. It has a harsh and penetrating sound and I begged to be excused. Among the natives, however, the “Rubâb” is a very popular instrument: it is played with the plectrum, a piece of ivory held between the finger and thumb. There is another instrument resembling the Rubâb, which is played with a bow. A third, the “Seithar,” resembles a banjo with a four-foot arm; it has three strings and is played with the fingers. The “Tom-toms” or drums are the same as in India. Every military camp is provided with a bronze gong on which the hours are struck day and night, the time being taken from the noonday gun, which is regulated by the Amîr’s repeater. In Turkestan I was for a long time charmed by the sound of the gongs: it resembled so exactly the distant church bells of England. [Sidenote: The Scenery of Mazar.] As a residential spot Mazar had its drawbacks. The utter absence of the picturesque; the bare monotonous plain with scorching poisonous summer and icy winter; the hopeless colony of those unhappy outcasts the lepers; these surroundings, in spite of the novelty of the situation, had of necessity a depressing effect on the health. There were, however, certain counteracting elements, for besides the homelikeness of the distant bells, there was the goodwill shown by the townsfolk. These were mild and inoffensive people who exhibited considerable kindliness and courtesy. Riding home one day from the Hospital I perceived a small boy “who put his thumb unto his nose and spread his fingers out.” In astonishment I pulled up to look at him. He at once added his other hand, thumb to finger. “Behold this youth!” I said to the Armenian severely, “he reviles the stranger that is within his father’s gates.” “No, Sir,” said the Armenian, “he give it you very great salaam.” “My son, it behoves not the King’s Interpreter to deceive with specious words.” “Sir, truly I speak: this is Mazari salaam.”