The swamp, which was about a mile long, and at the widest parts only five hundred yards, was in the centre impossible to cross, save in summer, when there was no sport there. One side had not nearly so much cover as the other, but there were no holes; the other side was full of them, and it was only after a long time that I got thoroughly acquainted with the geography. In after days I had a guest who was very hot on sport of all kinds; and as the swamp was all I could show him at the time, it was arranged that we were to have a day there. I, having a holy horror of wet feet, used to go in with a pair of duck trousers and Persian shoes regardless of water, and march on frequently up to my waist, changing on coming out. I suggested this mode to my sporting friend, but he looked on it as very _infra dig._ and unsportsmanlike, and set out in a most correct get-up of shooting-coat with many pockets, and the usual lace-up shooting-boots. Nothing would induce him to take a change in case of a wetting, and off we went. As his gun had no sling—almost a necessity in Persia, where the weapon is so frequently carried on horseback—his groom carried it in its case. We got to the swamp, and, knowing the place, I said, “You take the left side—there are no holes; and I who know the holes will take the right, which is full of them.” But my friend was not to be led; he remarked that the right was certainly the best side, and as guest he ought to have it. To this I of course agreed, but I pointed out that the holes were deep and dangerous, and that I knew them, and he did not. But, no, he insisted. I could, of course, only give in.