Fortunately my caravan is not yet arrived, I being ahead, so I go up-stairs, am very polite, and have no doubt of getting a room. I am regaled with a cup of tea, and after a long explanation from my entertainer, the royal tax-gatherer, as to what a great man he is, and how he is waiting orders from the Governor of Fars, at Shiraz, I am told I had better march twenty-four miles, through the snow, to the next stage. I did not argue with the Khan, but I was determined to get quarters, and I told him that I should telegraph at once to the Governor at Shiraz and complain. “Go to the devil,” was the reply. Boiling with rage I plodded through the deep snow to the telegraph-office. I knew the line was down, and that I could not telegraph to Shiraz, but I had my plan. I returned with a large telegraph form covered with English writing, and entering the Khan’s room in a blustering manner sat down and tossed him the supposed despatch. “What is this, sahib?” “A message for you.” “But I can’t read it; please read it for me.” I carelessly comply, after pulling off my wet boots. “His Royal Highness the Governor of Fars to ⸺, Khan. “What do you mean by refusing to give the European quarters? Vacate post-house at once, and proceed _instantly_ to Abadeh for orders.” Now had this Persian been as sharp as he was ill-mannered and dog-in-the-mangery he would have known that he would never have received such a message; but he gave credit to it, supposing that I had complained by wire, and he cleared out with many apologies. Poor devil! He started for Abadeh, seventy miles off, the nearest halting-place twenty-eight miles, just as day was fading and my caravan marching in to the post-house. The weather was very bitter, and this rather Persian way of getting the man out did not weigh on my conscience. I told the Governor of Fars, and he said simply, “Serve him right, he ought to have given you at least one room.” Ispahan was surrounded by gardens and full of ruins. Here a street, of which a fourth of the houses were inhabited; there a ruined quarter; then miles of bazaar full of buyers and sellers, who shouted “Bero, Armeni!” (“Be off, Armenian!”) with occasional gaps of ruins. Then a huge maidān, or public square, the largest in Persia, one end thronged by hucksters, at the other the Musjid-i-Shah, or royal mosque; more ruins, then a magnificent and lofty bazaar, also in ruins, through which we rode; then the Char Bagh, a royal garden, with its tile-domed college and golden ball, and with its rows of magnificent planes, and its dry and ruined tanks and watercourses; then a fine and level bridge which crossed the river Zendarūd, which just at that time was full of rushing muddy water, passing furiously under the many arches.