At length we arrived in Julfa, the Armenian village on the further side of the Ispahan river, after seventeen days’ marching from Kermanshah, and two occupied by our halt in Gougas. We had found the grass and young wheat high there, and plenty of lambs to be bought; but Ispahan was not so forward, the trees being only just in leaf, and weather cold. CHAPTER XII. JULFA. Illness and death of horse—Groom takes sanctuary—Sharpness of Armenians—Julfa houses—Kūrsis—Priests—Arachnoort—Monastery—Nunnery—Call to prayer—Girls’ school—Ancient language of the Scriptures—Ignorance of priests—Liquor traffic—Sunday market—Loafers—Turkeys—Church Missionary school—Armenian schools. I was given quarters in Ispahan that did not possess a stable, and I had to hire one a good way off. This cost me one of my horses, for my careless groom, instead of giving the animals “teleet,” the mixture of grass and straw, simply filled their mangers with clover, and, leaving them to their fate, went to enjoy himself in the town. The natural result followed: I was hurriedly summoned to the stable, and found my Myedesht horse “Armchair” (I had given him this name on account of the ease of his paces) flinging his head about against the ground, from which he was unable to rise; he had acute inflammation of the bowels, as I found from an examination after death. At that time, knowing little or nothing of the diseases of horses, I was compelled to send for a native farrier, and let him work his wicked will on the poor beast. The treatment he employed was to put on a quantity of heavy clothing, canter the animal furiously about, and deprive him of water; in about four hours he died. I have since had horses who suffered in a similar way, notably in one case where I was offered ten tomans for a horse which cost sixty. I bled him largely and saved his life, but his hoofs were never any good afterwards, becoming hollow, and he was chronically foundered. I had better have dealt. Bleeding, in my experience, is the only remedy; of course, the violent cantering is the very worst possible thing. During the excitement, my groom, a Persian of Kermanshah, slipped away, and I found that he had taken sanctuary in the Armenian Cathedral. I, however, as he was a Mussulman, got him with some difficulty away, gave him the thrashing he deserved, and kicked him out.