During the very hot weather it was my habit while in Shiraz to stay in the garden of “Resht-i-Behesht” (glory of heaven), coming or sending into town to inquire if my services were required and to attend to my dispensary. In this garden there was a building with three large windowless rooms, but having many doors and air-holes; these, when carpeted and the doors covered with “chicks,” or fly blinds, were very comfortable indeed. I slept on the roof, which was free from mosquitoes, and lounged about the garden, which was very large, sitting and smoking beside the streams, which were numerous, or by the side of the gurgling “shitūr gūlū,” or “camel’s throat.” The garden was _all_ shade, and, in addition to the building, had two large brick platforms ten yards by ten, for day sleeping—one being shady in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The shitūr gūlū was appropriately named, for it was a long channel constructed to cause a gurgling noise—camels have a habit of “gurgling.” The stream irrigating the garden, which made a refreshing sound of running waters, was widened, and at the edge was a hole some five feet deep and two in diameter; at its bottom it branched off into a tunnel of some four yards at a right angle; it then ascended at right angles, opening into the bottom of a channel a _little lower_ in level than the first one; this it supplied, and the air drawn in at the one hole and ascending at the other with the rush of water made a gurgling noise. The gardener’s boy used for a present of a few coppers to allow himself to be sucked down the one hole, scramble along the earthen tunnel and appear at the further opening. The tame bear kept by the gardener nearly lost his life by jumping into the water (to avoid my dogs who pursued him), and getting sucked down by the “shitūr gūlū.” One day I was sitting with a young telegraph clerk of the cable department, Mr. P⸺, recently arrived from England, and on a pleasure trip (on leave) to Shiraz. As he knew nobody, I put him up. This youth had a very high idea of the dignity of the Englishman, and looked on the Persians as “_niggers_.” While we were sitting in chairs on one of the brick platforms reading the newly-arrived _Times_, the prince, his Royal Highness Zil-es-Sultan, entered the garden with two attendants only; he had on a blue satin coat with gold and coloured embroidery, a pink tie, and white duck trousers. He was very polite, and of course I rose to receive him, but Mr. P⸺ remained in his chair reading his _Times_, and declined to take any notice. The prince, astonished at being treated in so cavalier a fashion, asked who he was. I told him. “Ah,” he said, “he is very young,” and made no further remark to him.