Endless yarns are told in Persia of the road and its vicissitudes, every one has had his special experiences; a few sweet, many bitter, and each man starts fully determined in his heart to make the fastest time on record, but a succession of bad horses, an ugly fall, or a very wet day, often upset the most careful plans; or the dearness of grain, or a series of couriers, may provide the rider with a number of half-starved or tired horses, or he may lose his way and find himself “on the road to nowhere.” I travelled once with one Malek Mahommed Beg, one of the couriers of the English Legation: this man was a celebrated rider, and I well remember my astonishment at seeing him get down from the saddle and deliberately place a sharp stone under it, in order to get an extreme turn of speed out of a wretchedly knocked-up post-horse. On going into Teheran I was horrified to see the post-house guide deliberately whip a bit of cord round his knife-blade, thus making a goad of three-quarters of an inch in length, with which he urged on his wretched steed; remonstrance was useless, and, as he went on ahead, he called to me to follow his example. Among the stock yarns told amongst Europeans in Persia is that of the most cruel and elaborate hoax I have ever heard of. One of the Teheran residents was in the habit of snubbing a quiet little man, who had come to the country as private secretary to the manager of an enormous scheme for the regeneration of Persia; the little man bore the rough jokes and rudeness of his tormentor for a year, and then, as even worms will turn, got huffy and vowed revenge. Unluckily for the habitual snubber, he had revealed in a moment of confidence that he was proprietor of some tickets in an Austrian lottery scheme, and that a drawing was imminent: also he gave some of his numbers, even exhibiting the bonds or tickets. One morning the monotony of Teheran life was broken with the news that X⸺ had won a fortune. It appeared that a bogus telegram was brought to a gentleman in Teheran requesting him to ascertain if the holder of a certain number in the lottery was in Teheran, as he was believed to be a Mr. X⸺. No sooner was the news communicated to X⸺ than he went to his strong box to verify the number, and, to his delight, found that he was the actual holder of the winning bond. A castle, one hundred thousand gulden, and the territorial rank of Count was, I believe, the prize, as stated in the telegram.