Now, if the Persian doctor is called in, and has any doubt as to the nature of the disorder, he prescribes a hot remedy, let us say; if the patient gets better, he was right; if worse, then he prescribes a cold remedy, and sticks to it. He thus gets over all need for diagnosis, all physiological treatment, and he cannot, according to his own lights, be wrong. His prescriptions contain a multitude of mostly obsolete and inert drugs, ten being a small number of ingredients, twenty an ordinary one. Before he is summoned, an omen is taken by the patient and his friends, as to who shall be called in; when he has seen his patient, another is taken, as to whether his advice shall be followed or not. His fee is a few pence, or more generally he undertakes the case on speculation; _so much_—of which he is lucky if he gets half—if the patient gets well; nothing if he doesn’t. Most of the relatives, friends, and neighbours prescribe various homely, or at times, powerful remedies, which are all as a rule tried. Quiet by the sick-bed is unknown; in fact, the patient used to fuss and noise would be depressed by it. And remedies and contrivances of a barbarous nature, such as putting a patient in fresh horse-dung, sewing him up in a raw hide, are the rule rather than the exception. Usually the European doctor is distrusted, only called in when the patient is breathing his last, or by the very rich or very poor. Mr. B⸺ gave me one very good piece of advice. “You will go to Hamadan—with the Persians novelty is everything. Strike while the iron is hot, and before the novelty is worn off, and you—well, you will get lots of experience.” I was astonished and incredulous—_it was all true_.[5] We visited the telegraph-office, and looked round the Colonel’s garden, returning to breakfast at eleven, and we sat down to a substantial _déjeuner à la fourchette_, with country wines, and tea for those who preferred it. It was followed by the inevitable kalian and coffee. I wanted much to see the Zoological Gardens, but we were told that the Shah had turned the beasts loose. We, however, decided to go, and we found it so—they were all loose. The leo-panther, a cross between the lion and panther, a lovely animal like an immense cat, very tame, allowing one to pat him; two lions, a bear, two tigers (young ones), walking about with the antelopes and wild sheep. I must say the presence of the tigers was not quite pleasant. There is a pretty building—a sort of summer pavilion—here, belonging to the king, well worth seeing.