No sooner was he gone than the nazir, or head-servant, presented himself and delivered to Pierson an oration somewhat of this sort. “May I represent to the service of the sahib, that it would be very unwise to purchase the horse of the prince? he is not young” (he was five years old), “he is gone in the wind” (he was quite sound), “and his temper is awful; besides this I have reason to know that he is worthless in every respect” (he was one of the best horses I ever saw, and I knew him for ten years). “Of course to me it would make a great difference, for the prince has indeed offered me a handsome commission” (quite untrue), “while from this poor dealer not a farthing can be wrung by the servants. No! he would rather die than pay one farthing. So though the other servants are loath to let a sale take place to my sahib’s friend, yet I, as an old servant, and looking for a reward from my sahib for conduct so disinterested, have after infinite trouble got the dealer to consent to a hundred and fifty tomans for any two of his four horses.” “Be off,” was the laconic reply of Pierson. “When we ride to-day, if the dealer will sell for my price, let the horses be ready and I will see them and ride them; if not he can go.” The man sighed and replied: “Ah, I see, sahib, the prince has laughed at your beard, and persuaded you to buy his worthless brute. I can’t offer such terms to a respectable man like the dealer, but I will give the message.” I now saw the horse-dealer leave the courtyard with the air of an injured man, and I feared I was as far off a purchase as ever. But Pierson reassured me. I had plagued him to sell me one of his own large stud which he wished to reduce, but he declined with a smile, saying he never sold a horse to a friend unless he was a thorough judge, and that as I knew nothing about horses he must decline, as I might repent when too late; and though I pressed him a good deal, he would not relent. Few men would have lost an opportunity to get rid of beasts they did not require, but Pierson was a man in a thousand. At that time he had eight horses in his stable, all good and all sound. He had named them after heathen gods, Jupiter, Pluto, Saturn, Cupid, Hercules, etc. But his pet nag, Apollo—a grey he had given one hundred and twenty tomans, or fifty pounds, for, an enormous price in those days in Persia—had a few weeks before caught his foot in a hole while galloping over turf; horse and man came down with a crash; Pierson was insensible; and when he came to himself he found, some four yards off, his favourite lying dead with his neck broken. He rode away on his groom’s horse, the man carrying his saddle and bridle. On getting to the house he sent a gang to bury the poor beast, but too late, for the villagers had taken off the skin and tail. Pierson on telling me the story did it so pathetically, that he left off with wet eyes, and I felt inclined to sob myself.