As we near Sana we see a man and woman seated on a mound commanding the road, under a big green cotton umbrella, near a grove. The woman, gaily dressed, with her face painted and without any veil, her hair in long tails, strung with coins, importunately solicited us. The man remained under the umbrella, and took no notice. They were “Susmanis,” or gypsies. These people have no particular religion—certainly they are not Mussulmans; they live by singing, dancing, and prostitution. The woman, who had considerable attractions, followed us for nearly a mile, and begged hard for a present. Sana is always infested by bands of these “Susmanis,” who prey on the pilgrims. We are now on the direct pilgrims’ road to Kerbela, where are buried the imams, or saints, of the Sheahs, Hussein and Hassan, one of the greatest shrines of Persian pilgrims. More groups of “Susmanis” accost us, and demand alms, openly proclaiming their trade. We reach Sana, and pitch the tent in a large garden with plenty of running water, where we are able to get a good bath next day. The climate is here very pleasant; although it is early in spring, the sun is very powerful, and the night no longer chilly. The greater part of the afternoon is taken up with a long wrangle with the head-men of the village as to the price of poles for the telegraph-line. Pierson’s ideas and theirs differ widely as to the value of these, but a threatened reference to the Imād-u-dowlet (“Pillar of the State”), the Governor of Kermanshah, soon reduces the price, for these sharks would much prefer dealing with the Feringhi than their fellow-countrymen, as the latter would probably take the poles for nothing. Another day’s journey brings us to Besitūn, which is distinguished by an inscription carved on the face of a perpendicular cliff, with colossal figures, of which a correct and learned description has been given by Sir Henry Rawlinson. At the foot of this cliff are a few fragments of what is supposed to have been “Shushan the palace.” It is said that here, when Sir Henry Rawlinson was engaged in copying the inscriptions, on a scaffolding on the face of the cliff, at a great height from the ground, that he fell over backwards, and was caught by his trusty Arab muleteer, Hadji Khaleel; and that, in gratitude, Sir Henry, who at that time held a diplomatic position in Persia, made the Hadji British Agent in Kermanshah. This is the legend among the natives. I give it as I heard it. I had the pleasure of the honest old Hadji’s acquaintance in that place, and was shown much kindness by him. Whether or no this legend had any ground I cannot say; but Hadji Khaleel was a charming old man, honest as the day, though with somewhat rough manners.