In the evening I visited the town of Lari: it stands on an eminence, and may probably contain two thousand inhabitants. The huts are built of the rush which grows by the sides of the lake, have conical tops, and look very like well thatched stacks of corn in England. They have neat inclosures round them, made with fences of the same reed, and passages leading to them like labyrinths. In the inclosure is a goat or two, poultry, and sometimes a cow. The women were almost all spinning cotton, which grows well, though not abundantly, near the town and lake. The interior of the huts is neat: they are completely circular, with no admission for air or light, except at the door, which has a mat, by way of safeguard. I entered one of the best appearance, although the owner gave me no smiles of encouragement, and followed close at my heels, with his spear and dagger in his hand. In one corner stood the bed, a sofa of rushes lashed together, and supported by six poles, fixed strongly in the ground. This was covered by the skins of the tiger-cat and wild bull; round the sides were hung the wooden bowls, used for water and milk: his tall shield rested against the wall. The hut had a division of mat-work, one half being allotted to the female part of the family. My host, however, continued to look at me with so much suspicion, and seemed so little pleased with my visit, notwithstanding all my endeavours to assure him I was a friend, that I hurried from the inhospitable door, and resumed my walk through the town.