On the evening of the 27th of March, 1863, my excellent friend, the Turkish ambassador in Teheran, gave me a farewell supper, at which all declared--to inspire me, of course with fear, and divert me from my adventurous undertaking,--that I was for the last time in my life to enjoy European food in the European manner. The handsome dining room at the residence of the ambassador was brilliantly lighted, the choicest viands were served, and the choicest wines handed round; for the intention was clear,--to give me a strong dose of reminiscences of European comforts on the difficult expedition before me. My friends were for ever scrutinizing my features, to discover whether my outward appearance might not betray some trace of inward excitement. But they were very much mistaken. I had ensconced myself comfortably in the velvet arm chair, which had been brought thither from the distant land of the Franks; the wine had tinged my face with the same colour as the fez which covered my head. A pious dervish and wine--what a frightful antithesis! To-night, however, I must transgress, the penance will be a long one, whether or no.... Twenty-four hours later, in the evening of the 28th of March, I was in the midst of my company of beggars on the road to Lar, in a half-dilapidated mud hut, called Dagaru. The rain was pouring in torrents. We had been pretty well wetted through during our day's march, so that all were anxious for shelter and a dry roof; and, the space being narrow, fate brought me the very first evening into the closest contact with my travelling companions. Their tattered garments, never very sweet-scented, and now thoroughly soaked with the rain, gave out the strangest evaporations; and no wonder if, under such circumstances, I had no great desire to take my share out of the large wooden bowl, from which the starved Hadjis, splashing about with their fists, were eating their supper. Moreover, hunger tormented me less than fatigue and my wet, ragged garments, to which I was as yet unaccustomed. Rolled up like a ball, I tried to get to sleep; but this also was impossible, packed together as we were in such close quarters. Now I felt the hand, now the head of one of my neighbours, falling upon me; then my opposite companion stretched out his foot, to scratch me behind the ears. It required the patience of Job to defend myself against these unpleasant civilities; and yet I might have had some sleep, but for the loud snoring of the Tartars, and above all the loud moaning of a Persian muleteer, who was sadly troubled with the gout.