Our second day's journey brought us in sight of the lake of Oormeah, which is of considerable extent. We examined a marble quarry near its shore, which had not been worked since the time of Nadir Shâh. The Persians wished us to believe that the peculiar quality of the water of the lake, by mixing with the soil, formed the marble, which they declared was soft when first cut, but became hard from exposure to the sun. One of our party, who was a geologist, endeavoured to prove to them that this belief was quite erroneous, by explaining the nature of the strata of this quarry, as well as the composition of the marble; but his knowledge was evidently most unpopular with the audience he had gathered round him, and they continued as completely satisfied as they had been before his scientific demonstrations, that the marble was formed in the manner related by their fathers. The lake of Oormeah is computed to be three hundred miles in circumference. It is very clear, but salt, and has a sulphureous smell. We were assured that no fish or any living creature is to be found in this great expanse of water, which one of the learned men of our mission informed me was the Spauto of Strabo, and the Marcianus of Ptolemy. From our encampment near the shore of this famous lake to the city of Mârâgâ is eighteen miles: we made this march at night. Moollâh Adeenah, the story-teller of his majesty, was one of our party. The Elchee asked him to beguile the weariness of our road with a tale. "How many fersekhs long do you wish it?" was his reply. "At least five," was the answer. "I can exactly suit you," said the Moollâh; "you shall have Ahmed the cobbler." I could not help laughing at this mode of measuring a tale; but I was assured it was a common custom, arising out of the calculation professed story-tellers were compelled to make of the leisure of their hearers. All further remarks upon this usage were put an end to, by Moollâh Adeenah desiring us to be silent and attentive: his wish being complied with, he commenced as follows: "In the great city of Isfahan lived Ahmed the cobbler, an honest and industrious man, whose wish was to pass through life quietly; and he might have done so, had he not married a handsome wife, who, although she had condescended to accept of him as a husband, was far from being contented with his humble sphere of life. "Sittâra, such was the name of Ahmed's wife, was ever forming foolish schemes of riches and grandeur: and though Ahmed never encouraged them, he was too fond a husband to quarrel with what gave her pleasure: an incredulous smile or a shake of the head, was his only answer to her often-told daydreams; and she continued to persuade herself, that she was certainly destined to great fortune.