From the summit of the northernmost tower criminals used to be hurled, we were informed, in the “good old days,” into the square below called “the Gluttonous Place”; this was the case at Bokhara only last century: they were trussed up like fowls. Visitors are usually taken by the professional guide up this madressah to look over the city, from the platform upon which the cupolas rest. It is perhaps desirable to warn ladies visiting Samarkand to beware of this guide, as he bears an unsatisfactory character. Our unofficial guide took us to the top of the Tilla Kari (“dressed in gold”) façade, which is much loftier, and from which a fine view of the mountains is to be obtained. The ascent was steep, rough, and perilous, but well worth not only the effort, but also the resultant stiffness of many days. The vision that burst upon our view as we emerged from the dark staircase was that of a city gleaming among a wealth of trees, stretching far across the plain to the distant, snow-capped mountains. Far below the motley crowd looked like ants; the vivid colouring of their robes was almost indistinguishable, and only a hushed murmur rose to our ears from the busy throng. In the Tilla-Kari Madressah (built in 1618) there is room for fifty-six students. It has an important mosque, of which the inside walls were not only decorated with blue tiles, but also with fine marble slabs handsomely cut and bearing gilded inscriptions, but the gilding was somewhat dimmed by time. Evidently there was a large and costly carpet on the floor, for our feet sank noiselessly into the soft pile, but it was covered with a drugget, and we were only allowed to see a small corner. This madressah has no flanking towers, and a less ornate façade, which probably gave rise to the idea that it was the oldest, whereas it is the most recent of the three. Our evident delight in the beauty of the place was obviously a source of no little gratification to the people; our only regret was that we were unable to talk to them. Few people know the Sart language, or even know of its existence, but in the mosques and bazaars Persian as well as Arabic is current. The people to whom the glories of the place are like a twice-told tale, watched our expression with some wonder, but keen appreciation; when they had further inquired as to our nationality, it seemed as if we were admitted into a sort of friendly intimacy. We started one day from our hotel with a pleasant old man as droshky driver; to him our host gave elaborate instructions as to where we should go and what we should see; but in the old city he picked up a picturesque native in white turban and wine-coloured robe, who forthwith constituted himself our guide. Our inability to talk or even to understand his language was a slight bar to our enjoyment, yet in the course of the morning we gathered a certain amount of information about the city, and felt that we had missed seeing nothing of real importance.