This habit of mind, and constant abhorrence of all that is new, explains why the Sulaimanian still walks about in the costumes we see in prints of books of travellers to Persia in the 16th century, why his shirt-sleeves hang to the ground, why the skirts of his tunic wipe the filth along the streets as he walks. These are the conservators of the bad old customs, would-be slayers of the Jews among them, ignoring the tie of blood that binds ninety per cent. of them to that race. The custom and law relating to clothing is so strong that strangers living among them, if they would hope to live without annoyance, must adopt their style of raiment and reject the more convenient garments of their own lands. Their isolation has made them very suspicious of all strangers, and from this suspicion has developed an inquisitorial bearing almost intolerable. It is the right of every Sulaimanian to enquire closely into the aims and identity of every new arrival. Fortunately he does not resent equally close enquiry, even rather welcoming it as affording an opportunity for self-aggrandisement and a self-righteous exposition of his own respectability. Also, the intense suspicion with which they approach the stranger renders it quite immaterial whether lies or truth are given in answer to their queries. Inconsistent as it may seem, once their questions are answered, and the information disseminated about the town, the stranger is accepted at his own valuation and becomes part of the population. Having learned somewhat of these matters, I was not surprised to receive a visit from a gorgeous individual, who came to see me at the caravanserai one morning. This person was enveloped in a fine cloak of camel’s hair, the right-hand side of the back of which was covered with gold thread work: between its folds stuck out from the waistbelt the sheath of a huge knife, and as he entered he removed from his feet a new pair of Bagdad shoes. He saluted in excellent Persian, and having accepted a cigarette, commenced without preambulation his queries, which I answered as briefly as possible. [Sidenote: INQUISITIVE VISITOR] The dialogue was somewhat thus:-- “Where is your native country?” “Persia.” “Which town?” “Shiraz.” “Are there any Sulaimanians in Shiraz?” “No, nor ever were.” “Are you going to Persia?” “I do not know at present.” “Why do you not know at present? How shall a man not know his destinations?” “Because my plans are not formed.” “Stay here, it is the best place--good water, good air, and a kindly population. What are you by trade? Are you a doctor?” “No, why?” “Because of your European style of dress, which for any but a doctor is an impropriety here. Are you a merchant?” “Yes, I might be.” “What are your wares?” “Cloths and such like.” “Have you also scented soap?” “No; why do you ask that?” “Because a merchant came from Mosul twenty years ago with scented soap, but it is an impropriety here.” “Why?”