After much bargaining I bought a Bábághúli for a couple of Turkish pounds, and found in it, beyond its usual interest, a magnificent example of Perso-Syrian work. The cornelian, which is circular in shape and slightly raised in the middle, is of a rosy shade, and measures about an inch in circumference. On it is engraved, in the finest Naskh writing, a short chapter of the Kurán, which must have cost the artist half-a-year’s labour. The stone is set in silver of a floral design, with two loops or links, through which are threaded strings of gold ending with tassels and a running noose for fastening round the arm. Round the centre stone are inlaid twenty-two rubies and emeralds, in alternate order, eleven of each. These stones alone, though they are not cut properly, are worth three times as much as I gave for the whole thing. I made haste to tie the Bábághúli round my biceps, more from fear of theft than any superstitious motive, and promised not to part with it in any circumstances; whereat my guide, sneering, said, “May the devil give you a wide berth, yá-Moulai!” the talisman-monger endorsing the wish by adding, “May it be auspicious.” The wearing of a túgh, or silver chain, to which is attached a silver bowl called kashkúl, is confined to the Shiahs. It is worn round the neck by many Persian boys, and is changed every year until the boy is nine years old. By the end of that time he has nine chains laid by. These are sent, as propitiatory offerings, to the shrine of some saint, that of Abbas in Kerbela being the most sacred. Thus it comes about that a boy, so long as he wears the túgh, is called “the dog of Abbas,” and is said to be under the special protection of that saintly man. I turned to my guide. “How is it,” said I, “that he is called Abbas’s dog, and not ‘Allah’s dog,’ or, more becomingly still, ‘Allah’s child’?”