Winter is undoubtedly the pleasantest season.

Scarcely an evening passes without a dance, private theatricals, or other festivity given by one or other of the Embassies, entertainments which his Imperial Majesty himself frequently graces with his presence.
There is probably no living sovereign of whom so little is really known in Europe as Nasr-oo-din, "Shah of Persia," "Asylum of the Universe," and "King of Kings," to quote three of his more modest titles.

Although he has visited Europe twice, and been made much of in our own country, most English people know absolutely nothing of the Persian monarch's character or private life.

That he ate _entrees_ with his fingers at Buckingham Palace, expressed a desire to have the Lord Chamberlain bowstrung, and conceived a violent and unholy passion for an amiable society lady somewhat inclined to _embonpoint_, we are most of us aware; but beyond this, the Shah's _vie intime_ remains, to the majority of us at least, a sealed book.

This is perhaps a pity, for, like many others, Nasr-oo-din is not so black as he is painted, and, notwithstanding all reports to the contrary, is said, by those who should know, to be one of the kindest-hearted creatures breathing.
The government of Persia is that of an absolute monarchy.