At Nasirabad, a village a few miles out of the city, there had been an earthquake that morning.
Many of the mud houses were in ruins, and their late owners sitting dejectedly on the remains.

Earthquakes are common enough in Persia, and this was by no means our last experience in that line.
Commiserating with the homeless ones, we divided a few kerans among them, in return for which they brought us large water-melons (for which Nasirabad is celebrated), deliciously flavoured, and as cold as ice.
Kashan, which stands on a vast plain about two thousand feet above sea-level, is picturesque and unusually clean for an Eastern town.

The bazaar is a long one, and its numerous caravanserais finer even than those of the capital.

The manufacture of silk [F] and copperware is extensive; but, as usual, one saw little in the shops, _en evidence _, but shoddy cloth and Manchester goods, and looked in vain for real Oriental stuffs and carpets.

I often wondered where on earth they _were_ to be got, for the most persistent efforts failed to produce the real thing.