Looking out of my bedroom window the morning following my arrival, on the shrubberies, well-kept lawns, bright flower-beds, and lawn-tennis nets, I could scarcely realize that this was Persia; that I was not at home again, in some secluded part of the country in far-away England.

Long residence in the East had evidently not changed my host Mr.F---- 's ideas as to the necessity for European comforts.

The cheerful, sunlit, chintz-covered bedroom, with its white furniture, blue-and-white wall-paper, and lattice windows almost hidden by rose and jasmine bushes, was a pleasant _coup d'oeil_ after the grimy, bug-infested post-houses; and the luxuries of a good night's rest and subsequent shave, cold tub, and clean linen were that morning appreciated as they only can be by one who has spent many weary days in the saddle, uncombed, unshaven, and unwashed.
There is no regular post-road between Shiraz and Bushire, or rather Sheif, the landing-place, eight miles from the latter city.

The journey is performed by mule-caravan, resting by night at the caravanserais.

Under the guidance of Mr.F----, I therefore set about procuring animals and "chalvadars," or muleteers.