And so I asked the major to give me some information regarding this town, which is the last of any importance in Russian Turkestan.
"I know it all the better," said the major, "from having been in garrison there for fifteen months.

It is a pity you have not time to visit it, for it remains very Asiatic, and there has not been time yet for it to grow a modern town.

There is a square there unrivalled in Asia, a palace in great style, that of the old Khan of Khondajar, situated on a mound about a hundred yards high, and in which the governor has left his Sarthe artillery.

It is considered wonderful, and there is good reason for it.

You will lose by not going there a rare opportunity of bringing in the high-flown words of your language in description: the reception hall transformed into a Russian church, a labyrinth of rooms with the floors of the precious Karagatch wood, the rose pavilion, in which visitors receive a truly Oriental hospitality, the interior court of Moorish decoration recalling the adorable architectural fancies of the Alhambra, the terraces with their splendid views, the harem where the thousand wives of the Sultan--a hundred more than Solomon--live in peace together, the lacework of the fronts, the gardens with their shady walks under the ancient vines--that is what you would have seen--" "And which I have already seen with your eyes, dear major," said I."My readers will not complain.