woman. For newly-married couples, or for
guests to whom it is desired to pay particular
honour, a tent covered inside with felt of snowy
whiteness is the proper lodging; the ordinary
tent is that which has grown brown or black
from age and smoke. These tents, says Mr.
Vámbéry, are cool in summer, and warm in winter,
and under them the Turkomans sleep
undisturbed, however fierce may be the raging of the
storm without.

Awaking next morning, light of heart, from
the sweet sleep under the wholesome shelter
of the tent, Mr. Vámbéry appeared in the eyes
of Hadji Bilal unprofessionally cheerful. That
faithful friend took him aside, therefore, and
warned him that he must now put off the Efendi,
and trust entirely to his dervish character, for
he would excite surprise and disappointment if
he did not, like the others, with a serious face
distribute Fatiha or blessings, give the nefes or
holy breath when summoned to the sick, and
hold out his hand for the little presents which
he would find the public of Central Asia always
ready to bestow. "Pardon me if I seem to
school you," said Hadji Bilal; " but it is for
your good. You must have heard of the traveller
who, when he reached the land of the one-eyed
nation, to put himself on equality with them,
kept one of his eyes shut." The Hungarian
took counsel accordingly, had levees of sick
persons, distributed blessings and "breath,"
wrote short sentences to serve as talismans, and
took his fees in little kneeling mats and divers
articles of food. The security obtained by travel
in this character had one great drawback for a man
whose whole purpose was investigation. If he
touched upon any question relating to ordinary
life, or showed curiosity of any sort, his friends
asked wonderingly what a dervish, whose
.proper business was only God and religion, had
to do with affairs of this transitory world. He
dared not put any direct questions, but relied
chiefly upon the liveliness of his attention, when,
as he sat with dreamy aspect, beads in hand,
the Turkomans, who are great talkers, discussed
their affairs before him. Even about the line of
ancient wall known as the wall of Iskender, or
Alexander the Great, which was one feature of
the neighbourhood of Gomushteppe, a place
rich in remains of Greek domination and hidden
monuments of ancient Iran civilisation, not a
question could be asked by a dervish without
exciting amazement.

In spite of the warm hospitality and the
frequent religious feasts not unwelcome to Mr.
Vámbéry's companions, at which every guest
plunged his fist into the large wooden bowl
supplied to every group of five or six, while
horseflesh or camelflesh were the order of the
day, and, says the traveller, "what other dishes
represented our venison I must decline mentioning;"
in spite of the reverence with which their
prayers were sought, and their own ample
experience of the bright side of Turkoman life
and character, even the hadjis, somewhat to
the manner born, yearned in a fortnight to get
away from Gomushteppe. Even for the poorest
of the pilgrims, and those who had least reason
to love the Persian, in the midst of all this
lavish hospitality, the sight of the sufferings of
the poor Persian slaves was really too much.
Hardly a tent was without its chained Persian.
The landing of the victims of each raid on
Persian territory, when the gun from the water,
that was to be heard every night, had announced
the return of an alaman, or predatory cruiser,
itself a painful sight, was only the beginning of
miseries. The unhappy Persians, old or young,
of any age from three to sixty, surprised by a
night attack, and hurried away from their homes,
sometimes with wounds, were clothed in Turkoman
rags, loaded with galling chains, pegged
down by the neck o' nights, treated with pitiless
contempt, and with an active cruelty designed
to force them into writing urgently for any
ransom. To see their sufferings, without daring
by word or look to express pity, was too much
even for the Asiatic not inured to the trade of
man-stealing. If not ransomed speedily, they
are sent a little further in, to Etrek, a place of
more cruel torment, where there is a truculent
old khan accounted clever at extracting from,
the newly-caught slaves all useful information
as to the ransom they may be made to yield, if
any. The ransomable captives are the Turkoman's
best prizes ; for the difference may be
great indeed between the price at which a child
is valued by its father, or a father by his son,
and the market-price of either in the slave-
market at Bokhara. And it is not market-price
that the first captor, on producing the article of
traffic, usually gets. The Turkoman usually
lives too much from hand to mouth, and is too
poor, to keep his captives by him till he has
enough to take himself into the market. When
ransom, cannot be got, he sells the produce of
each alaman, as fast as he gets it, to a richer
Turkoman : a middleman, who can afford to
warehouse slaves till it is worth his while to go
to Bokhara and sell. When he has reached
Bokhara, he sells at once what is immediately
saleable, leaves the rest in the hands of a slave-
broker, and rides away. At present a slave
fetches twenty or thirty pounds in Bokhara. In,
war time, when the market is glutted, the price
may fall even to three pounds. In this barter
there is a system of cheques and notes of hand,
with this peculiarity, that when a debtor writes
for his creditor, or gets to be written, an I O U,
he puts it in his own pocket and rides away. If
the creditor is asked why he does not take the
acknowledgment, he replies, "What shall I do
with it ? I do not want to be reminded of the
debt. The man who owes must not forget. It
is for him, therefore, to keep the paper by
him."

After three weeks in Gomushteppe, the
pilgrims had a good opportunity of proceeding
upon their journey. Their next great halting-
place was Khiva, in the watered region of the
Oxus, beyond the desert, and with desert again
beyond it. The wicked and broken-down old
Khan of Khiva had been recommended by his
physicians to drink buffalo's milk, and he had