to " A Defence of Islamism," by our chief moolahs. The result of my examination was a conviction that the young disputant was right. Shame, or rather fear, withheld me from this opinion; I even avoided the society of the Christian teacher, though he remained in the city so long. Just before he quitted Shiraz I could not refrain from paying him a farewell visit. Our conversation, the memory of which will never fade from the tablet of my mind, sealed my conversion. He gave me a book; it has been my constant companion; the study of it has formed my most delightful occupation; its contents have often consoled me."

Upon this he put into my hand a copy of the New Testament in Persian, on one of the blank leaves was written," there is joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth." HENRY Martin.

The only person I remember whose missionary zeal has led him from England towards Persia since Martin's death, was Mr. Groves. To labour in Persia was, I believe, his original design, although he went beyond it into Turkey. This eminently distinguished layman sacrificed country, fortune, and friends, to his ardent desire for unfurling the banner of the Cross, and preaching Christ crucified to the poor Mahomedans. But zeal, indiscreet zeal, may waste its odours even when it proceeds from the purest motive, and on this account one grieves to see an individual spending and being spent where no good results have been, nor are ever likely to be seen. Instead of grounding himself in the language, which he ought to have done in England-instead of associating himself with some particular church, be it either within or without the national establishment-he went into the wilds of Mahomedanism, where the natives esteemed him to be a wandering dervish, instead of a respectable moolah or sheik, which title would have commanded for him immediate respect.

With an ignorant people, rank in life goes a great way, and although we know that to be a Christian priest it is not neces sary to be clothed in canonicals, yet to be an effective advocate of the cause of Christ amongst the Moslems, he should have been of some order of the priesthood. This interesting cha

racter (from an obstinacy of indiscretion, if I may use the term) has sacrificed a life of wearying and unproductive labour at Bagdad. His Journal from thence, instead of reporting spiritual progress amongst the Mahomedans, presents a tissue of sufferings and misfortunes to himself and his dear people, quite harrowing to the feelings, and partaking more of romance than reality. Where he may be now spending himself I know not, though I believe him to be labouring on Mahomedan soil.

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CHAPTER XI.

KARADAGH.

THIS district of Persia has been but little visited by the Ferengees. I will, therefore, stroll over the surface more leisurely. Having made another visit to the Khan's village in our vagabondizing tour, where we had been complimented and pillaged, I began to get more acquainted with the Persian finesse, which, among themselves, means “neither to believe nor to be believed."

Duplicity is so deeply impressed upon the Persian character, that the greatest adept in it has the most honour. The game of conversation is kept up with an overwhelming politeness. Thus the master of the house tells his guest, that "he looks

as brilliant as the sun, and as placid as the moon ;" to which he replies, "his ears are now regaled with the tones of the nightingale, and may the roses of happiness ever bloom in the garden of his destiny;" with other compliments quite untranslatable; and the thousand and one nothings come out of their mouths so glibly, and so unmeaningly, that they seem glad when it is over, and laugh at each other. On taking leave there is a great deal said about "zhamet." I was long ignorant of the meaning of this word, which implies by the visitor what a deal of trouble he has given; the other doubles it with "kali zhamet"-it is he that has given the trouble;—and so they go on bowing out each other with their "zhamets" innumerable.

It was in the month of June that we traversed this district. The way began through a fine country (for Persia), well watered, which occasioned a continuity of villages, seemingly all flourishing. At Overjon we rested the first evening, having pitched our tent in a beautiful orchard; and the approach to the village was remarkable from the high mountains which we had to cross, some of the ravines being filled with snow. I have the most vivid recollection of this day's ride; setting

out in a broiling sun, and then encountering an atmosphere below zero. Near the river we passed a small Koordish encampment; then the abrupt ascent of a very narrow pass led to this magnificent mountain scenery, reminding me much of the wilds of Koordistan. I thought I had never seen any daylight so singular; there was a sunny landscape on the extensive plains, looking warm and cheering, with little bright spots of villages here and there, man and beast from thence scarcely discernible.

The mountains over which we were travelling, were clothed partly with verdure, partly with snow. The wonder was how we got up; but it was exceeded by how we were to descend; which was always on the slide. The magnificence of Persian scenery consists in its seemingly boundless extent; the outline being piled up in every variety of mountain, but not rock. Both mind and body seem to expand at such scenes: you breathe freely; "the world is all before you, where to choose" a boundless estate; you inhale the air of prodigal freedom, never to be felt in an enclosed country-'tis a sort of aërial feeling.

I had unknowingly preceded my party, and had