CHAPTER XIII.

_23d June._—Kirmánshah to Mydasht, twenty-three miles. Owing to the promptitude of the Wakiluddaula in meeting my wishes and expediting my journey (for I had told him my object was to reach Basrah in time for the first July steamer to Bombay), we were enabled to set out from the city at ten o’clock last night. I had given the order to load and start at six P.M., but the mulemen rebelled, led away their mules, and caused much trouble. Shukrullah Beg, however, advanced them some money, and by alternate threats and conciliations, persuaded them to return; and just then an escort of four horsemen arriving from the governor with letters for the commandant of the troops at Zuháb, I left three of them in charge of the baggage, with directions to bring it on so soon as loaded, and with the other as guide, set out from the city without further delay, calculating that my departure would decide the mulemen on their course, and hasten their movements.

After clearing the city and the low ridges to its west, we halted awhile for the rest of our party, who presently came up and joined us. The change from the close air and foul smells of the city to the pure fresh breezes on the open plain was most agreeable, and quickly dispelled the headaches, nausea, and feverish malaise most of us complained of in the filthy pent-up courts of our temporary residence. If the choice were mine, I should never enter these filthy Persian towns and villages, but camp under the shade of the trees in the gardens and vineyards surrounding all such habitations. In this time of famine and pestilence, one never knows what sickness may have occurred in the empty houses we took up our quarters in, whilst their state of neglect and impure atmosphere only suggested very disturbing fancies, and speculations we had no means of correcting.

We reached Mydasht Sarae at 4.30 A.M. The morning air was so cold that we were glad of a fire to warm ourselves, and the midday sun was so hot that we took off our coats as superfluous. At daylight, the temperature was as low as 40° Fah., and in the middle of the day it rose to 136° Fah. in the sun’s rays, and 88° Fah. in the shelter of the _sarae_.

At half-way on our march, descending a long winding gully that opens on to a plain covered with some crops, we met a very large caravan of pilgrims and merchants on their way to Kirmánshah from Karbalá and Baghdad. There were nearly two thousand mules, camels, and asses, and fully as many men and women. We heard the sounds of their approach some minutes before we met. The escort with me and Shukrullah Beg were at first disconcerted by the sounds, and hastily collected our baggagers and party into a close compact column, and moved cautiously down the slope. Presently, on turning a rock, we were suddenly challenged by a party of four or five horsemen.[4] “It’s all right,” said Shukrullah Beg, “let us go on in the order we are now in. The caravan is a large one, and we may get confused with those in it.” The warning was quite necessary, for the caravan was the largest I have ever seen, and we were fully half an hour passing each other. Amongst the crowd were many mule-litters bearing veiled ladies. I counted one string of thirty-five out of several others.

I rode my dromedary on this march, and was, in the dim light of dawn, taken for a pilgrim by the people of the caravan, and received many a “_Salám alaik Hájí!_” from those nearest to me. I was so fatigued by the excitement and wakefulness of the past twenty-four hours, that soon after arrival at the _sarae_, I fell asleep in front of the fire lighted to warm our numbed hands and feet, and was for a time dead to the assaults of the vermin that swarmed all over the place. Their voracity, however, soon roused me from my slumbers, and I found myself violently attacked by the hosts of bugs, lice, fleas, spiders, and cockchafers, on whose domain I had intruded. They punished me so severely that I was glad to beat a retreat, and take refuge in my own tent, which, the baggage having come up, I had pitched at once. The delights of a tub and a clean suit can be better imagined than described.

Our next stage was twenty-eight miles to Hárúnabad. We set out at ten P.M., and marched all night in a south-westerly direction by a very good road over three successive ranges of hill, where the path is very stony. The rocks are limestone and magnesian limestone, and are thickly covered on their slopes with dwarf oak-trees. Except a small hamlet and a tiny stream at the first hill pass, called Kotal Cház Zabbú, we passed no village nor water in all the route. We saw, however, some _ilyát_ camps, and small patches of corn cultivation in the nooks of the hills.

At five A.M. we arrived at Hárúnabad, a dilapidated village occupied by only twenty or thirty families. The rest, we were told, had gone off for the six summer months to their _aylác_ or summer quarters in the hills. The _kishlác_, or winter quarters on the plain, are now mostly abandoned. The people here are all Kurds. We found the _sarae_ here (there are no post-houses on this road west of Kirmánshah) so dirty, and occupied by such dreadfully unwholesome-looking beggars, that we gladly availed ourselves of the offer of the chief man in the place to alight at the residence of the governor, who is at present absent on a tour in the district.

The house stands on the slope of a laminated limestone ridge, and overlooks a stream of beautiful clear water, full of fish and tortoises. It is apparently a new building, and is tastefully decorated with ornamental plaster. We found the rooms in the upper story quite empty, but very clean and sweet. The servant in charge of the house spread some felt carpets on the floor; and I stretched me down, and went to sleep till our baggage arrived, and the noise of the men woke me.

We hear disquieting reports regarding the safety of the road ahead. The country about Pul Zuháb is said to be in possession of the Khaleva tribe, who are now in open rebellion against the authority of the Sháh, by whom they were, to the number of a thousand families, transported a couple of years ago from the vicinity of Baghdad to their present settlements on this frontier. Their cause of dissatisfaction is the attempt to exact revenue from them. They are described as nomads of very unsettled habits, and predatory at all times. They possess valuable mares like the Baloch, and mounted on them, they now harass the country from Pul Zuháb to Hájí Cara. They are committed to this course of rebellion on account of a rupture with the Persian Government.

It appears that the governor of Karriud, Malik Nyáz Khán, went amongst their camps to collect the revenue; in a dispute at some tents, he was set upon and killed. The Sháh’s troops were consequently brought out to operate against the tribe. They have captured some principal men and their families, and have dispersed the rest of the camps into the hills.

At 10.30 P.M., having made the guardian of our quarters happy, and requested him to convey our thanks to our absent host, Sartip Muhammad Hasan, Khalora, we set out from Hárúnabad, and after a march of twenty-four miles, at five A.M. arrived at Karriud. Here we found the _sarae_ full; and after wandering about a while, hired a house on the skirts of the town for the day. Our route was W.N.W., by a good road over and between low hills covered with dwarf oak-trees. In the glens and hollows we passed many _ilyát_ camps, and patches of rich corn.

Karriud is a charming spot, and its air is delightfully pure and refreshing. The town contains about two thousand houses, and is romantically situated in a deep hollow between two great hills of magnesian limestone. The elevation here is 5212 feet above the sea, and the night air is decidedly cold. Yet as we rode into the town we found the people sleeping on the house-tops, curled up in their coverlets. The tramping of our horses aroused some sleeping beauties, who, rubbing their eyes, stared at us with undisguised surprise, and shook their slumbering lords to take note of the new-comers.

Some of the young women—they were all fair complexioned, I observed—had very comely features, and fine turned limbs, which showed to advantage in contrast with their greasy and tattered attire. The town has a very flourishing look, and is crowded with a bustling population, who, notwithstanding their dirty habits and slovenly dress, appear comfortable and prosperous. We have evidently left the land of misery and starvation, for we have not seen so thriving and happy a scene since we entered Persian territory.

The bread we got here was made from the newly-reaped corn, and was simply delicious, after the coarse, mouldy, and gritty stuff we had been eating during the past fortnight. We saw lots of cattle here, a new feature on the scene; and, yet more surprising, some veritable domestic pigs. One of them, indeed, scared away from its fellows by our appearance, trotted ahead of us into the town, heralding our approach by a succession of grunts.

_26th June._—Pul Karriud to Zuháb, thirty-two miles. We left Karriud at 8.45 P.M. yesterday, and proceeded W.N.W. through a narrow valley, rising gently for eight miles. Here we descended by a rocky path into a deep winding defile, the sides of which are thickly covered with oak-trees. The road, everywhere rough and difficult, passes from side to side across a boulder-strewn ravine, in which are pools trickling from one to the other down the slope. At about half-way down the pass, we came to Myán Tágh, a village of about a couple of hundred houses. Here we found a regiment of Persian infantry or _sarbáz_, just returned from Pul Zuháb, where it appears they have had an encounter with the enemy. The men were scattered about the road for three miles beyond the village in great disorder, and without a semblance of discipline. Some of them chaffed our men, and asked what we had with us that we should go on when they were in retreat from Pul Zuháb. Their merriment and gibes, however, were at once silenced by Shukrullah Beg, who authoritatively announced that we were _mámúr i daulat i Inglisia_ (on the service of the English Government). The words acted with magical effect. Those near us stood at “attention,” and others as we passed on touched their caps.

Shukrullah Beg now told me we should have trouble ahead. There was no doubt, he said, about the Khaleva rebellion. A party of four hundred of them had only yesterday plundered Pul Zuháb, and were still in force in the vicinity. He was telling me what he had heard from the _sarbáz_ (that they were brought back to the shelter of these hills to wait for reinforcements to attack the enemy), when his story was verified by a long stream of people hurrying up the defile with their asses and oxen bearing their household goods and chattels.

At the steep descent of the pass where the road zigzags down to Páyín Tágh, we had some difficulty in passing the stream set uphill against us. The poor fugitives were driving their cattle and puffing and panting as if the enemy were in hot pursuit. Some of their bullocks, taking fright at our party, became obstreperous, threw their loads, and charged in amongst us, producing no small confusion, and considerable risk of a roll down the precipice.

There were about four hundred of these Kurds coming up the pass. Many of them expressed surprise at our going down the hill when we saw they were running away up it. One hardy old dame in particular, whose bullock with all her worldly goods had dashed up the hillside to escape our approach, was especially loud and garrulous, and harangued us from the turn at a zig in words I did not understand. Shukrullah Beg explained by saying the old lady was facetious, and asked if we thought ourselves lions that we were going down to face the robbers who had defeated even the _sarbáz_? These Kurds were very poor and dirty people; some of them were hideously ugly. Many of them had a sickly, unwholesome look, and in the light of dawning day, I saw that ophthalmia afflicted most of their children and young people.

The descent to Páyín Tágh is long and steep, by a stony road that zigzags down the mountain slope. Above the path to the right stands a solitary fire-temple, in a fairly preserved state of ruin. Away to the left of the descent is a very deep and narrow chasm, that drains the Myán Tágh defile and hills to the plain below. Seen in the waning moonlight on one side the descent, and in the growing gleams of a rising sun on the other, it looked a very remarkable natural phenomenon, and appeared like a great rent or fissure in the rocky barrier that closes the defile in this direction.[5]

Onwards from Páyín Tágh our road led along a gradually expanding valley, and at about ten miles brought us to Pul Zuháb. The view on looking back is peculiar and strikingly curious. The hills rise abruptly from the plain, and form a well-defined barrier, that extends west and east, a great buttress supporting the tablelands of Persia against the valley of the Tigris on the one hand, and the littoral of the Persian Gulf on the other.

We arrived at Pul Zuháb, or Saribul, as it is also called, from the bridge here over the Alwand river, at 7.30 A.M., and finding the _sarae_ occupied by a regiment of _sarbáz_, pitched our tents on the bank of the river below the bridge. The height of this place is 2220 feet above the sea, and 2992 below that of Karriud. The change in the temperature was as great at it was sudden. At two P.M. the thermometer rose to 102° Fah. in my tent, and placed in the rays of the sun, went up to 140° Fah. At midnight it fell to 60° Fah. in the open air. At Karriud the midday temperature was only 79° Fah., and in the early morning only 50° Fah., though the sun’s rays affected the mercury there as much as they did here, raising it to 134° Fah.

Soon after our arrival here I sent Shukrullah Beg with the passport received from the governor of Kirmánshah to the head man here, to arrange for an escort to proceed with my party in the morning. He returned an hour later saying the official here would have nothing to say to the passport, as it was addressed to the frontier officer at Zuháb, a town said to be two _farsakhs_ distant in a north-west direction.

This was rather embarrassing intelligence, and I was in doubt as to what course I should adopt, when some further information elicited from Shukrullah Beg decided me in my line of action. He told me that the officer now in charge of the frontier at Zuháb, had only just been appointed by the Sháh’s government, in place of the local hereditary chief, who had been recently killed by the Khaleva (Arab) rebels, and that he was a Persian of Tehran. The commandant of the troops here was a brother of the murdered chief, and claimed to succeed him in the local government. But as he had been denied his right, he was not on good terms with the new incumbent, and would make a difficulty in carrying out any orders received from him, and that it was probable I might be detained here a week or more, till reference was made to Kirmánshah.

The very thought of this was more than I could bear. I therefore sent Shukrullah Beg to the commandant of the troops, who it seems was also governor of this place, with instructions to convey my compliments, and inform him that I was travelling on the service of Government, that it was important I should not be unnecessarily delayed, and that it was my intention to march towards Casri Shirin at sunset. After considerable delay, Shukrullah Beg returned, and reported that the commandant had received and understood my message, that he said he had received no authority to escort my party, and could not let me proceed, as the road ahead was altogether unsafe, and that he would call on me in the course of the afternoon to explain how matters stood.

Shortly before sunset a messenger came across the river to announce that the commandant, Murád Ali Khán, was coming over to see me. I said he was welcome, and meanwhile ordered some tea to be prepared, and arranged my camp-stools and boxes as seats. He dismounted at the bridge, and attended by four or five others, walked over to where I was seated in front of my tent. I rose and shook hands with him, and thanked him for taking the trouble to come over, and gave him a seat. He then introduced his brother, Karím Khán, commandant of the cavalry stationed here, and motioned him to a seat; the others stood at the edge of the carpet spread before us. A pause followed, and then we bowed at each other politely, expressing much, but saying nothing. He then looked round, and observed that we were a large party, and had a good deal of baggage. “Yes,” I said, “they are natives of India, and are returning to their country with me.” Another pause followed, and the tea opportunely came round to fill a threatening hiatus. I apologised for the absence of the _calyán_, as I had none with me, but offered a cheroot in its place, and set the example in its use. He lighted one and his brother another, and then we began to talk more at ease. I then said that my _mirakhor_ Shukrullah Beg had led me to understand that there would be some little delay in getting an escort here, owing to an informality in the address of my passport, but that I was desirous of avoiding unnecessary delay, and purposed marching onwards this evening.

“Quite true,” he said, “the passport is not addressed to me, but as I have received a letter by express messenger from the Wakiluddaula at Kirmánshah, requesting me to further your progress, and as he is a personal friend of mine, I am ready to take you across to the Turkish frontier, and I will there ask you for a letter certifying to my having done so.”

“Certainly,” I said, “this is very good. Agha Hasan,” I added, “told me at Kirmánshah that he would write to you, and that I should be saved inconvenience thereby. Will the escort be ready to accompany me this evening? My camp is ready to march at an hour’s notice.”

“No,” he said, “you cannot move this evening. You require a strong escort, and it will not be ready till morning. I myself and Karím Khán will come over for you at daybreak, and we must march together with every precaution. There are four hundred rebel Khaleva (Arabs) on the road. They plundered yonder village,” pointing to a sacked and roofless hamlet a mile off, “only yesterday.”

“Thanks,” I said, rising; “I shall be ready for you at daybreak.”

I shook hands with each, and they both retired with their attendants. They are both fair men, with good honest features, of simple manners and plain outspoken speech. After they left, Shukrullah Beg told me that my determination to go on had alarmed the commandant, for he did not like to stop me, and could not let me proceed unprotected, as the road was really dangerous; but he doubted his promise to start in the morning.

About noon, a caravan from Khánakín had arrived here, escorted by a party of horsemen. They camped on the river bank alongside of ourselves, and from them our people heard all sorts of exaggerated reports as to the dangers of the road. But it was true they had been attacked yesterday beyond Casri Shirin, and a string of camels cut off from the _káfila_ by these Khaleva rebels. I determined, however, to abide by the commandant’s promise, and gave the order to march at daylight.

_27th June._—Pul Zuháb to Casri Shirin, twenty-four miles. At three A.M. our camp was struck and all ready to start, but no sign of the escort appeared. I sent Shukrullah Beg over to the commandant to say I was ready, but he returned presently with a reply from some subordinate that he was asleep. I waited till four A.M., and then moved off, sending a Persian _sarbáz_, of whom six or seven had been standing sentry over our camp during the night, to inform the commandant that I was going on slowly, and the escort could follow.

We went west by north across the valley, passing _en route_ the village plundered by the rebels yesterday, up to some low hill ridges. Here we were overtaken by a party of horsemen under Karím Khán. He galloped up, saluted in military fashion, and said the commandant was following with the infantry, and that we had better wait his arrival here. We dismounted, halted the baggage, and I gave the cavalry leader a cheroot to while away the time, whilst we watched the infantry coming along the plain. They were a very ragged-looking set, armed with long rifles, fired from a forked rest attached by a hinge to the barrel, and just like those used by Afghan mountaineers. They came along at a good pace, with no attempt at formation, but with a light springy step and very merry tempers. As they approached, the commandant urged his horse up the slope, and saluting as his brother had done, laughingly observed that my punctuality had roused him an hour sooner than he intended. A preferred cheroot, however, turned the current of his thoughts from his curtailed slumbers, and remounting, we proceeded in the best of humours.

Our route led for twenty miles across a rough uninhabited country, traversed in all directions by low ridgy banks, here and there rising to the proportions of hillocks. The infantry trotted along on each side of our baggage; and the cavalry, from front and rear, sent out parties to the heights on either side to reconnoitre the country. At about seventeen miles we came to a great wall, built across the outlet of a small hollow. The stones were of large size, like those of the Pyramids. This structure, we were told, was originally an aqueduct from the river Alwand to Casri Shirin; and a little farther on we came to the river itself, a sprightly little stream, with a fringe of tall reeds on either bank. The sun was now shining hotly, and added to the thirsty sensations excited by the parched arid look of the land; so we turned aside to it to water our cattle and allow the men to slake their thirst. Frequent warnings from our escort hurried us on again; and we proceeded along the line of telegraph posts, here thrown down and the wires cut by the rebels. We passed through the ruins of a great fort and palace of very ancient date, and entered the village beyond. As we passed through these ruins, there was a commotion amongst our horsemen ahead, and several of them galloped off to the village beyond; and when we emerged from them, we found the _Sarbáz-Khána_ or “barracks” overlooking the little town was covered with soldiers perched on the domes of its roof, eagerly scanning the country around.

Our party hastened their paces, and in a few minutes we entered Casri Shirin, or “the palace of Shirin,” named after the ruins close by, and were accommodated in an empty house adjoining a _sarae_, in which our cattle and followers found shelter. We had hardly settled down for the day, when a party of _sarbáz_ brought in a villager who had been shot through the lungs above the heart not an hour before. A party of Khaleva had swept past the village just as we arrived, and drove off the cattle some villagers were tending at graze. These men, though unarmed, attempted to resist, and one of them was shot. The advance of our party had caught sight of the rebels as they went off with their booty, and hence the commotion above alluded to.

I did what I could for the poor fellow brought to me, but he was fast bleeding to death, and I told his friends that he had not many hours to live. They bore him away to his home, only a few houses off, and later on towards the evening the sounds of women wailing and beating their breasts announced that he was out of his suffering in this world. In the afternoon, Murád Ali and his brother Karím came to see me, and congratulate us on having made the journey so far in safety. The former said that had he met these people he must have fought them; and as they were much stronger than his own force in numbers, he could not have driven them off without loss. His party with us consisted of sixty horsemen, and a hundred and twenty _sarbáz_; whilst the rebels were reckoned at four hundred, all mounted on hardy and active Arab mares.

Before leaving, Murád Ali produced a paper for me to sign. It was written in Persian, and was to the purport that he had escorted my party in safety and comfort from Pul Zuháb to the Turkish outpost at Khánakín. I returned the paper, saying I was quite satisfied with the escort to this, and would sign it on arrival at Khánakín. He here explained that he could not enter the Turkish outpost with us, and I could not sign it on the road. To this I replied, that there could be no difficulty on that score, as I carried pen and ink with me, and would sign it on the road outside the Turkish post. He looked rather disappointed, so I told Shukrullah Beg to explain in a friendly way that I could not certify to a service as completed when it was only half accomplished.

I then presented him with a telescope, and his brother with a revolver, explaining that I should not have an opportunity on the road of offering these tokens of my thankfulness for his kindness, and also begged he would allow me to make a small present in money to each of the _sarbáz_ who had formed our escort. This last arrangement was objected to on the score of its being contrary to custom, but the objection was readily withdrawn on my representing it as an exceptional case. They both seemed well pleased, and after arranging that we should start at midnight, took their leave, and as a last request begged that I would not move till they came for me, and I promised compliance.

_28th June._—Casri Shirin to Khánakín, twenty-four miles. We were ready at the appointed hour, but our escort did not make their appearance till after one o’clock, and it was nearly two A.M. before our party was arranged in marching order and finally started. Our route at first was across a rough raviny tract along the course of the Alwand river, and then for several miles over a wild and hummocky country, which had frequently been raided by the rebels. We were hurried across this bit of the road very quickly, as it was feared the enemy might be concealed amongst the inequalities of the ground on either hand, and it was as much as our _sarbáz_ could do to keep pace with us, though they trotted along manfully.

Soon after the day had broken, and as the rising sun was slanting rays of light upon the country, dimly visible in the departing obscurity, we came upon the wreck of the _káfila_ that had been plundered yesterday. The road was strewed with bits of paper and cardboard boxes, and on either side lay deal boxes smashed to pieces, and tin cases torn open. Our _sarbáz_ hastily ransacked these, and ran along bearing cones of loaf-sugar under their arms and bottles of claret stowed away in their coat fronts. Some got hold of packets of letter-paper, and others of boxes of French _bonbons_. As we got on, tiring of their loads, they hid them away under roadside bushes, to take them up again on their return.

At about sixteen miles we came to the Turko-Persian boundary, marked by a bare gravelly ridge, slightly more elevated than the others, that form the most characteristic feature of the country. Here the commandant, Murád Ali, with the escort of _sarbáz_, took leave of us. He produced the paper he showed me yesterday, and asked me to sign it, saying his brother, Karím Khán, with the sixty horsemen, would see us safe into Khánakín. “Then,” said I, “make the paper over to him, and I will sign it there.” He readily assented, and accompanied us to the foot of the slope, and then shaking hands, galloped back to his _sarbáz_ on the crest of the ridge.

We had proceeded about three miles over a gently falling country, thrown into mounds and ridges of bare gravel, and I was in interesting converse with some Bukhára pilgrims on their way to Karbalá, who had joined our party at Casri Shirin, when some signs made by our advanced horsemen from an eminence ahead of our path made Karím Khán mass us all together and push on at a trot. “Has anything been seen?” I asked as we trotted along amidst the dreadful clatter of our mules, who seemed to scent danger instinctively, and quickened their pace with an alacrity I would not have given them credit for. “Yes,” he said, “the enemy are on our flank. Their scouts have been seen.” A little farther on we caught sight of them. “There they are,” said Karím Khán, pointing to a knot of twelve or fourteen horsemen about a mile and a half off, as they passed across a bit of open ground from the shelter of one mound to the concealment of another. “There are only a dozen of them,” I said; “they cannot harm us.” “That’s all you see, but there are four hundred of them behind those knolls. There is a _káfila_ coming out from Khánakín now, and they are lying in ambush for it. We shall not get back to Casri without a fight.”

Farther on we saw another party of these robbers skulking behind the mounds a mile or two off the road to the left. But we had now come in sight of Khánakín. A party of five or six Turkish cavalry with their red caps stood out against the sky on a mound to the right, and a similar party did the same on a mound to the left. A mile or two ahead appeared the green gardens of Khánakín and Hájí Cara, and on the plain outside stood the snow-white tents of a regiment of Turkish infantry.

Karím Khán’s horsemen reined up on some rising ground to the right to await the coming _káfila_, and the Khán himself, dismounting, said he would here take leave of me. I thanked him for his service, signed his paper, shook hands, and with a “_Khudá háfíz!_” (“God your protector!”), mounted and proceeded. As we entered Khánakín a large caravan filing out took the road we had come. Some of the camels were beautiful creatures, and perfectly white. Behind them followed a long string of pannier-mules, with their freight of fair Persians, and on either side marched a gay cavalcade of Persian gentlemen. Bringing up the rear was a mixed crowd of more humble travellers, menials, and beggars.

They filed by, and we found ourselves before a great _sarae_. Here some Turkish officials took possession of us, ushered us within its portals, and informed us the quarantine would last ten days. We were prepared for this delay, although we had cherished the hope that a clean bill of health might pass us through without detention. But the rules were strict, and rigidly observed; we had come from an infected country, and were consequently pronounced unclean, and only the quarantine could cleanse us.

It was very cruel, and a sad disappointment, after our long and wearisome marches to catch a particular steamer, to be here baffled at the very threshold of our success. There was no hope of release. I saw the Basrah packet steaming away in the distance, and myself left on the shore; so resigned myself to the hard logic of facts, and heartily hoped that at least one of the members of that great congress of European medical men who met at Constantinople to devise these traps might some day be caught in this particular snare of his own setting.

Looking around our prison-house, we found three or four parties of wretched, half-starved pilgrims detained here on their way to Karbalá. In their dirt and rags they were the very embodiment of poverty and misery. Turning from them to the quarters at our disposal, the revelation was still more disgusting. The place had not been swept for ages, and the floor was inches deep in filth and stable litter. The torments of the Mydasht Sarae came back vividly to my mind. It was impossible for us to live here, so I asked to see the doctor in charge of the quarantine. “He died of fever ten days ago,” said our janitor, “and his successor has not yet arrived.” I was about to move out of the _sarae_, and pitch my tent outside, when a Residency _khavass_, who had been kindly sent forward from Baghdad by the Resident, Colonel C. Herbert, to meet me here and attend me on the journey onwards, made his appearance with a letter from his master. Ilyás, for such was his name—_Anglicè_ Elias—hearing my orders to pitch the tents, here interposed a representation that the heat and dust outside would be unbearable, and sure to make us all ill. If permitted, he would secure us quarters in one of the gardens adjoining. By all means; and away he went on his errand. Presently he returned with a couple of Turkish officials, who heard our objections to the _sarae_, and at once led us off to a nice garden at a little distance, where we pitched our tents under the shade of some mulberry-trees. A guard of Turkish soldiers was placed round us to prevent communication with the townspeople, except through the appointed quarantine servants, and we were left alone to ourselves.

The Bukhára pilgrims who had joined our party at Casri Shirin, and who had slipped out of the _sarae_ with our baggage, in hopes of sharing the garden and proceeding onwards with us, were discovered by the quarantine people, and marched back to their durance. Poor fellows! they pleaded hard to remain with us, and appealed to me to befriend them; and the quarantine inspector, who, I must record to his credit, did his utmost to make his disagreeable duty as little offensive as possible, promised they should accompany us on our departure hence.

There were three of these Bukhariots. One of them, Hakím Beg, a very intelligent young man of pleasing manners, gave me some interesting information regarding his country. He told me he had set out from Bukhára five months ago with four other friends and two servants. Two of his party and one servant had died on the road through sickness. The other two and the servant were those I saw with him. From Karbalá it was their intention to go to Bombay, and thence home by Peshawar and Kabul.

He spoke in most favourable terms of the Russian rule in Turkestan, and said their government was just and popular. The Russian officials he described as kind and liberal, yet stern when necessary, and declared the people preferred them to their own rulers. There are about twenty thousand of the people of the country employed in the Russian service, civil and military, and there is a strong Russian force at Samarcand—twelve thousand men, he thought. When he left, an expedition had started eastward to subdue Khokand and Yárkand; and it was generally given out that in three years time the Amir of Bukhára would resign his country to the Russians. There were, he reckoned, thirty thousand Persian captives, all Shia Muhammadans, in the country, which is extremely populous and fertile. Hundreds had been purchased from their owners and set at liberty by the Russians. The whole country, including Khiva, would very soon come under the Russian rule, and then all the captives held as slaves would be at once liberated. They number between fifty and sixty thousand. In ten years’ time, he said, the Russians would march to India.

Our quarantine quarters in the garden are insupportably dull and insupportably hot. The thermometer at noon—it is suspended from the branch of a mulberry-tree over a little stream of water—ranged from 100° Fah. to 108° Fah. during the eight days of our stay here. In the sun’s rays, the mercury rises to 150° Fah., and at night has fallen so low as 64° Fah.

On the 2d July, a flight of locusts settled on the garden. The townspeople turned out with drums, and shouts, and stones; but their host was not materially diminished. Their jaws worked steadily with a sawing noise all night and all the next day, and then they flew away, leaving the garden a forest of bare sticks, and the ground thick with the leaves they had nibbled off. Apricot, peach, plum, pomegranate, apple and mulberry trees are cleared to the bark; and their boughs were weighed down with the load of the destroying host. The damage done must be very great. Not a particle of shade is left for us, and the heat is something dreadful.

_6th July._—We were to have set out on our way this evening, but at the last moment were informed that our health papers would not be ready till the morning, so our departure is fixed for to-morrow evening. The doctor of the Turkish regiment here came to see us. He tells me that typhus fever is very prevalent in the town, and that one hundred and eighty people have died of it during the last three months. The Turkish troops here are a remarkably fine set of men. There is nothing like them in Persia. They wear the Zouave-pattern jacket, and baggy trousers, with the red cap. The uniform is white cotton, thick and strong, and spotless clean; their arms, the Enfield-pattern rifle and a sword-bayonet.

_8th July._—Khánakín to Shahrabad or Sherabad, forty-five miles. Our health papers were brought to us yesterday afternoon, and we were once more free. The march was fixed for sunset, and our mules and baggage and servants were all ready to start at the appointed time, but there was some delay in the arrival of our escort. Shukrullah Beg, who had become as helpless and discontented as any one of our party in the quarantine, now recovered his liberty, but not his former activity and _savoir faire_. He was out of his element amongst the Turks, and willingly resigned his office to the _khavass_ Ilyás. The latter went off to the Turkish commandant, who had soon after our arrival been furnished with my passport from the Turkish minister at the Persian court, and after a long absence, returned with a party of nine Georgian horsemen, fine handsome fellows, dressed and equipped in their national costume and armour.

It was eight o’clock before we set out on our long night-march. The evening air was close, still, and oppressive. We wound our way through the bazárs of Hájí Cara, passing its many cafés with their crowds of solemn-looking, silent Turks, puffing their long pipes and sipping their black coffee—the first characteristic of the new country we had entered; and crossing the river Alwand a little below a broken bridge, struck across some rough stony ground, crossed by several irrigation cuts, towards the high road, which we reached at three miles. The river Alwand is a branch of the Dyalla, and, where we crossed, was about forty yards wide and two feet deep, flowing in a clear stream over a pebbly bottom.

After reaching the main road, our route led south by west, over an undulating country, apparently uninhabited. At 3.45 A.M. we reached Kizil Rabát, the land gradually falling all the way. Here we changed our escort, and found a large party of the Khaleva rebels, who had recently been captured by the Turkish troops, and were now being conducted to Baghdad, there to answer for their misdeeds. The escort which here joined us had under their charge as prisoner one Hátim Khán, chief of the Khaleva tribe of Hamávand Arabs. He was captured some days ago, shortly after our passage, near the Casri Shirin frontier, and was now being conveyed, as they told us, for execution to Baghdad. He was a powerfully-built, handsome young man, of about twenty-five years of age; and was accompanied by a servant, who walked by the side of his mule, and from time to time eased his master’s position as much as his fetters would allow. The captive chief was mounted on a mule, his hands were manacled together in front, and his feet fettered together above the ankles under the saddle-girths. The position must have been most tiresome, and the captive was sometimes so overtaken by sleep, that he nearly fell off his seat, and was several times waked up by a sudden fall on the mule’s neck.

From Kizil Rabát the road leads S.S.W over an undulating alluvial plain, up to a range of sandstone hills that separate it from Shahrabad. We crossed this range by a fairly good road, here and there passing over rocks by deep and narrow paths worn into their surface, and at seven o’clock reached the plain on the other side. Another hour and a half across a plain covered with scrubby vegetation brought us to Shahrabad, where we alighted at the _sarae_. I was so exhausted by the effects of the heat and confinement at Khánakín, and so thoroughly fatigued by the tedium of twelve and a half hours’ march in the saddle, that, without waiting for refreshment, I stretched myself on the floor, pillowed my head on my elbow, and immediately sunk into unconsciousness.

About noon our baggage arrived, and, to our satisfaction, the mules were not nearly as jaded as we expected; so I gave the order to march at sunset for Bácúba. During the afternoon, the governor called to say that he could not give us an escort, as all his horsemen were out in the district, owing to the disturbed state of the country. He promised, however, that the Kizil Rabát escort with their prisoner should accompany us in the evening.

This is a dirty little village, in the midst of a wide, thinly-peopled, and mostly desert plain. It is only 750 feet above the sea-level, and 290 feet lower than Khánakín, and at this season is a very hot place. We had the floor of our rooms sprinkled with water in the hopes of the evaporation reducing the temperature, but it did not fall below 98° Fah. during the whole day. The walls of the _sarae_ and adjoining houses are lined with great piled-up heaps of storks’ nests. Towards sunset the parent birds returned from the marshes with the evening meal for their young. Each bird, as it alighted on its nest, threw back its head, and made a loud clattering with its beak, and then disgorged a quantity of roots and worms, which the young ones gobbled up. It was a very singular sight. They all kept up a sort of dance upon the flat surface of the nest, their lanky legs being kept in the perpendicular by the flapping of half-stretched wings.

Whilst our baggage was being laden this evening, the keeper of the _sarae_, who gave his name as Abdurrazzác, came up to me for the customary present. I gave it him, and was turning away when he asked, “Is Akhún Sáhib still alive?”

“Whom do you mean?” I said, quite taken aback.

“The Akhún of Swát, Abdulghafúr, the hermit of Bekí,” he replied.

“What do you know of him, and why ask me?” I inquired.

“I am a disciple of his,” he replied, “and your people tell me you have come from Peshawar, and know all about him. It is reported here that he is dead, and has been succeeded by his son Sayyid Mahmúd Badsháh, whose _karámát_ (miraculous powers) are even more strongly developed than those of the father.”

“It is six months,” I said, “since I left Peshawar, and this is the first time I have heard the Akhún’s name mentioned.”

He then told me that there were about a dozen of his disciples (_muríd_) in this town, and upwards of a thousand in Mosul, whence a sum of two thousand rupees is annually sent to Swát as tribute to the saint.

Our baggage filing out, I now mounted my horse, whilst my strange acquaintance, holding on to the stirrup on the off side, in sonorous tones repeated the Akhún’s creed, “_Ant ul hádí, ant ul hacc; lais ul hádí illahú!_” (“Thou art the guide, thou art the truth; there is no guide but God!”) I bade the stranger good evening, and went on, wondering at the strange adventures travellers meet with.

_9th July._—Shahrabad to Bácúba or Yácúbia, thirty-two miles. We set out at half-past eight o’clock yesterday evening, and passing through the town, struck across a plain country much cut up by dry water-courses. As we left the town, some people at the gate warned us to be on the alert, as a _káfila_ had been attacked and plundered the night before at four miles from Bácúba. Our escort consists of only five horsemen, with two others in charge of the Hamávand prisoner. Our own party, which consists of twenty-three baggage-mules, and as many followers, and a couple of riding-camels, accompanied by the Bukhára pilgrims, was here joined by an Arab Shekh with a patriarchal beard of snowy whiteness—an ideal Abraham, in fact—and five or six other travellers on foot, who seized this opportunity of a safe conduct to Baghdad.

We had proceeded very quietly for about three hours, our eyelids becoming gradually weighed down by the weight of sleep, when we came to a deep water-cut. We followed the course of this for half an hour up to a bridge thrown across it. A gentle _whiseet-whiseet_ was now and again heard to proceed from the bushes on the other side of the canal.

“That’s an odd sound,” I observed to Mr Rozario, who was riding by my side; “larks, I suppose, disturbed by the tinkling of our mule-bells.”

“Yes, sir, it sounds like the voice of birds. There it is again, farther off.”

The sounds ceased, we crossed the bridge and clearing a patch of thin brushwood, got on to a bit of plain country. It was just midnight, my horse was very tired, and his rider was very sleepy. So I drew aside to let the baggage get on, and dismounted to await my riding-camel in the rear of the column. Its saddle required a little adjusting, and all meanwhile went ahead except myself, the camel-driver, the _khavass_ Ilyás, and one of our escort.

“All is ready,” said Hydar Ali, the driver, and I took my seat behind him. The camel had just risen from the crouch, when there came the sound of a confused buzz of voices, and a quick rustling of footsteps on the hard plain behind us.

“Bang! bang!” from my attendants as they shot ahead full speed, shouting, “To the baggage!—quick! quick! to the baggage!” “Bang! bang!” again as they turned in their saddles and fired into our pursuers. And amidst a din of shouts and guttural sounds, I found myself joggled along at a pace equal to that of the horses. Two minutes brought us to the baggage, all halted and clustered together in a packed mass. The escort came to the front, and with threats followed by shots, kept the robbers at bay, whilst their _cháwash_ or officer had the baggage unladen and the loads piled in a semicircular breastwork, the mules ranged outside and the followers inside. All this was done with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than it has taken me to describe it, we found ourselves, half a dozen horsemen, arms in hand, at either end of the breastwork, facing a party of thirty or forty Arab robbers at the edge of some brushwood not as many yards of.

“I know them,” said the _cháwash_. “This is our only chance. If we move, they will shower their javelins amongst us and then rush in with their knives.” “Bang! bang!” “Have a care! we mean to fight,” shouted some of our party; and Ilyás answered their demands for the _zawwár Ajam_ (Persian pilgrims) to be made over to them as their lawful prize, by the bold intimation that we were not pilgrims at all, but thirty Englishmen, all armed with rifles. The venerable old Shekh too put in a word, or rather many words, in a horribly harsh and savagely energetic language. What he said I don’t know, but it led to a noisy and confused discussion amongst the robbers, who suddenly disappeared, leaving an ominous silence to puzzle us.

The night had now become dark, and the figures in front of us could no longer be traced, either by their movements or voices. Presently, whilst we were intently peering into the dim belt of bushes in front of us, a suppressed _whiseet-whiseet_ was heard on the plain to our right. “Look out!” shouted our _cháwash_ as he rushed from side to side to encourage his men; “they are on both our flanks. Don’t fire now; wait till they come close, and then shoot and use your swords.” Another silence, and then faint sounds in front “They are here,” said two or three voices, and immediately a couple of shots turned our attention towards them, and we stood, pistols in hand, ready to meet a rush.

And so it went on for three hours, the _cháwash_ now and again warning us to be on the alert, as the robbers reckoned on our becoming sleepy and careless in the silence. “They are not gone,” he would shout, “let them see you are awake.” And the warning seemed necessary, for our followers who were unarmed had quietly rolled themselves up in their blankets, and disposed themselves to sleep under the shelter of the baggage—a strange instance of oriental indifference and resignation to fate.

About three in the morning day began to dawn, and we found the bushes in our front empty, and discovered the cause of our safety in a dry water-cut running along their front. Two or three of our escort were sent out to reconnoitre the land, and finding all clear, we loaded the baggage and proceeded, after standing at bay upwards of three hours. “I see no signs of our firing having taken effect,” I said to the _cháwash_. “No, thank God,” he replied, “we did not wound any of them. If we had, they would have got reinforcements from the Arab camps around, and we should not have escaped their hands.”

After proceeding a little way, we came to a deserted roadside _sarae_. “There,” said the _cháwash_, “that’s the place where these very robbers plundered a _káfila_ only last night.” A dead donkey with its pack-saddle lay under the shade of its walls, and we went past congratulating ourselves on our providential escape. Onwards our road went across a level country, well cultivated, and covered with villages and date-groves, the last a feature in the scene we had not before now met with.

We arrived at Bácúba at 8.30 A.M., and found quarters in the _sarae_, which we found full of bales of merchandise, mules, and travellers, Indians and Arabs, Persians and Turks, with African slaves not a few.

_10th July._—Bácúba to Baghdad, forty miles. We set out from the _sarae_ at 7.30 P.M. yesterday, and passing through the town, crossed the Dyalla river by a bridge of boats. On the farther side we were delayed a while for the completion of our escort, which is increased by two horsemen in addition to those who joined us at Shahrabad. On their arrival, our party was formed up into a close column, as the first sixteen miles of the road were considered dangerous. We came successively on three or four deep dry canals, and near each we were halted a few minutes whilst the horsemen went ahead to see there was no ambush.

A little after midnight we came to the Sarae Beni Sád. Here we found a party of twenty Hamávand horsemen, with some Turkish officials, going to Baghdad to answer for the misconduct of their tribe on the Casri Shirin frontier. Our escort with their prisoner joined them, and we proceeded with only two horsemen as escort and guides.

We passed several long strings of camels going on towards Bácúba, and three or four small parties of travellers. It was too dark to distinguish who they were, but the familiar sounds of Pushto so unexpectedly falling on my ears, roused me from the heaviness of an overcoming sleep, and I started into wakefulness just in time to satisfy myself that a party of Afghans of the Peshawar valley were passing us.

Later on, the day dawned, and the country gradually unfolded itself to our view. A vast plain, bare and uninhabited, spread before us, and a long green line of date-groves bounded the monotonous prospect ahead. The fatigues of our long march now overburdened me with its accumulated load. Minutes seemed hours, and the last bit of our road seemed to grow longer the more we advanced upon it, and I thought we should never get over this ever-increasing plain.

At length the mud walls of Baghdad, its domes and its towers, came into view, and our flagging energies revived at the prospect of rest. The gilded dome and minars of the mosque of Kázamín overtopping an emerald bank of date-groves away to the right, had not for us the attraction that a couple of horsemen clad in white approaching from the city claimed. They were officials attached to the British Residency here, and came to announce that the Resident and a party of gentlemen had come out to meet us. Our fatigue vanished, and we pushed on with enlivened spirits to meet a hearty welcome from the Resident, Colonel C. Herbert, and the Residency Surgeon, Dr Colville, and the other gentlemen who were with them. It was the most agreeable incident of the whole march, and fittingly came in at its close.

We stayed six days at Baghdad, enjoying the kindest hospitality at the Residency. Its memory comes back with feelings of gratitude as the pleasantest interval in the whole of my long journey. We visited the “city of the Khalifs,” its bazárs and its public buildings, and in the salutations and friendly looks of Jew and Turk, Arab and Armenian, had ample evidence of the popularity of at least the British Resident. We witnessed a review of the Turkish troops—splendid men, admirably equipped and armed with the Snider pattern-breech-loader. Through the polite consideration of His Excellency Muhammad Kaúf Pasha, the governor of the province, we were enabled to visit the Admiralty workshops, the Ordnance stores, barracks, hospitals, and other military establishments. The discipline, organisation, and thorough order pervading all departments took me completely by surprise; and but for the red cap everywhere, I might have thought myself in Europe inspecting the barracks of a French or German garrison town.

The barracks, a handsome pile fronting the river, had been built on the European model by a Belgian architect. The hospital, a commodious double-storied building on the opposite shore, was furnished with all the modern appliances of the Western institutions, under the supervision of French and Italian doctors. The messing and dieting of the men in barracks and in hospital were assimilated to the European system, and attracted my special attention, as so much simpler than, and superior to, the complex and inefficient arrangements that, subservient to the caste prejudices of the natives, are in vogue amongst the troops of our Indian army.

In the Ordnance department we were shown their breech-loading cannon and the arms of the cavalry—the Spencer rifle—and a six-shooting revolver on a new American principle, all turned out of the Government manufactory at Constantinople. We visited the School of Industry, in which nearly three hundred homeless boys are fed and clothed and sheltered by the profits on their own industry. And certainly the specimens of their handiwork shown to us spoke well as to their proficiency in the arts of weaving, printing, and carving. Some of the cabinetwork was of really superior finish, and the shoes made by them were not to be distinguished from those made in European shops.

We visited the jail, too, and saw a number of Hamávand and Arab prisoners, brethren of the ruffians through whom we had ran the gantlet scathless, all heavily laden with chains—veritable chains, weighing sixty or seventy pounds, coiled round their loins and limbs. The light of Western improvement had not yet shed its rays on this department; and we found the criminal savage, uncared for and filthy, crowded together in an open yard, weighed down by the load of their chains, and guarded by military sentries posted on the overlooking walls.

We left Baghdad, its delightful Residency and agreeable associations, on the 16th July, and steamed away at daylight down the river Tigris on board the _Dujla_. As the city disappeared behind us, with all I had seen fresh on my mind, I thought, “Surely ‘the sick man of Europe’ is convalescent; his neighbour, ‘the sick man of Asia,’ may ere long need the physician’s aid.”

At breakfast-time we passed the ruins of Ctesiphon; and at nightfall anchored mid-stream, owing to the shallowness of the river. At daylight we were away again down-stream, but two hours later stuck on a sandbank. Got off at noon, to stick again a little lower down; and so on till nightfall, making very little progress. Heat intolerable, thermometer declines to come down below 110° Fah. upstairs or downstairs. Next day as bad as the day before. Sandbanks and heat equally obstructive and troublesome. At midday passed a town called Kút—the monotony of the journey relieved by Arab camps on either bank, and floating pelicans on the stream. Went ahead all night, and in the morning passed Azia, and during the day several other stations with Turkish garrisons, also Ezra’s tomb, surmounted by a conspicuous blue-tiled dome.

River banks very low, and land beyond marshy and apparently below water-level, but covered with Arab camps, and vast herds of kine and buffaloes. Naked Arabs, boys and girls, disport on the shore, and plunge into the river to our amusement. Melon-rinds thrown from the boat create frantic efforts for possession. Their mothers on the shore instantly slip out of their long loose shifts, and _in puris naturalibus_ rush into the contest, to land some hundred yards below their clothing, with or without a prize.

Lower down the river, date-trees line the shores in never-ending succession, and seem to grow out of the water. At nightfall arrived at Márjil, and warped alongside a wharf built up of date-logs. Took in cargo all day, and in the evening steamed down to Basrah, and cast anchor near the mail-steamer _Euphrates_. Here we transhipped to the mail-steamer, and proceeding down the Persian Gulf, in due course arrived at Bombay. The heat in the Gulf! its bare recollection is enough to provoke a moisture of the skin. Happily I need not dwell on its memory. It is beyond the limits of my journey from the Indus to the Tigris.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Their drainage to the westward and southward flows to the Tigris and the Shat-ul-Arab, or river of the Arabs, formed by the junction of the two rivers of Mesopotamia.

[2] _Riddle._ What is the cause of delay in our joining you in Sistan?

_Reply._ There is a Rúdbár in the way.

[3] We were here joined by an escort of fourteen horsemen, eighty footmen, and ten artillerymen with one gun; and were roused at daylight by a fearful bray from the trumpets of the last arm of the service, which, by the way, was the only one dignified with uniform. They are to escort us across the Turkman-infested country lying between this and Shahrúd. We set out at 4.30 A.M., in rather loose order, the artillerymen with their gun, preceded by a detachment of horse, leading the way.

[4] They proved to be the advanced guard of the detachment escorting the caravan, for owing to the depredations of Kurd robbers, such protection was now necessary on this road.

[5] On descending this pass, we left the elevated plateaux of Persia behind us, and entered on the valley of the Tigris, quite a different country and climate. The change is sudden and complete, by a drop of three thousand feet from the cool breezes of Karriud to the hot blasts of Zuháb.

APPENDIX.

A.

SYNOPTICAL GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY OF THE BRAHOE LANGUAGE

This language is spoken throughout Balochistan as far west as Kej, Panjgúr, and Jalk, up to the borders of Sistan, and is written in the Persian character.

There is no inflection for gender or case. The plural is formed by the addition of _ák_ if the singular ends in a consonant, as _kasar_, a road, _kasarák_, roads; of _k_ alone if the singular ends in a vowel, as _urá_, a house, _urák_, houses—_húlí_, a horse, _húlík_, horses—_are_, a man, _arek_, men—_dú_, the hand, becomes _dík_, the hands; and of _ghák_ if the singular ends in the mute _h_, as _bandah_, a man, _bandahghák_, men.

The cases are formed by the addition of certain distinguishing particles to the nominative, as is shown in the following typical forms of declension:—

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom._ kasar _a road_. _Nom._ kasarúk _roads_. _Gen._ kasarná _of a road_. _Gen._ kasarúkná _of roads_. _Dat._ kasar e _to a road_. _Dat._ kasarúk e _to roads_. _Acc._ kasar _a road_. _Acc._ kasarák _roads_. _Abl._ kasaryún _from a road_. _Abl._ kasarakyán _from roads_. _Voc._ ore kasar _O road!_ _Voc._ ore kasarúk _O roads!_

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom._ urá _a house_. _Nom._ urák _houses_. _Gen._ uráná _of a house_. _Gen._ urákná _of houses_. _Dat._ uráte-e _to a house_. _Dat._ urák e _to houses_. _Acc._ urá _a house_. _Acc._ urák _houses_. _Abl._ urátyún _from a house_. _Abl._ urákyán _from houses_. _Voc._ ore urá _O house!_ _Voc._ ore urák _O houses!_

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom._ húli _a horse_. _Nom._ húlik _horses_. _Gen._ húlíná _of a horse_. _Gen._ húlikná _of horses_. _Dat._ húlíte-e _to a horse_. _Dat._ húlik e _to horses_. _Acc._ húlí _a horse_. _Acc._ húlik _horses_. _Abl._ húlityún _from a horse_. _Abl._ húlikyún _from horses_. _Voc._ ore húli _O horse!_ _Voc._ ore húlik _O horses!_

The dative affix of the last two declensions _te_ really means _into_; the simple affix _e_ means _at_, _to_, and the forms _úráe_ and _húlíe_ are also used in this case.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom._ bandah _a man_. _Nom._ bandahghák _men_. _Gen._ bandahná _of a man_. _Gen._ bandahghákná _of men_. _Dat._ bandah e _to a man_. _Dat._ bandahghák e _to men_. _Acc._ bandah _a man_. _Acc._ bandahghák _men_. _Abl._ bandahyán _from a man_. _Abl._ bandahghákyán _from men_. _Voc._ ore bandah _O man!_ _Voc._ ore bandahghák _O men!_

The singular _bandah_ is often pronounced _bandagh_, and the plural _bandaghák_.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom._ arwat _a woman_. _Nom._ arwaták _women_. _Gen._ arwatná _of a woman_. _Gen._ arwatákná _of women_. _Dat._ arwat e _to a woman_. _Dat._ arwaták e _to women_. _Acc._ arwat _a woman_. _Acc._ arwaták _women_. _Abl._ arwatyán _from a woman_. _Abl._ arwatákyán _from women_. _Voc._ ore arwat _O woman!_ _Voc._ ore arwaták _O women!_

There are several exceptions to these rules for forming the plural. Thus _már_, a boy, becomes _mák_ for _márák_, boys—_bángo_, a cock, becomes _bángák_, cocks—_kóchak_, a dog, becomes _kochaghák_, dogs, &c.

Nouns are qualified by an adjective set before them, and then declined as a compound word, as _chuno már_, a little boy—_chuno már ná_, of a little boy—_chuno mák_, little boys—_chuno mák e_, to little boys, &c., _sharo masar_, a good girl—_sharo masarák_, good girls, &c.

Degrees of comparison are expressed by the use of the ablative case with the positive, as _e juwán húlí_ are (or _e_), that is a handsome horse—_dá juwán húlí asite_, this is a (more) handsome horse—_dá kul húlíyán juwán are_ (or _e_), this is the handsomest of all the horses—_are arwatyán balo e_ (or _are_), the man is larger than the woman—_arek arwatákyán balo arer_, men are larger than women—_bandaghák zorak arer, vale dá bandagh kulyán zorak asite_, the men are strong, but this man is stronger than all—_dáfk arwaták zorak arer, vale bandaghák zorak asitur_, these women are strong, but men are stronger—_hísun áhinyán khuben e_, gold is heavier than iron.

PRONOUNS.

The personal pronouns are _í_, I—_ní_, thou—_o_, he, she, or it; their plurals are _nan_, we—_num_, ye—_ofk_, they.

The demonstrative pronouns are, proximate, _dá_, this—plural _dáfk_, these; and remote, _e_, that—plural _efk_, those.

They are declined as follows:—

PERSONAL PRONOUNS.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _Nom. & Acc._ í _I, me_. Acc._ nan _we, us_. _Gen._ kaná _of me, my_. _Gen._ nanná _of us, our_. _Dat._ kane _to me_. _Dat._ nane _to us_. _Abl._ kanyán _from me_. _Abl._ nanyán _from us_.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _Nom. & Acc._ ní _thou, thee_. Acc._ num _ye, you_. _Gen._ ná _of thee, thy_. _Gen._ numá _of you, your_. _Dat._ ne _to thee_. _Dat._ nume _to you_. _Abl._ nyán _from thee_. _Abl._ numyán _from you_.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _he, she, it, him, _Nom. & Acc._ o her, it_. Acc._ ofk _they_. _Gen._ oná _of him, his, etc._ _Gen._ oftá _of them, their_. _Dat._ ode _to him, her, etc._ _Dat._ ofte _to them_. _Abl._ odán _from him, her, etc._ _Abl._ oftyán _from them_.

EXAMPLES—_Urá kaná mur are_, my house is far off—_oná tuman khurk e_, his village is near—_húlík numá aráng arer?_ where are your horses?—_iragh oftyán hallak_, take the bread from them—_nane dír hatbo_, bring us water.

The demonstrative pronouns are similarly declined.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _Nom. & Acc._ dá _this_. Acc._ dáfk _these_. _Gen._ dáná _of this_. _Gen._ dáftá _of these_. _Dat._ dáde _to this_. _Dat._ dáfte _to these_. _Abl._ dádán _from this_. _Abl._ dáftyán _from these_.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _Nom. & Acc._ e _that_. Acc._ efk _those_. _Gen._ ená _of that_. _Gen._ eftá _of those_. _Dat._ ede _to that_. _Dat._ efte _to those_. _Abl._ edán _from that_. _Abl._ eftyán _from those_.

EXAMPLES—_Dá masar ená areghas ír e_, this girl is that man’s sister—(the word _areghas_ is here an inflected form of _are_, a man. In composition, where the nominative ends in a vowel, the particle _ghas_, and where in a consonant, the particle _as_, is added to distinguish the oblique case, or the accusative only)—_dáfk darakhták eftyán burzo asitur_, these trees are taller than those.

The possessive pronoun is expressed by the adjective _ten_ or _tenat_, own, self, added to the several personal pronouns, and is regularly declined, singular and plural being the same, as _í ten_, I myself, _nan ten_, we ourselves, _ní ten_, thou thyself, _num ten_, you yourselves, _o ten_, he himself, _ofk ten_, they themselves.

SINGULAR. PLURAL.

_Nom. & _Nom. & Acc._ í ten _myself_. Acc._ nan ten _ourselves_. _Gen._ í tenná _of myself_. _Gen._ nan tenná _of ourselves_. _Dat._ í tene _to myself_. _Dat._ nan tene _to ourselves_. _Abl._ í tenyán _from myself_. _Abl._ nan tenyán _from ourselves_.

And so on with the other personal pronouns above mentioned.

EXAMPLES—_Ílum kaná tenat kárem kare_, my brother did the work himself—_í tenná zaghm are_, it is my own sword—_efk bandaghák ten-pa-ten jang kerá_, those men are quarrelling amongst themselves.

The interrogative pronouns are _der_, who?, the same in the singular and plural, and applied only to animate objects, and _ant_, which? and _ará_, what? used in both numbers, but only applied to inanimate objects. The first is declined regularly. The others are indeclinable.

SINGULAR AND PLURAL.

_Nom. & Acc._ der _who?_ _whom?_ _Gen._ dinná _of whom?_ _whose?_ _Dat._ dere _to whom?_ _Abl._ deryán _from whom?_

EXAMPLES—_Dá bandagh der are?_ who is this man?—_dinná már are?_ whose son is he?—_ní ant cóm asitus?_ of which tribe are you?—_dá kasar ará tuman te káek?_ to which camp does this road go? _Ará_ is also used as a relative pronoun, with _hamo_ as its correlative, as _ará ki sharo e hamo halbo, ará ki gando e hamo gum kar_, whichever is good, that bring; whichever is bad, that throw away.

There are besides a number of adjective pronouns. Those in common use are the following:—_Pen_, another, _har pen_, every other, _ant pen_, which other. Example—_kaná ílum afas pen bandagh asite_, he is not my brother, he is some other man. _Ákhadr_, as much as, _hamo khadr_, so much, _dá khadr_, this much. Example—_ákhadr ki darkár e hamo khadr haltak_, as much as is necessary, so much take. _Hamdún_, like as—so. Example—_hamdún ní us hamdún í ut_, like as thou art so am I. _Hamro_, what sort, as _dá hamro húlí are_, what sort of horse is this?

ADJECTIVES.

The adjectives precede the nouns they qualify, and undergo no change for gender or number of case, as _húlan are_, a stout man—_húlan arwat_, a stout woman. Some adjectives are modified by the addition of certain particles denoting either increase or diminution, as _sharo bandagh_, a good man; _sharangá bandagh_, a very good man—_chuno masar_, a little girl; _chunaká masar_, a very little girl.

VERBS.

The verbs appear to be more or less irregular in their paradigms. I had not sufficient opportunity to examine their structure on an extended scale, so as to reduce them to some form of classification, and the natives from whom I gathered my information regarding the language had no knowledge whatever of the rules guiding their speech. The different tenses offered in the following forms of conjugations have been derived from the replies to questions requiring answers in the present, past, and future respectively, through the medium of the Persian language, and I trust they may be found generally correct.

The infinitive ends in _ing_, and is often used as a verbal noun. Example—_jang kaning sharaf_, quarrelling is not good (or proper)—_rást páning shar e_, speaking the truth is good (or right). The infinitive sign is generally added to the root, which is the same as the imperative, as _hin_, go; _hining_, to go—_haraf_, ask; _harafing_, to ask. But there are many exceptions to this, as _bar_, come; _baning_, to come—_kar_, do; _kaning_, to do, &c.

Some verbs form the past tenses on a different root to that from which the present tenses are formed, as will be seen by the list of verbs given at the end of this paper. The rules might be easily worked out with a little leisure for their study.

Transitives are formed from intransitives by interposing _f_ between the root and infinitive sign, as _khuling_, to fear; _khulfing_, to frighten—_harsing_, to change; _harsfing_, to alter—_túling_, to sit; _túlfing_, to seat, &c.

Causals are formed from these transitives by changing the _f_ to _íf_ or _ef_, as _khulfing_, to frighten; _khulífing_, to cause to frighten—_túlfing_, to seat; _túlífing_, to cause to seat, &c.

The paradigms of the substantive verb, and two intransitive and two transitive verbs, are here given as models for all other verbs. Irregularities are only to be ascertained by a practical acquaintance with the language, but they do not seem to be numerous.

The substantive verb _maning_, “to be or become,” is thus conjugated:—

_Infinitive Mood_—maning—_to be_. _Present Participle_—are-e—_being_. _Agent_—manok—_becomer_. _Past Participle_—mas—_been_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní mares _be thou_. num mabo _be you_. o mare _let him be_. ofk marer _let them be_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í ut _I am_. nan un _we are_. ní us _thou art_. num ure _you are_. o are-e _he, she, it is_. ofk arer-or _they are_.

_Aorist._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í asitut _I may be_. nan asitun _we may be_. ní asitus _thou mayest be_. num asiture _you may be_. o asite _he, etc. may be_. ofk asitor _they may be_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í asut _I was_. nan asun _we were_. ní asus _thou wast_. num asure _you were_. o asak _he, etc. was_. ofk asor _they were_.

_Continuative Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í masut _I was being_. nan masun _we were being_. ní masus _thou wast being_. num masure _you were being_. o masak _he, etc. was being_. ofk masor _they were being_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í masasut _I have been_. nan masasun _we have been_. ní masasus _thou hast been_. num masasure _you have been_. o masas _he, etc. has been_. ofk masasor _they have been_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í masunut _I had been_. nan masunun _we had been_. ní masunus _thou hast been_. num masunure _you had been_. o masune _he, etc. has been_. ofk masunor _they had been_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í marew _I will be_. nan maren _we will be_. ní mares _thou wilt be_. num marere _you will be_. o marek _he, etc. will be_. ofk marer _they will be_.

_Future Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í marot _I will have been_. nan maron _we will have been_. ní maros _thou wilt have been_. num morore _you will have been_. o maroe _he, etc. will have ofk maror _they will have been_. been_.

The intransitive verbs “to come” and “to go” are thus conjugated:—

_Infinitive Mood_—baning—_to come_. _Present Participle_—bare—_coming_. _Agent_—barok—_comer_. _Past Participle_—bas—_come_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní bank-bar _come thou_. num babo _come you_. o bare _let him come_. ofk barer _let them come_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í bareva _I am coming_. nan barena _we are coming_. ní baresa _thou art coming_. num barere _you are coming_. o bare _he, etc. is coming_. ofk barera _they are coming_.

_Aorist._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í barew _I may come_. nan baren _we may come_. ní bares _thou mayest come_. num barere _you may come_. o barek _he, etc. may come_. ofk barer _they may come_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í basut _I came_. nan basun _we came_. ní basus _thou camest_. num basure _you came_. o basak _he, etc. came_. ofk basor _they came_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í basasut _I have come_. nan basasun _we have come_. ní basasus _thou hast come_. num basasure _you have come_. o basas _he, etc. has come_. ofk basasor _they have come_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í basunut _I had come_. nan basunun _we had come_. ní basunus _thou hadst come_. num basunure _you had come_. o basune _he, etc. had come_. ofk basunor _they had come_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í barew _I will come_. nan baren _we will come_. ní bares _thou wilt come_. num barere _you will come_. o barek _he, etc. will come_. ofk barer _they will come_.

_Future Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í barot _I will have come_. nan baron _we will have come_. ní baros _thou wilt have come_. num barore _you will have come_. o baroe _he, etc. will have ofk baror _they will have come_. come_.

The verb “to go”:—

_Infinitive Mood_—hining—_to go_. _Present Participle_—káe—_going_. _Agent_—hinok—_goer_. _Past Participle_—hiná—_gone_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní hinak-hin _go thou_. num hinbo _go you_. o káe _let him, etc. go_. ofk kára _let them go_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í káwa _I am going_. nan kána _we are going_. ní kása _thou art going_. num káre _you are going_. o káe _he, etc. is going_. ofk kára _they are going_.

_Aorist._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í káw _I may go_. nan kán _we may go_. ní kás _thou mayest go_. num káre _you may go_. o káek _he, etc. may go_. ofk kár _they may go_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í hinát _I went_. nan hinán _we went_. ní hinás _thou wentest_. num hináre _you went_. o hinák _he, etc. went_. ofk hinár _they went_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í hinásut _I have gone_. nan hinásun _we have gone_. ní hinásus _thou hast gone_. num hinásure _you have gone_. o hinásas _he, etc. had gone_. ofk hinásor _they have gone_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í hinánut _I had gone_. nan hinánun _we had gone_. ní hinánus _thou hadst gone_. num hinánure _you had gone_. o hináne _he, etc. had gone_. ofk hinánor _they had gone_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í káw _I will go_. nan kán _we will go_. ní kás _thou wilt go_. num káre _you will go_. o káek _he, etc. will go_. ofk kár _they will go_.

_Future Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í kot _I will have gone_. nan kon _we will have gone_. ní kos _thou wilt have gone_. num kore _you will have gone_. o koe _he, etc. wilt have ofk kor _they will have gone_. gone_.

The above may be taken as examples of all intransitive verbs. But the different roots for the present and past tenses can only be acquired by practice.

The transitive verbs “to do” and “to beat” are thus conjugated.

The verb “to do or make.”

_Infinitive Mood_—kaning—_to do, make_. _Present Participle_—ke—_doing_. _Agent_—karok—_doer, maker_. _Past Participle_—kar—_done_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní karak-kar _do thou_. num kabo _do you_. o ke _let him, etc. do_. ofk kera _let them do_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í keva _I am doing_. nan kena _we are doing_. ní kesa _thou art doing_. num kere _you are doing_. o ke _he, etc. is doing_. ofk kera _they are doing_.

_Aorist._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í kev _I may do_. nan ken _we may do_. ní kes _thou mayest do_. num kere _you may do_. o kek _he, etc. may do_. ofk ker _they may do_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í karet _I did_. nan karen _we did_. ní kares _thou didst_. num karere _you did_. o karek _he, etc. did_. ofk karer _they did_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í karesut _I have done_. nan karesun _we have done_. ní karesus _thou hast done_. num karesure _you have done_. o karesas _he, etc. has done_. ofk karesor _they have done_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í karenut _I had done_. nan karenun _we had done_. ní karenus _thou hadst done_. num karenure _you had done_. o karene _he, etc. had done_. ofk karenor _they had done_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í kev _I will do_. nan ken _we will do_. ní kes _thou wilt do_. num kere _you will do_. o kek _he, etc. will do_. ofk ker _they will do_.

_Future Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í karot _I will have done_. nan karon _we will have done_. ní karos _thou wilt have done_. num karore _you will have done_. o karoe _he, etc. will have ofk karor _they will have done_. done_.

The verb “to beat or strike.”

_Infinitive Mood_—khaling—_to beat_. _Present Participle_—khale—_beating_. _Agent_—khalok—_beater_. _Past Participle_—khalk—_beaten_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní khalt _beat thou_. num khalbo _beat you_. o khale _let him beat_. ofk khalera _let them beat_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khaleva _I am beating_. nan khalena _we are beating_. ní khalesa _thou art beating_. num khalere _you are beating_. o khale _he, etc. is beating_. ofk khalera _they are beating_.

_Aorist._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalev _I may beat_. nan khalen _we may beat_. ní khales _thou mayest beat_. num khalere _you may beat_. o khalek _he, etc. may beat_. ofk khaler _they may beat_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalet _I beat_. nan khalken _we beat_. ní khalkes _thou beatest_. num khalkere _you beat_. o khalk _he, etc. beat_. ofk khalker _they beat_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalesut _I have beaten_. nan khalesun _we have beaten_. ní khalesus _thou hast beaten_. num khalesure _you have beaten_. o khalesas _he, etc. has beaten_. ofk khalesor _they have beaten_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalenut _I had beaten_. nan khalenun _we had beaten_. ní khalenus _thou hadst beaten_. num khalenure _you had beaten_. o khalene _he, etc. had beaten_. ofk khalenor _they had beaten_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalev _I will beat_. nan khalen _we will beat_. ní khales _thou wilt beat_. num khalere _you will beat_. o khalek _he, etc. will beat_. ofk khaler _they will beat_.

_Future Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalot _I will have beaten_. nan khalon _we will have beaten_. ní khalos _thou wilt have num khalore _you will have beaten_. beaten_. o kaloe _he, etc. will have ofk khalor _they will have beaten_. beaten_.

The passive voice of transitive verbs is formed by conjugating the past participle with the substantive verb _maning_, “to be.” Thus:—

_Infinitive Mood_—khalk maning—_to be beaten_. _Present Participle_—khalk are—_being beaten_. _Past Participle_—khalk mas—_been beaten_.

IMPERATIVE MOOD.

_Singular._ _Plural._

ní khalk mares _be thou beaten_. num khalk mabo _be thou beaten_. o khalk mare _be he, etc. ofk khalk marer _be they beaten_. beaten_.

INDICATIVE MOOD.

_Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalkut _I am beaten_. nan khalkun _we are beaten_. ní khalkus _thou art beaten_. num khalkure _you are beaten_. o khalk are-e _he, etc. is ofk khalkarer _they are beaten_. beaten_.

_Imperfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalk asut _I was beaten_. nan khalk asun _we were beaten_. ní khalk asus _thou wast beaten_. num khalk asure _you were beaten_. o khalk asak _he, etc. was ofk khalk asor _they were beaten_. beaten_.

_Perfect._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalk masasut _I have been nan khalk masasun _we have been beaten_. beaten_. ní khalk masasus _thou hast been num khalk masasure _you have been beaten_. beaten_. o khalk masas _he, etc. has been ofk khalk masasor _they have been beaten_. beaten_.

_Past._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalk masunut _I had been nan khalk masunun _we had been beaten_. beaten_. ní khalk masunus _thou hadst been num khalk masunure _you had been beaten_. beaten_. o khalk masune _he, etc. had been ofk khalk masunor _they had been beaten_. beaten_.

_Future Present._

_Singular._ _Plural._

í khalk marew _I will be beaten_. nan khalk maren _we will be beaten_. ní khalk mares _thou wilt be num khalk marere _you will be beaten_. beaten_. o khalk marek _he, etc. will be ofk khalk marer _they will be beaten_. beaten_.

The other tenses can be supplied from the paradigm of the substantive verb. Negation is expressed by interposing _f_ or _af_ between the first two syllables of the verb, as _bafarew_, I will not come—_kafarek_, he did not do it—_í khor afut_, I am not blind—_dá kárem o hech gáhas kafarot_, he will never have done this deed—_ní tifes_, thou wilt not give? Prohibition is expressed by _na_ or _ma_, don’t, placed before the imperative, as _na kar_, do not—_ma khalt_, do not beat. But the _f_ is also used in an imperative sense, as _nájor mafarew_, may you not be ill—_pa_, speak; _paf_, don’t speak—_ka_, do; _kafa_ or _kapa_, don’t.

With nouns negation is expressed by _afak_ added to the word, as _jor-afak_, not well, sick—_nyám-afak_, not justice, unjust—_zor afak_, not strong, weak.

ADVERBS.

The adverbs are very numerous, and include interjections and prepositions. The adverbs of time are the following and others:—

dásá, _now_. gurá, _then_. gáhas, _never_. padá, _again_. zú, _quickly_. madá, _slowly_. wakhtí, _early_. madáná, _late_. ná gumán, _suddenly_. har-vakht, _always_. hech-vakht, _at no time_. gáhas, _ever_. chi-vakhtas-ki, _when_. hamo-vakht, _then_. asi-asi-vakht, _sometimes_. harde, _every day_. asit-jár, _once_. irat-jár, _twice_. musit-jár, _thrice_. báz-jár, _often_. ewáde, _formerly_. awal, _at first_. ákhir, _at last_. begáh, _this evening_. ano, _to-day_. pagáh, _to-morrow_. palme, _day after to-morrow_. kúde, _three days hence_. daro, _yesterday_. mulkhudo, _day before yesterday_. kúmulkhudo, _three days ago_. ano-nan, _to-night_. manjan, _midday_. ním-shab, _midnight_. peshín, _forenoon_. digar, _afternoon_.

The adverbs of place are the following and others:—

burzá, _above_. shef, _below_. mustí, _before_. padáe, _behind_. tahtí, _inside_. peshán, _outside_. khurk, _near_. mur, _far_. dáde, _here_. ede, _there_. jáaski, _where_. ere, _there_. aráde, _where?_ hamangi, _there_. haráng, _as far as_. aráká, _so far_. moni, _opposite_. to, _with_. te, _in_, _up to_. kátum, _on_, _upon_. dápárán, _this side_. epárán, _that side_. chármán, _all sides_. antmur, _how far?_

The adverbs of quantity are the following and others:—

báz, _much_, _very many_. machit, _little_, _few_. hech, _none_. girá, _some_. bas, _enough_. at, _how much?_ ákhadr, _as much as_. dákhadr, _so much_. har, _every_. bíra, _only_, _merely_. har-ant, _whatever_. hechrá, _nothing_.

Other adverbs are the following, conjunctions and interjections:—

antai, _why?_ ho-hán, _yes_. ahá, _no_. vale, _but_. hamhon, _perhaps_. ki, _that_. are, _holloa!_ háeháe, _alas!_ wáwáh, _wonderful!_ armán, _pity!_ ham, _also_. lekin, _but_. gwácháni, _indeed!_ jágai, _instead of_. mat, _leave off!_ _don’t!_ paráe, _for sake of_. agar, _if_. baghair, _except_.

The days of the week are the same as in Persian, and so are the cardinal numbers, with the exception of the first three. These are _asit_, one; _irat_, two; _musit_, three. The rest are _chár_, four; _panj_, five, &c.

The ordinals and fractions are as follows:—

awal _first_. elo _second_. mustímíko _third_. chármíko _fourth_, and so on. miscálí _a quarter_. ním _half_. sihshálí _three-quarters_. panjpáo _one and a quarter_.

BRAHOE VOCABULARY.

List of nouns in common use:—

PARTS OF THE BODY AND SECRETIONS.

kátum, _head_. khoprí, _skull_. milí, _brain_. chugh, _nape_. gardan, _neck_. likh, _throat_. peshání, _forehead_. khush, _temple_. khaf, _ear_. khan, _eye_. bhirwá, _eyebrow_. khannásil, _eyelid_. michách, _eyelash_. díd, _pupil_. bámas, _nose_. gránz, _nostril_. kalak, _cheek_. bá, _mouth_. jur, _lip_. zanú, _chin_. duví, _tongue_. gutulú, _gullet_. dandán, _tooth_. dandánnású, _gum_. mon, _face_. badan, _body_ (_also_ ján). churoh, _urine_. kiriftí, _dung_ (_also_ phí). kísh, _matter_, _pus_. tús, _flatus_. nargat, _windpipe_. sína, _chest_. khad, _breast_. gwar, _nipple_. kopá, _shoulder_. pitakh, _bladebone_. tarkh, _armpit_. pahlú, _rib_, _flank_. baj, _back_. mukh, _loin_. saghas, _buttock_. phid, _belly_. phút, _navel_. land, _penis_. gand, _testicle_. phundú, _anus_. phús, _vulva_. rán, _thigh_. kach, _hip_. khond, _knee_. dhakan, _kneecap_. pinní, _leg_. phenj, _calf_. nat, _foot_. kurí, _heel_. mijol, _ankle_. had, _bone_. rísh, _beard_. burút, _mustache_. píshkav, _ringlet_. talaf, _sole_. dú, _arm_. surosh, _elbow_. tút, _cubit_. chamba, _wrist_ (_also_ kar). dú, _hand_. talaf, _palm_. úr, _finger_, _toe_. zíl, _nail_. phif, _lung_. ust, _heart_. phid, _stomach_. rotíng, _intestines_. jagar, _liver_. zák, _gall bladder_. zardoí, _gall_, _bile_. diloí, _spleen_. gurda, _kidney_. pujhá, _hair_. sil, _skin_. sú, _flesh_. tuzmí, _fat_. ditar, _blood_. páhlt, _milk_. túfing, _spittle_. khárínk, _tears_. khet, _sweat_. khel, _fever_. zindá, _alive_. kask, _dead_.

NOUNS OF RELATIONSHIP, &c.

bandagh, _man_. zá’ífa, _woman_. are, _husband_. arwat, _wife_. már, _son_. masar, _daughter_. khadyá, _babe_. chunaká, _child_. báv, _father_. lummá, _mother_. ílum, _brother_. ír, _sister_. bává, _father!_ áí, _mother!_ adá, _brother!_ adí, _sister!_ brázát, _brother’s child_. khwárzát, _sister’s child_. pejhzát, _cousin_. illa, _paternal uncle and aunt_. táta, _maternal uncle and aunt_. píra, _grandfather_. balla, _grandmother_. nwása, _grandchild_.

NAMES OF ORNAMENTS, CLOTHING, &c.

saht, _ornament_. tábíz, _charm_. chhalav, _signet-ring_. tik, _seal_. panra, _ear-ring_. lik, _ear-drop_. phulo, _nose-ring_. durr, _pearl ring_. jamak, _gold ring_. dáwaní, _frontlet_. tauc, _necklet_. chandanhár, _necklace_. daswána, _armlet_. báhínk, _bracelet_. kangaur, _wristlet_. pádínk, _anklet_. khál, _mole_. surma, _eye-black_. shefk, _eye-black pin_. món-rukh, _mirror_. zulf, _curl_, gesú, _ringlet_. rez, _plait_. gud, _clothes_. kús, _shirt_. kás, _blanket felt_. sharwál, _trousers_. chokhá, _cloak_. postín, _fur coat_. khyrí, _waist mantle_. mukhtá, _waist sash_. top, _cap_. dastár, _turban_. mocharí, _shoe_. litar, _slipper_. moza, _boot_. chhawat, _sandal_. dasgala, _glove_. khout, _blanket_. thappur, _rug_. khat, _bed_. lehf, _coverlet_. cudh, _sheet_. bálisht, _pillow_. bhop, _mattress_. shál, _shawl_. katúr, _mat_. kónt, _carpet_. berum, _bedding_. urá, _house_. kúdi, _shed_. biht, _wall_. bám, _roof_. darich, _door_. darícha, _window_. hawelí, _court_. barám, _marriage_. dishtár, _bride_. náo-zámás, _bridegroom_. mahr, _dowry_.

HOUSEHOLD STORES AND DOMESTIC UTENSILS.

ghalla, _corn_. nut, _flour_. pirísh, _lentils_. birinj, _rice_. bat, _cooked rice_. kholum, _wheat_. sá, _barley_. makaí, _Indian corn_, _maize_. zúrat, _millet_. júárí, _millet_. phug, _wheat straw_. karab, _maize straw_. liz, _rice straw_. tambákh, _tobacco_. dár, _wood_. khushád, _cow-dung_. pogh, _charcoal_. kulf, _lock_. kilíd, _key_. zamzír, _chain_. chirágh, _candle_. hedr, _turmeric_. beh, _salt_. pilpil, _pepper_. pímáz, _onions_. thúm, _garlic_. lawang, _cloves_. zíra, _caraway_. mavíz, _raisins_. tel, _oil_. hormag, _dates_. írugh, _bread_. khassí, _butter_. sí, _fat_, _tallow_. gharesh, _melted butter_. páhlt, _milk_. dahí, _curds_. punváhlt, _whey_ (?) pachíruk, _cream_ (?) panír, _cheese_. cúrút, _hard cheese_. khásun, _buttermilk_. khúlí, _corn-bin_. nuskhal, _hand-mill_. túra, _basket_. loth, _bag_. khári, _hamper_. gothrí, _sack_. chhara, _bucket_. dillo, _water-jar_. khallí, _jar_. kunza, _flagon_. kásagh, _bowl_. bhatal, _big bowl_. tás, _cup_. símí, _copper tray_. karsán, _wooden dish_. loí, _pot_. kuno, _large pot_. kho, _saucepan_. garoh, _earthen jar_. kúlik, _pail or pan_. kalind, _earthen pot_.

DOMESTIC ANIMALS AND IMPLEMENTS.

húli, _horse_. mádyán, _mare_. naryán, _stallion_. kurra, _colt_. litík, _tail_. buchk, _mane_. búz, _muzzle_. lidh, _dung_. húch, _camel_. bísh, _ass_. khachar, _mule_. dhaggí, _cow_. rorh, _calf_. kárígar, _bull_. kharás, _ox_. mehí, _buffalo cow_. gosála, _buffalo calf_. sánda, _buffalo bull_. máe-khad, _udder_. mat, _he-goat_. het, _she-goat_. daggar, _kid_ (_also_ bahí). bakhta, _ram_. mir, _ewe_. súr, _lamb_. khur, _sheep_. shwánagh, _shepherd_. ramagh, _herd_, _flock_. ged, _sheepfold_. surumb, _horse-hoof_. shankala, _cloven hoof_. kás, _wool_. drasam, _goats’ hair_. bángo, _cock_. kukur, _hen_. chúri, _chicken_. byda, _egg_. para, _feather_ (_also_ path). bánzil, _wing_. haddí, _spur_. súnt, _beak_. panja, _claw_. gunjí, _crop_. ojarínk, _gizzard_. kóchak, _dog_. kútri, _pup_. pishí, _cat_. hal, _rat_. kapot, _pigeon_. gunjishk, _sparrow_. hílt, _fly_. pasha, _musquito_. munghí, _wasp_ (?) makish, _bee_. shahd, _honey_. angumen, _honeycomb_. mom, _wax_. kak, _flea_. bor, _louse_. rishk, _a louse-nit_. mangur, _bug_. jolágh, _spider_. phú, _worm_. poghut, _frog_. telt, _scorpion_. morínk, _ant_.

AGRICULTURE AND IMPLEMENTS.

curda, _field_. dagár, _land_. mish, _earth_. lichakh, _mud_. khal, _stone_. phud, _clod_. chhib, _turf_. langár, _plough_. khamir, _share_ (_also_ phalí). jugh, _yoke_. bel, _spade_. lashí, _sickle_. khen, _harrow_. chárchak, _pitchfork_. mála, _roller_. dhún, _well_. sálí, _rice field_. kholum, _wheat_. sá, _barley_. makaí, _maize_. zúrat, _millet_. pirísh, _millet_. kunjid, _sesame_. karpás, _cotton plant_. gogra, _cotton pod_. kakra, _cotton seed_. pumba, _cotton wool_. uspust, _lucerne_. roding, _madder_. rambí, _hoe_. kbashád, _manure_ (?) jal, _rivulet_. hilár, _date tree_. ták, _vine_. augúr, _grape_. sóf, _apple_. bihí, _quince_. zardálu, _apricot_. alúcha, _plum_. shalgam, _turnip_. gázir, _carrot_. turb, _radish_. karam, _cabbage_. ság, _potherbs_. kothík, _melon_. pímáz, _onion_. thúm, _garlic_. kárez, _aqueduct_.

ARMS AND ARMOUR.

zaghm, _sword_. ispar, _shield_. nezagh, _spear_. pát, _stick_. lath, _club_. bízak, _leather milk-churn_. bil, _bow_. sum, _arrow_. kamánchol, _sling_. katár, _knife_. much, _fist_. chágal, _leather water-bottle_. tufak, _musket_. kundágh, _stock_. palíta, _match_. bárút, _powder_. mukh-taf, _belt_. sikh, _ramrod_.

ELEMENTS AND MINERALS.

dharatí, _earth_. hawá, _air_. khákhar, _fire_. dír, _water_. hiss, _ashes_. jhamjal, _flame_. molh, _smoke_. duhun, _soot_. deí, _sun_. túbe, _moon_. istár, _star_. jhamar, _cloud_. phir, _rain_. jur, _mist_. barf, _snow_. barfíchk, _hail_. shaonamba, _dew_. yakh, _ice_. pae, _thunder_. breshná, _lightning_. subh, _morning_. manjan, _noon_. shám, _evening_. haft-de, _week_. túwas, _month_ (_also_ tú) sál, _year_. attam, _spring_. ahár, _summer_. irícha, _autumn_. suhel, _winter_. sekha, _shade_. phúdi, _cold_. basúní, _heat_. mash, _mountain_. lak, _mountain pass_. darra, _defile_. hísun, _gold_. píhun, _silver_. ahin, _iron_. mis, _copper_. surf, _lead_. jist, _zinc_. birinj, _brass_. kaláí, _tin_. surma, _antimony_. gokurt, _sulphur_. phitkí, _alum_. shora, _nitre_. beh, _salt_. totí, _blue vitriol_. mush-kush, _arsenic_. hartál, _orpiment_. feroza, _turquoise_. likh, _glass bead_. táho, _wind_. shamál, _north wind_. uttar, _storm_. lúr, _sand storm_. shikh, _hill peak_. talár, _hill slope_. putáo, _hill skirt_. chur, _gulley_. símáb, _mercury_. istar-khal, _flint_. folád, _steel_. chun, _lime_.

ARTS AND INSTRUMENTS.

drakhan, _carpenter_. tash, _adze_. mekhchú, _hammer_. ara, _saw_. mochinak, _tweezers_. kház, _shears_. síla, _needle_. dask, _thread_. rez, _cord_. cáynchí, _scissors_. chit, _leather strap_. áhingar, _blacksmith_. zargar, _goldsmith_. degdán, _furnace_. dhamok, _bellows_. sindán, _anvil_. kudína, _hammer_. mekh, _nail_. para, _wedge_. charkh, _grindstone_. anbúr, _forceps_. tafar, _hatchet_. kumbár, _potter_. lichak, _clay_. charkh, _potter’s wheel_. mishí, _pottery_. korí, _weaver_. razán, _loom_. iras, _comb_. lorí, _musician_. damáma, _drum_. sittok, _dancer_. shutár, _pipe_.

NATURAL OBJECTS AND SENTIMENTS.

de, _sun_. istár, _star_. nokh, _new moon_. túbe, _full moon_. mash, _Mountain_. dan, _plain_. chuk, _bird_. darakht, _tree_. khal, _rock_. karod, _ravine_. tang, _strait_. jal, _river_. chol, _desert_. dam-diringun, _fatigue_. khulisun, _fear_. kuskun, _death_. bíngun, _hunger_. mulás, _thirst_. phúdi, _cold_. basúní, _heat_. cahar, _anger_. pashemání, _regret_. gham, _sorrow_. armán, _grief_. pachár, _helplessness_. faryád, _complaint_. diláwarí, _courage_. khúshi, _joy_. lagorí, _cowardliness_. thap, _wound_. múch, _blow_. dakka, _shove_. ghut, _prod_. chapánt, _slap_. buz-halk, _kiss_. tawár, _call_. marám, _shout_. hoghínk, _sobbing_. makhínk, _laughing_.

NAMES OF TREES AND PLANTS.

tút, _mulberry_. gwan, _pistacia_. hápurs, _juniper_. khat, _olive_. pish, _dwarf-palm_. hilár, _date-palm_. kirrí, _tamarisk_. kabbar, _salvadora_. pissí, _jujube_. khaler, _capparis_. kharag, _calotropis_. jawar, _oleander_. jag, _poplar_. marr, _mimosa_. anjír, _fig_. shark, _rhazzia_. zámur, _mezereon_. hóm, _ephedra_. náróm, _ephedra_. musunduk, _liquorice_ (?) shámpastír, _indigo-fern_. shinz, _hedysarum_. kotor, _wild almond_. khardaruao, _artemisia_. kisánkúr, _peganum_. mungalí, _salsola_ (?) lána, _caroxylon_. búndí, _anabis_ (?) gomáz, _arundo_. khásum, _andropogon_. ritáchk, _spurge_. shenálo, _caryophyllum_. piplí. panirband, _withiana_. byh, _grass_. mora, _dry lucerne_.

NAMES OF BIRDS AND BEASTS.

chuk, _bird_. kuttám, _nest_. wacáb, _eagle_. báz, _hawk_. hil, _rook_. kulágh, _crow_. sher, _tiger_. khalegha, _leopard_. búm, _owl_. kirkashí, _swallow_. charz, _bustard_. kapot, _pigeon_. ginjishk, _sparrow_. shakúk, _magpie_. sínkúr, _porcupine_. jájak, _hedgehog_. kakáo, _partridge, Greek_. hanj, _wild duck_. murdárkhor, _vulture_. bárú, _quail_. cú, _swan_. kapínjar, _partridge_. kúkam, _wild pig_. harraf, _wild goat_. kharmá, _wolf_. kaftár, _hyena_. tola, _jackal_. shok, _fox_. rich, _bear_. bolú, _monkey_. murrú, _hare_. gorpat, _badger_. nor, _mungoose_. hal, _rat_. sarkúk, _tortoise_. shab-pirik, _bat_. malakh, _locust_. dúshá, _snake_. kirráú, _lizard_. tehlt, _scorpion_. gorkhar, _wild ass_. khazmú, _gazelle_. math, _male márkhor_. het, _female márkhor_. khár, _wild sheep, male_. gad, _wild sheep, female_. shák, _horn_. sil, _skin_.

ADJECTIVES COMMONLY IN USE.

mon, _black_. píhun, _white_. kharun, _green_. khísun, _red_. pushkun, _yellow_. sámo, _grey_. míl, _blue_. chot, _crooked_. rást, _straight_. básun, _hot_. phuden, _cold_. bárun, _dry_. pálun, _wet_. murghun, _long_. gwand, _short_. kuchá, _broad_. tang, _narrow_. húlon, _thick_. ushkon, _thin_. tez, _sharp_. kunt, _blunt_. hukmatí, _obedient_. rást, _right_. cháp, _left_. mallók, _opener_. sakht, _hard_. khulkon, _soft_. durusht, _rough_. awár, _smooth_. bíngún, _hungry_. malás, _thirsty_. wasum, _full_. sun, _empty_. khuben, _heavy_. subuk, _light_. zaft, _quick_. madám, _slow_. báz, _much_. machit, _little_. balo, _large_. chuno, _small_. pír, _old_. warná, _young_. khad, _deep_. shef, _shallow_. arzán, _cheap_. girán, _dear_. jor, _well_. nájor, _sick_. taffók, _shutter_. mutkun, _old_. puzkun, _new_. tárma, _dark_. roshtírak, _bright_. mur, _far_. khurk, _near_. sharo, _good_. gando, _bad_. bahádur, _bold_. lagor, _timid_. hanen, _sweet_. kháren, _sour_. talkh, _bitter_. turun, _acrid_. burzo, _tall_. mandar, _short_. khor, _blind_. kar, _deaf_. gánuk, _mad_. gung, _dumb_. shifárk, _lean_. húlan, _fat_. mand, _lame_. leláwí, _greedy_. dhakkók, _hider_.

VERBS.

The verbs in common use are here given in alphabetical order. As a guide to conjugation on the paradigms already given, the forms of the root and present and past tenses are added. The imperative is in the second person plural, and the present and past tenses in the third person singular.

ENGLISH. INFINITIVE. IMPERATIVE. PRESENT. PAST.

_abandon_ íling ílbo _or_ ílabo íle _or_ ílate ílene _or_ íl _abound_ báz-maning báz-mabo báz-are báz-mas _abuse_ kiring kiribo kirite kir _accept_ haling halbo hale halk _adhere_ liching lichibo liche lich _adorn_ zeb-tining zeb-tibo tire tis _allot_ bakhshing bakhshbo bakhshe bakhsh _alter_ harsing harsibo harse hars _arrive_ rasing rasibo rase ras _ask_ harafing harafebo harafe haraf _assault_ hrúsh-kanning hrúsh-kabo hrúsh-ke hrúsh-kar _awake_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas _await_ (_seek_) huning honbo hore hor _become_ maning mabo are-e mas _beat_ khaling khalbo khale khalk _beg_ pin_d_ing pin_d_bo pin_d_e pin_d_ _begot, to be_ vadí-maning vadí-mabo vadí-are vadí-mas _begin_ shurú-kaning shurú-kabo shurú-ke shurú-kar _bend_ _d_ol-kaning _d_ol-kabo _d_ol-ke _d_ol-kar _bind_ tafing tafbo tafe taf _bite_ daling dalbo dale dal _bleat_ laláring lalárbo laláre lalár _blow_ laging lagbo lage lag _boil_, a. básing básbo báse bás _boil_, n. joshing joshbo joshe josh _braid_ gofing gofbo gofe gof _bring_ hataring hatbo hate hes _break_ piraghing pirabo pire piragh _breathe_ uf-kaning uf-kabo uf-ke uf-kar _bring_ haling halbo hale halk _burn_ hoshing hoshbo hoshe hosh _burst_ chiling chilbo chile chil _bury_ cabr-kaning cabr-kabo cabr-ke cabr-kar _buy_ saudá-haling saudá-halbo saudá-hale saudá-halk _call_ tawár-kaning tawár-kabo tawár-ke tawár-kar _carry_ daning danbo dare dar _cast_ bi_t_ing bi_t_ibo bi_t_e bi_t_ _carve_ kishking kishbo kishe kishk _catch_ haling halbo hale halk _clothe_ berfing berbo berfe berf _collect_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar _come_ baning babo bare bas _conceal_ dhaking dhabo dhake dhak _cook_ bising biribo bire bis _copulate_ haning hanbo hane han _cough_ jhaking jhakabo jhake jhak _count_ hisáb-kaning hisáb-kabo hisáb-ke hisáb-kar _cover_ dhaking dhakbo dhake dhak _cry_ hoghing hoghbo hoye hogh _cut_ haring harbo hare har _dance_ nách-kaning nách-kabo nách-ke nách-kar _deceive_ refing refbo refe ref _die_ kahing kahbo kahe kah _dig_ kad-khaling kad-khalbo kad-khale kad-khalk _divide_ bakhshing bakhshbo bakhshe bakhsh _draw_ kashing kashbo kashe kash _dream_ túgh-khaning túgh-khanbo túgh-khane túgh-khan _drink_ dír-kuning dír-kubo dír-kune dír-kun _drop_ chaking chakbo chake chak _dwell_ já-maning já-mabo já-are já-mas _do_ kaning kabo ke kar _eat_ kuning kubo kune kun _endure_ kashing kashbo kashe kash _enter_ tahtí-baning tahtí-babo tahtí-bare tahtí-bas _escape_ chhuting chhutbo chhute chhut _empty_ musun-kaning musun-kabo musun-ke musun-kar _fall_ taming tambo tame tam _fear_ khuling khulbo khule khul _flee_ nering nerbo nere ner _fly_ bál-kaning bál-kabo bál-ke bál-kar _fight_ jang-kaning jang-kabo jang-ke jang-kar _fill_ pur-kaning pur-kabo pur-ke pur-kar _forbid_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ke rad-kar _forget_ yád-hining yád-hirbo yád-hire yád-hir _forgive_ bashking bashkbo bashke bashk _forsake_ íling ílbo íle íl _frighten_ khulífing khulífbo khulífe khulíf _fry_ bhugí-kaning bhugí-kabo bhugí-ke bhugí-kar _follow_ randa_t_-hining randa_t_-hinbo randa_t_-káe randa_t_-hin _gallop_ dudefing dudefbo dudefe dudef _gather_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar _get up_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas _give_ tining tinbo or tibo tire tis _go_ hining hinbo káe hin _graze_ khwáfing khwáfbo khwáfe khwáf _grind_ nusing nusbo nuse nus _growl_ báshághing báshábo báshághe báshágh _guess_ samá-kaning samá-kabo samá-ke samá-kar _hang_ laronj-kaning laronj-kabo laronj-ke laronj-kar _happen_ taming tambo tame tam _have_ toning tonbo tore ton _hear_ bining binbo bire bin _hide_ dhaking dhakbo dhake dhak _hold_ toning tonbo tore ton _hug_ gwar-haling gwar-halbo gwar-hale gwar-halk _inquire_ harafing harafebo harafe haraf _itch_ kháring khárbo kháre khár _join_ much-tining much-tibo much-tire much-tis _keep_ nigáh-toning nigáh-tonbo nigáh-tore nigáh-ton _kick_ laghat-khaling laghat-khalbo laghat-khale laghat-khalk _kill_ kasfing kasfebo kasfe kas _kiss_ pak-tining pak-tibo pak-tire pak-tis _kiss_ buz-haling buz-halbo buz-hale buz-halk _knead_ much-kaning (?) much-kabo much-ke much-kar _know_ sháhing sháhibo sháhe sháh _laugh_ makhing makhbo makhe makh _lay_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túl _lead_ duning dunbo dure dur _leak_ chutfing chutfebo chutfe chut _learn_ hífing hífbo hífe híf _leave_ íling ílbo íle íl _let go_ íla-kaning íla-kabo íla-ke íla-kar _lie_ drogh-páning drogh-pabo drogh-pare drogh-par _lick_ chating chatebo chate chat _lift_ hefing hefbo hefe hef _light_ roshtínk-tining roshtínk-tibo roshtínk-tire roshtínk-tis _listen_ khafing khafbo khafe khaf _live_ zind-maning zind-mabo zind-are zind-mas _loathe_ gando-daning gando-danbo gando-dare gando-dar _lodge_ jáeti-maning jáeti-mabo jáeti-are jáeti-mas _look_ khaning khanbo khane khan _lose_ gohing gohebo gohe goh _make_ kaning kabo ke kar _marry_ barám-kaning barám-kabo barám-ke barám-kar _measure_ dághing dághebo dághe dágh _meet_ huning hunbo hure hur _mend_ jor-kaning jor-kabo jor-ke jor-kar _melt_ dír-kaning dír-kabo dír-ke dír-kar _milk_ bhíring bhírbo bhíre bhír _miss_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ka rad-kar _mix_ awár-kaning awár-kabo awár-ke awár-kar _move_ surfing surfebo surfe sur _open_ maling malbo male mal _open_ ithing ithibo ithe ith _pass_ gidring gidirebo gidire gidar _pinch_ chundik-tining chundik-tibo chundik-tire chundik-tis _place_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túl _plant_ tikhing tikhbo tikhe tikh _play_ makhing makhbo makhe makh _pluck_ bening benbo bere ber _poke_ ghut-khaling ghut-khalbo ghut-khale ghut-khalk _possess_ daning danbo dare dar _pour_ shághing sholbo shághe shol _pull_ kashing kashbo kashe kash _push_ dhakka-tining dhakka-tibo dhakka-tire dhakka-tis _quarrel_ jang-kaning jang-kabo jang-ke jang-kar _question_ harfing harfbo harfe haraf _rain_ dasing dasbo dase das _raise_ hefing hefbo hefe hef _reach_ rasing rasbo rase ras _read_ khwáning khwánbo khwáne khwán _reap_ rú_t_ing rú_t_bo rú_t_e rú_t_ _recline_ túgh-maning túgh-mabo túgh-are túgh-mas _recognise_ cháning chánbo cháne chás _recollect_ yád-tiling yád-tilbo yád-tile yád-tilk _remind_ yád-tining yád-tibo yád-tire yád-tis _release_ chhutfing chhutfebo chhutfe chhut _reject_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ke rad-kar _rest_ dam-daning dam-danbo dam-dare dam-dar _remain_ manzil-maning manzil-mabo manzil-are manzil-mas _rinse_ píling pílbo píle píl _repel_ hy-kaning hy-kabo hy-ke hy-kar _respire_ dam-kashing dam-kashbo dam-kashe dam-kashk _return_ harsing harsebo harse hars _ride_ suwár-maning suwár-mabo suwár-are suwár-mas _rise_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas _rob_ duzdí-kaning duzdí-kabo duzdí-ke duzdí-kar _roll_ redeting redetebo redete redet _rub_ mushking mushkbo mushke mushk _run_ halma-kaning halma-kabo halma-ke halma-kar _say_ páning pábo páre pár _scatter_ khasing khasbo khase khas _scrape_ tráshing tráshbo tráshe trásh _scratch_ khárfing khárfebo khárfe kháraf _search_ pa_t_ing pa_t_bo pa_t_e pa_t_ _see_ khaning khanbo khane khan _seek_ huning hunbo hure hur _seize_ phuling phulbo phule phul _sell_ saudá-kaning saudá-kabo saudá-ke saudá-kar _send_ ráhí-kaning ráhí-kabo ráhí-ke ráhí-kar _sew_ múghing múghbo múghe múgh _share_ sholfing sholfebo sholfe sholaf _shine_ rosh-tining rosh-tibo rosh-tire rosh-tis _shiver_ larzing larzbo larze larz _shout_ marám-kaning marám-kabo marám-ke marám-kar _shut_ tafing tafbo tafe taf _sing_ sha’ir-páning sha’ir-pábo sha’ir-páre sha’ir-pár _sit_ túling túsbo túse tús _sleep_ túgh-kaning túgh-kabo túgh-ke túgh-kar _slip_ lughusht-haling lughusht-halbo lughusht-hale lughusht-halk _seat_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túlaf _sneeze_ nich-tining nich-tibo nich-tire nich-tis _sow_ dasfing dasfebo dasfe dasaf _speak_ hít-kaning hít-kabo hít-ke hít-kar _spill_ sholing sholbo shole shol _stumble_ le_t_ing le_t_bo le_t_e le_t_ _spin_, n. harsing harsbo harse hars _spin_, a. harsefing harsefebo harsefe harsef _spit_ túf-kaning túf-kabo túf-ke túf-kar _split_ trakhing trakhbo trakhe trakh _spread_ tálán-kaning tálán-kabo tálán-ke tálán-kar _sprinkle_ chateting chatetebo chatete chatet _stand_ saling salbo sale sal _stay_ maning mabo are mas _stoop_ shefming shefmabo shefe shef _strain_ chhán-kaning chhán-kabo chhán-ke chhán-kar _strike_ khaling khalbo khale khalk _strip_ laghar-kaning laghar-kabo laghar-ke laghar-kar _suck_ chusfing chusfebo chusfe chusaf _sweat_ khet-kaning khet-kabo khet-ke khet-kar _swell_ pirsing pirsbo pirse pirs _sweep_ rofing rofbo rofe rof _swim_ tár-khaling tár-khalbo tár-khale tár-khalk _swing_ jhulu_t_-kaning jhulu_t_-kabo jhulu_t_-ke jhulu_t_-kar _take_ haling halbo hale halk _take away_ harf-hining harf-hinbo harf-káe harf-hin _talk_ hít-kaning hít-kabo hít-ke hít-kar _tap_ tak-khaling tak-khalbo tak-khale tak-khalk _taste_ chaking chakebo chake chak _teach_ sarpan-kaning sarpan-kabo sarpan-ke sarpan-kar _tear_ haring haribo hare har _throw_ harabing harabebo harabe harab (bi_t_ing) _tickle_ gudulú-kaning gudulú-kabo gudulú-ke gudulú-kar _till_ (_plough_) langár-kaning langár-kabo langár-ke langár-kar _tire_ dam-daning dam-danbo dam-dare dam-dar _trip_ thábo-kaning thábo-kabo thábo-ke thábo-kar _turn_, n. harsing harsebo harse haras _twine_ peching pechebo peche pech _twist_ res-tining res-tibo res-tire res-tis _tumefy_ padám-kaning padám-kabo padám-ke padám-kar _turn_, a. harsefing harsefebo harsefe harsef _understand_ sarpan-maning sarpan-mabo sarpan-are sarpan-mas _upset_ musun-kaning musun-kabo musun-ke musun-kar _wait_ jáeti-maning jáeti-mabo jáeti-are jáeti-mas _walk_ kasar-hining kasar-hinbo kasar-káe kasar-hin _wander_ charing charbo chare char _want_ aling-ba_t_ing albo-ba_t_bo ale-ba_t_e al-ba_t_ _wash_ siling silbo sile sil _wear_ bening benbo bene ben _weare_ báfing báfbo báfe báf _weep_ hoghing hoyibo hoye hogh _weigh_ tol-kaning tol-kabo tol-ke tol-kar _wink_ khan-khaling khan-khalbo khan-khale khan-khalk _wish_ árzú-takhing árzú-takhbo árzú-takhe árzú-takh _whistle_ shutár-kashing shutár-kashbo shutár-kashe shutár-kash _work_ kárem-kaning kárem-kabo kárem-ke kárem-kar _wound_ tha_d_ing tha_d_bo tha_d_e tha_d_ _wrap_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar _wring_ píling pílbo píle píl _write_ nabisht-kaning nabisht-kabo nabisht-ke nabisht-kar

The materials from which the above Grammar and Vocabulary are compiled were collected during a rapid journey through the territories of the Khán of Calát—the Brahoe country—and tested, so far as opportunity offered, by reference to natives in different parts of the country, and by comparison with Eastwick’s “Epitome of the Grammars of the Brahuiky, Balochky, and Panjabi Languages.” It was my intention to have added some dialogues and phrases as a conclusion to the work. But to do so would extend the limits of this book to undue proportions, and delay its appearance indefinitely. I have therefore left this part of the work unfinished, and only offer the above synopsis in the hope that it may prove useful to the officers serving on the Sind Frontier; and if it should happily stimulate one amongst them to correct its errors, supply its deficiencies, and enlarge its scope, then the object of my labour will have been gained.

H. W. B.

APPENDIX.

B.

RECORD OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS AND ALTITUDES ON THE MARCH FROM THE INDUS TO THE TIGRIS, THROUGH BALOCHISTAN, AFGHANISTAN, SISTAN, KHORASSAN, AND IRAN.

----------------+-----------+---------------+--------+-----------------+ | Date, | Thermometer. | | Barometer. | LOCALITY. | 1872. | |Distance| | +------+----+----+-----+----+ —Miles.+-----+-----+-----+ |Month.|Day.|Max.|Mean.|Min.| |Max. |Mean.|Min. | ----------------+------+----+----+-----+----+--------+-----+-----+-----+ Sakkar, | Jan. | 5 | | 52 | | | |29·99| | Shikárpúr, | ” | 5 | 64 | 53 | 42 | 24 | |30·00| | Jacobabad, | ” | 7 | 64 | 61 | 59 | 26 |30·02|29·81|29·42| Barshori, | ” | 8 | 76 | 54 | 38 | 35 |29·46|29·40|29·36| Sanjarání, | ” | 9 | 78 | 56 | 41 | 13 |29·41|29·35|29·30| Kotra, | ” | 10 | 76 | 60 | 39 | 30 |29·36|29·32|29·27| Pirchhalta, | ” | 11 | 88 | 64 | 39 | 9 |29·03|28·94|28·89| Kuhaw, | ” | 12 | 76 | 62 | 56 | 12 |28·71|28·63|28·59| Hatáchi, | ” | 13 | 63 | 53 | 42 | 16 |27·73|27·72|27·71| Narr, | ” | 14 | 72 | 53 | 36 | 16 |26·74|26·71|26·68| Gorú, | ” | 15 | 78 | 44 | 25 | 13 |25·78|25·73|25·67| Khozdár, | ” | 16 | 70 | 50 | 40 | 16 |25·70|25·59|25·50| Bághwána, | ” | 18 | 68 | 58 | 48 | 16 |25·51|25·20|25·05| Lákoryán, | ” | 19 | 56 | 45 | 38 | 26 |24·45|24·18|24·00| Súráb, | ” | 20 | 49 | 32 | 23 | 20 |23·90|23·87|23·85| Gandaghen, | ” | 21 | 44 | 20 | 10 | 13 |23·87|23·71|23·60| Rodinjo, | ” | 22 | 64 | 40 | 14 | 15 |23·21|23·13|23·09| Calát, | ” | 23 | 53 | 25 | 8 | 23 |23·09|23·00|22·94| Mungachar, | ” | 25 | 56 | 32 | 21 | 26 |23·90|23·84|23·77| Amánullah, | ” | 26 | 58 | 32 | 19 | 26 |24·00|23·99|23·96| Mastung Fort, | ” | 27 | 49 | 39 | 32 | 9 |24·04|23·10|23·95| Nishpá Pass, | ” | 28 | | 32 | | 18 | |23·67| | Sariáb, | ” | 28 | 53 | 43 | 38 | 11 |23·94|23·88|23·80| Shál Kot, | ” | 29 | 56 | 41 | 29 | 13 |24·00|23·96|23·92| Murghí Pass, | ” | 30 | | 32 | | 11 | |24·16| | Cushlác, | ” | 30 | 29 | 17 | 5 | 5 |24·50|24·44|24·35| Hykalzai, | Feb. | 1 | 42 | 32 | 22 | 18 |24·75|24·73|24·70| Arambi, | ” | 2 | 44 | 32 | 19 | 15 |24·59|24·54|24·51| Churgha Khojak, | ” | 3 | 49 | 38 | 31 | 13 |22·84|22·82|22·81| Khojak Pass, | ” | 4 | | 40 | | 1½ | |22·47| | Cháokat Khojak, | ” | 4 | | 40 | | 1½ | |23·15| | Chaman, | ” | 4 | 46 | 37 | 26 | 4 |24·10|24·05|24·00| Gátaí, | ” | 5 | 50 | 37 | 28 | 22 |25·50|25·48|25·45| Mel Mándah, | ” | 6 | 47 | 26 | 11 | 14 |25·45|25·21|25·29| Mákú, | ” | 7 | 50 | 37 | 31 | 18 |25·94|25·92|25·90| Mund Hissár, | ” | 8 | 50 | 38 | 32 | 16 |26·19|26·15|26·12| Kandahar, | ” | 9 | 54 | 36 | 30 | 12 |26·30|26·21|26·12| Kohkarán, | ” | 14 | 62 | 44 | 31 | 7 |26·25|26·22|26·20| Hanz Maddad, | ” | 15 | 76 | 45 | 30 | 18 |26·48|26·37|26·29| Chashma, | ” | 16 | 68 | 47 | 29 | 22 |26·69|26·64|26·59| Balakhán, | ” | 17 | 64 | 47 | 36 | 23 |26·75|26·62|26·54| Calá Búst, | ” | 18 | 84 | 46 | 29 | 28 |27·00|26·90|26·85| Hazárjuft, | ” | 20 | 74 | 45 | 31 | 40 |27·10|27·06|27·02| Mian Pushta, | ” | 21 | 80 | 47 | 30 | 14 |27·27|27·20|27·15| Sufár, | ” | 22 | 74 | 55 | 42 | 18 |27·21|27·19|27·16| Banádir Jumá, | ” | 23 | 82 | 59 | 46 | 15 |27·26|27·23|27·19| Landi, | ” | 24 | 70 | 54 | 46 | 14 |27·30|27·27|27·24| Calá Sabz, | ” | 25 | 86 | 63 | 52 | 22 |27·24|27·22|27·18| Mel Gudar, | ” | 26 | 74 | 60 | 50 | 23 |27·28|27·28|27·24| Landi Bárech, | ” | 27 | 64 | 53 | 46 | 36 |27·54|27·44|27·38| Rúdbár, | ” | 28 | 68 | 52 | 40 | 17 |27·60|27·58|27·56| Calá Ján Beg, | ” | 29 | 70 | 55 | 40 | 28 |27·66|27·62|27·60| Chárburjak, | Mar. | 1 | 73 | 54 | 40 | 14 |27·75|27·69|27·65| Bandar Trákú, | ” | 2 | 77 | 57 | 42 | 13 |27·68|27·67|27·66| Daki Dela, | ” | 3 | 80 | 65 | 55 | 14 |27·56|27·55|27·54| Cabri Hájí, | ” | 4 | 84 | 69 | 55 | 12 |27·61|27·52|27·46| Burj ’Alam, | ” | 5 | 80 | 62 | 50 | 19 |27·60|27·58|27·56| Wásilán, | ” | 6 | 76 | 60 | 40 | 7 |27·59|27·55|27·51| Nasírabad, | ” | 7 | 78 | 63 | 51 | 12 |27·75|27·64|27·59| Banjár, | ” | 8 | 74 | 46 | 43 | 6 |28·04|27·88|27·65| Bolay, | ” | 11 | 74 | 55 | 46 | 7 |27·90|27·84|27·80| Silyán, | ” | 13 | 70 | 54 | 39 | 28 |27·79|27·76|27·70| Lásh, | ” | 15 | 96 | 54 | 34 | 18 |27·79|27·69|27·60| Panjdih, | ” | 18 | 83 | 62 | 50 | 6 |27·69|27·59|27·50| Khúshkrodak, | ” | 19 | 83 | 63 | 50 | 16 |27·50|27·49|27·49| Calá Koh, | ” | 20 | 94 | 65 | 52 | 15 |27·40|27·39|27·38| Harút Rúd, | ” | 21 | 92 | 76 | 65 | 15 |27·39|27·30|27·22| Cháhi Sagak, | ” | 22 | 78 | 66 | 56 | 24 |26·25|26·23|26·22| Cháhi Pass, | ” | 23 | | 54 | | 5 | |25·59| | Duroh, | ” | 23 | 66 | 57 | 50 | 23 |25·50|25·48|25·45| Husenabad, | ” | 24 | 66 | 50 | 38 | 27 |25·09|25·01|24·96| Sarbesha, | ” | 26 | 54 | 40 | 28 | 29 |23·70|23·68|23·60| Múd, | ” | 28 | 71 | 46 | 31 | 22 |23·61|23·58|23·57| Birjand, | ” | 29 | 80 | 56 | 37 | 25 |24·79|24·66|24·56| Ghíbk, |April | 2 | 61 | 41 | 32 | 18 |23·12|23·11|23·10| Sihdib, | ” | 4 | 64 | 46 | 33 | 18 |24·07|24·03|24·0 | Rúm, | ” | 5 | 60 | 48 | 36 | 10 |23·90|23·90|23·90| Kharbáj Pass, | ” | 6 | | 43 | | 7 | |23·20| | Gháyn, | ” | 6 | 70 | 52 | 35 | 15 |24·76|24·68|24·61| Girimunj, | ” | 9 | 52 | 44 | 37 | 22 |24·50|24·50|24·50| Dashtí Pyáz, | ” | 10 | 80 | 53 | 35 | 15 |24·26|24·18|24·11| Kakhak, | ” | 13 | 64 | 49 | 45 | 16 |24·24|24·22|24·20| Zihbad, | ” | 14 | 88 | 67 | 57 | 16 |24·55|24·51|24·48| Bijistan, | ” | 15 | 84 | 65 | 47 | 28 |25·24|25·18|25·13| Yrínasi, | ” | 17 | 80 | 59 | 45 | 26 |26·61|26·56|26·48| Abdullahabad, | ” | 18 | 89 | 61 | 51 | 25 |26·20|26·11|26·05| Turbat Hydari, | ” | 20 | 82 | 56 | 40 | 32 |25·04|24·95|24·90| Baidár Pass, | ” | 23 | | 46 | | 10 | |23·74| | Gudari Baidár, | ” | 23 | | 40 | | 7 | |22·70| | Asudábád, | ” | 23 | 49 | 43 | 40 | 11 |23·89|23·85|23·82| Gudari Rúkh, | ” | 24 | | 42 | | 6 | |22·85| | Rabáti Sufed, | ” | 24 | | 50 | | 6 | |23·82| | Káfir Calá, | ” | 24 | | 50 | | 6 | |24·53| | Sharífabad, | ” | 24 | 62 | 49 | 44 | 16 |24·70|24·68|24·63| Mashhad, | ” | 25 | 94 | 54 | 43 | 24 |26·40|26·25|26·07| Jágharc, | May | 3 | 64 | 54 | 46 | 20 |24·90|24·87|24·83| Nishabor Pass, | ” | 4 | | 50 | | 14 | |20·90| | Dihrúd, | ” | 4 | 62 | 61 | 59 | 10 |24·34|24·29|24·22| Nishabor, | ” | 5 | 75 | 56 | 49 | 22 |25·60|25·47|25·37| Záminabad, | ” | 7 | 80 | 52 | 40 | 16 |25·96|25·90|25·80| Shoráb, | ” | 8 | 69 | 50 | 45 | 9 |25·47|25·45|25·42| Záfaráni, | ” | 9 | 82 | 73 | 60 | 18 |26·12|25·88|25·90| Sabzwár, | ” | 11 | 82 | 67 | 59 | 25 |26·20|26·12|26·04| Mihr, | ” | 13 | 84 | 74 | 69 | 33 |26·09|26·02|25·98| Mazinán, | ” | 14 | 74 | 67 | 58 | 20 |26·64|26·61|26·60| Abbasabad, | ” | 15 | 86 | 74 | 56 | 23 |26·54|26·51|26·49| Miandasht, | ” | 16 | 75 | 63 | 54 | 22 |25·40|25·37|25·32| Miánmay, | ” | 17 | 76 | 58 | 54 | 24 |25·90|25·83|25·75| Shahrúd, | ” | 18 | 82 | 63 | 51 | 41 |25·20|25·64|24·85| Dihmulla, | ” | 24 | 70 | 63 | 58 | 16 |25·90|25·87|25·83| Damghán, | ” | 25 | 86 | 62 | 50 | 26 |25·80|25·77|25·75| Khúsha, | ” | 26 | 85 | 65 | 53 | 23 |25·25|25·23|25·20| Ahuán, | ” | 27 | 73 | 58 | 47 | 24 |23·30|23·24|23·25| Samnán, | ” | 28 | 92 | 70 | 60 | 24 |25·51|25·46|25·38| Lásjird, | ” | 30 | 84 | 73 | 68 | 22 |25·32|25·24|25·22| Dih Namak, | ” | 31 | 91 | 84 | 76 | 25 |26·55|26·47|26·43| Kishlác, | June | 1 | 88 | 76 | 80 | 24 |26·52|26·46|26·42| Aywáni Kyf, | ” | 2 | 88 | 75 | 56 | 21 |25·81|25·70|25·60| Khátúnabad, | ” | 4 | 82 | 72 | 56 | 27 |26·10|26·04|25·98| Gulahak, | ” | 5 | 76 | 72 | 55 | 18 |24·69|24·62|24·53| Tahrán, | ” | 8 | 76 | 72 | 69 | 8 |25·64|25·61|25·60| Rábút Karím, | ” | 9 | 88 | 78 | 70 | 29 |25·87|25·85|25·81| Khanabad, | ” | 10 | 96 | 75 | 59 | 33 |25·23|25·19|25·15| Khushkak, | ” | 11 | 72 | 64 | 56 | 26 |24·23|24·19|24·15| Novarán, | ” | 12 | 73 | 61 | 54 | 36 |24·08|24·06|24·04| Zaráh, | ” | 13 | 94 | 58 | 50 | 32 |24·20|24·15|24·10| Mílagard, | ” | 14 | 90 | 64 | 48 | 20 |24·06|24·05|24·05| Hamadán, | ” | 15 | 81 | 71 | 60 | 36 |23·60|23·53|23·50| Asadabad, | ” | 17 | 83 | 71 | 60 | 32 |24·05|24·04|24·01| Kangawár, | ” | 18 | 78 | 65 | 51 | 25 |24·49|24·44|24·41| Sahnah, | ” | 19 | 87 | 70 | 52 | 23 |24·87|24·84|24·80| Besitun, | ” | 20 | 88 | 66 | 52 | 18 |25·10|25·04|25·00| Kirmánshah, | ” | 21 | 94 | 68 | 40 | 28 |24·75|24·70|24·66| Mydasht, | ” | 23 | 71 | 64 | 48 | 23 |24·68|24·66|24·64| Hárúnabad, | ” | 24 | 79 | 68 | 50 | 28 |24·90|24·88|24·85| Karriud, | ” | 25 | 79 | 72 | 56 | 24 |24·46|24·36|24·30| | |Tent| | | | | | | | Pul Zuháb, | ” | 26 |102 | 76 | 60 | 32 |27·22|27·19|27·16| Casri Shirin, | ” | 27 |103 | 86 | 68 | 24 |27·84|27·79|27·76| Hájí Cara, | ” | 28 |108 | 84 | 64 | 24 |28·49|28·39|28·30| Sherabad, | July | 8 |102 | 98 | 92 | 45 |28·70|28·70|28·70| Bácúba, | ” | 9 |106 | 98 | 92 | 32 |29·20|29·20|29·20| Baghdad, | ” | 10 |109 | 92 | 76 | 40 |29·42|29·36|29·30| ----------------+------+----+----+-----+----+--------+-----+-----+-----+

----------------+--------+------+------------- | | | LOCALITY. |Altitude| Wind.| Weather. | —Feet. | | | | | ----------------+--------+------+------------- Sakkar, | | | Fair. Shikárpúr, | | | do. Jacobabad, | | | do. Barshori, | 90 | | do. Sanjarání, | 160 | | do. Kotra, | 166 | | do. Pirchhalta, | 520 | | do. Kuhaw, | 810 | | do. Hatáchi, | 1710 | | do. Narr, | 2710 | | do. Gorú, | 3725 | NW. | Cloudy. Khozdár, | 3870 | do. | do. Bághwána, | 4290 | do. | do. Lákoryán, | 5420 | do. |Rain & sleet. Súráb, | 5770 | do. | Cloudy. Gandaghen, | 5950 | do. | do. Rodinjo, | 6625 | do. | do. Calát, | 6780 | do. | do. Mungachar, | 5700 | do. | do. Amánullah, | 5630 | do. | Slight rain. Mastung Fort, | 6662 | do. | Cloudy. Nishpá Pass, | 6000 | do. | Sleet & hail. Sariáb, | 5760 | do. | Sleet & rain. Shál Kot, | 5660 | do. | Cloudy. Murghí Pass, | 5440 | do. | Sleet & hail. Cushlác, | 5125 | do. | Snow. Hykalzai, | 4800 | do. | do. Arambi, | 4960 | do. | do. Churgha Khojak, | 7000 | do. | do. Khojak Pass, | 7410 | N. | Mist & sleet. Cháokat Khojak, | 6600 | do. | do. Chaman, | 5560 | do. | Hail & sleet. Gátaí, | 3990 | do. | Cloudy, hail. Mel Mándah, | 4100 | do. | Fair. Mákú, | 3520 | do. | Cloudy. Mund Hissár, | 3280 | NW. | Cldy., snow. Kandahar, | 3220 | do. |Cloudy, fair. Kohkarán, | 3210 | do. | Fair. Hanz Maddad, | 3050 | do. | do. Chashma, | 2780 | do. | do. Balakhán, | 2700 | NE. |Cloudy, rain. Calá Búst, | 2510 | N. | Fair. Hazárjuft, | 2350 | NW. | do. Mian Pushta, | 2210 | do. | Cloudy. Sufár, | 2220 | do. | Fair. Banádir Jumá, | 2180 | do. | do. Landi, | 2140 | W. |Cloudy, rain. Calá Sabz, | 2190 | do. | Fair. Mel Gudar, | 2130 | do. | Cloudy. Landi Bárech, | 1975 | NW. | Rainy. Rúdbár, | 1830 | do. |Cloudy, fair. Calá Ján Beg, | 1790 | do. | Fair. Chárburjak, | 1720 | do. | do. Bandar Trákú, | 1740 | do. | do. Daki Dela, | 1860 | S. | Cloudy. Cabri Hájí, | 1890 | do. | do. Burj ’Alam, | 1830 | SW. |Fair, cloudy. Wásilán, | 1860 | NW. | Cloudy. Nasírabad, | 1770 | N. |Cldy. & gusty. Banjár, | 1540 | do. | do. Bolay, | 1680 | do. | Cloudy. Silyán, | 1650 | do. |Cloudy, fair. Lásh, | 1720 | do. | do. Panjdih, | 1820 | NW. | Cloudy. Khúshkrodak, | 1920 | do. | Fair. Calá Koh, | 2020 | do. | do. Harút Rúd, | 2110 | SW. | Cloudy. Cháhi Sagak, | 3200 | NW. | do. Cháhi Pass, | 3870 | do. |Cloudy, rain. Duroh, | 3990 | do. | do. Husenabad, | 4500 | W. | do. Sarbesha, | 5990 | NW. | do. Múd, | 6100 | do. | Cloudy. Birjand, | 4880 | N. |Cloudy, fair. Ghíbk, | 6650 | do. |Cloudy, rain. Sihdib, | 5586 | NW. | do. Rúm, | 5735 | do. | do. Kharbáj Pass, | 6550 | do. | Cloudy. Gháyn, | 4860 | do. |Cldy. & stmy. Girimunj, | 5060 | W. | Fair. Dashtí Pyáz, | 5420 | N. |Cloudy, rain. Kakhak, | 5375 | do. | Fair. Zihbad, | 5050 | do. | Cloudy. Bijistan, | 4310 | NW. | Rainy. Yrínasi, | 2860 | N. | Fair. Abdullahabad, | 3325 | NW. | Cloudy. Turbat Hydari, | 4562 | do. | Rainy. Baidár Pass, | 5920 | do. | Rain. Gudari Baidár, | 7134 | do. | do. Asudábád, | 5790 | do. | do. Gudari Rúkh, | 6962 | do. |Cloudy, rain. Rabáti Sufed, | 5825 | do. | Cloudy. Káfir Calá, | 5025 | do. | do. Sharífabad, | 4860 | do. | Rain. Mashhad, | 3180 | do. | Rainy. Jágharc, | 4650 | do. | do. Nishabor Pass, | 9390 | W. |Fair, cloudy. Dihrúd, | 5290 | do. | Cloudy. Nishabor, | 4000 | do. | Rainy. Záminabad, | 3540 | SW. | Cloudy. Shoráb, | 4020 | S. | Fair. Záfaráni, | 3562 | SE. | do. Sabzwár, | 3312 | do. |Fair, cloudy. Mihr, | 3380 | do. | Fair. Mazinán, | 2810 | SW. | do. Abbasabad, | 2910 | do. | do. Miandasht, | 4110 | W. |Storm & rain. Miánmay, | 3620 | NW. | Rain. Shahrúd, | 3820 | do. |Cldy., rainy. Dihmulla, | 3575 | W. | Fair. Damghán, | 3680 | do. | do. Khúsha, | 4260 | do. | Cloudy. Ahuán, | 6500 | do. |Cloudy, fair. Samnán, | 4010 | NW. |Fair, cloudy. Lásjird, | 4150 | W. | Fair. Dih Namak, | 2950 | do. |Gusty & dusty Kishlác, | 2960 | NW. | do. Aywáni Kyf, | 3760 | do. | Fair. Khátúnabad, | 3400 | W. | do. Gulahak, | 4925 | do. | do. Tahrán, | 3850 | do. | do. Rábút Karím, | 3600 | do. | do. Khanabad, | 4300 | NE. | Warm, fair. Khushkak, | 5410 | W. |Cl’dless sky. Novarán, | 5550 | None | Warm, fair. Zaráh, | 5450 | do. | do. Mílagard, | 5562 | do. | do. Hamadán, | 6162 | do. | do. Asadabad, | 5575 | do. | do. Kangawár, | 5125 | do. | do. Sahnah, | 4680 | do. | do. Besitun, | 4462 | do. | do. Kirmánshah, | 4837 | do. | do. Mydasht, | 4880 | do. | do. Hárúnabad, | 4640 | W. | Gusty day. Karriud, | 5212 | None | Fair. | | | Pul Zuháb, | 2220 | W. | Fair, hot. Casri Shirin, | 1625 | do. | Hot day. Hájí Cara, | 1040 | WN. | do. Sherabad, | 750 | None | Fair, hot. Bácúba, | 270 | do. | do. Baghdad, | 130 | W. | do. ----------------+--------+------+-------------

_N.B._—The indications of the thermometer were recorded from an instrument placed against the wall of a tent.

The distances have been reckoned at the pace of our riding-horses, at the rate of four miles an hour.

The altitudes have been calculated approximately from the mean of the daily indications of an aneroid barometer, usually suspended in the shade of a tent.

H. W. B.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY LONDON AND EDINBURGH