owners, while against them jostled the gufas--built like the coracles of
ancient Britain--a round basket coated with pitch. No Anglo-Saxon can see
them without thinking of the nursery rhyme of the "wise men of Gotham who
went to sea in a tub." These gufas were some of them twenty-five feet in
diameter, and carried surprising loads--sometimes sheep and cattle
alone--sometimes men and women--often both indiscriminately mingled.
Propelling a gufa was an art in itself, for in the hands of the
uninitiated it merely spun around without advancing a foot in the desired
direction. The natives used long round-bladed paddles, and made good time
across the river. Crossing over in one was a democratic affair, especially
when the women were returning from market with knots of struggling
chickens slung over their shoulders.

Asadulla Khan's profile always reminded me of an Inca idol that I once got
in Peru. Among his scribes were several men of culture who discoursed most
sagely on Persian literature; on Sadi and Hafiz, both of whom they held to
be superior to Omar Khayyam. I tried through many channels to secure a
manuscript of the "Rubaiyat," but all I succeeded in obtaining was a
lithograph copy with no place or date of publication; merely the remark
that it had been printed during the cold months. I was told that the
writings of Omar Khayyam were regarded as immoral and for that reason were
not to be found in religious households. My Persian friends would quote
at length from Sadi's _Gulistan_ or _Rose Garden_, and go into raptures
over its beauty.

* * * * *

Below the consulate was a landing-place, and when we were ready to leave
we would go down to the river-bank preceded by our servants carrying
lanterns. They would call "Abu bellam" until a boat appeared. The term