We wandered along through the thick grass, Nofuhl and I, much excited
over our discoveries and delighted with the strange scene. The
sunshine is of dazzling brightness, birds are singing everywhere, and
the ruins are gay with gorgeous wild flowers. We soon found ourselves
in what was once a public square, now for the most part a shady grove.
(Afterward ascertained to be the square of the City Hall.)

As we sat on a fallen cornice and gazed on the lofty buildings about
us I asked Nofuhl if he was still in ignorance as to where we were,
and he said:

"As yet I know not. The architecture is much like that of ancient
Europe, but it tells us nothing."

Then I said to him in jest, "Let this teach us, O Nofuhl! the folly of
excessive wisdom. Who among thy pupils of the Imperial College at
Ispahan would believe their venerable instructor in history and
languages could visit the largest city in the world and know so little
about it!"

"Thy words are wise, my Prince," he answered; "few babes could know
less."

As we were leaving this grove my eyes fell upon an upturned slab that
seemed to have a meaning. It was lying at our feet, partly hidden by
the tall grass, having fallen from the columns that supported it. Upon
its surface were strange characters in bold relief, as sharp and clear
as when chiselled ten centuries ago. I pointed it out to Nofuhl, and
we bent over it with eager eyes.