Friday, March 14th, about six o'clock, I found a regular north-east gale blowing. The sun rose in a great ball of fire, and the vast desert plain, which lay extended before me, was covered with a thin, sea-like mist, just like a storm in the ocean. We started at 7.30, by a good and level road, which skirted the hills on the left and the vast Desert on the right. We passed a native crawling slowly along, in charge of an exceedingly lame camel, for which he — under the impression, shared by most Orientals, that all Europeans are doctors — entreated us to supply medicine.
We reached the fortified village and chapar khaneh of Mazinan, twenty-seven miles, shortly before noon, and lunched in the portico. From Mazinan to Mihr the distance is twenty miles, and this with the good horses with which we were supplied we covered in two and a half hours. The road was good, but uninteresting, with hills on one side and the Desert on the other. Mihr is a pretty village with trees, cultivated ground, and many streams of water. The chapar khaneh was good, but, unlike the majority of them, was commanded by the
