In the time of Fateh Ali Shah, the mendicant dervishes, who were then as numerous and profligate in Persia as vagrant monks used to be in Spain and Italy, became such a pest that one of the first acts of his successor, Mahomed Shah, was to direct that no beggars should be tolerated except the lame, the sick, and the blind, and that all able-bodied men appearing in dervish garb were to be seized for military service.  The profession fell out of fashion then, and there are now comparatively few mendicant dervishes to be seen.  Those that still wear the ‘ragged robe’ do not all appear to follow the rules of poverty, self-denial, abstinence, and celibacy.  One there was, a negro from ‘darkest Africa,’ who attached himself as a charity-pensioner to the British Legation in Tehran, and was to be seen in all weathers, snow and sunshine, fantastically dressed, chattering and chuckling in real Sambo style.  He knew that his religious cry of ‘Ya Hoo’ was characteristic of him, and he was always ready to shout it out to the ‘Ingleez,’ whose generosity he had reason to appreciate.  He had a story of being a prince of fallen fortune, who was kidnapped in Central Africa, traded and bartered across Arabia, and abandoned in North Persia.  He was known as the Black Prince.  During the cholera epidemic of 1892, he took up his residence under some shady chenar-trees of great age, a recognised resting-place for dervishes, close to the summer-quarters of the English Legation at Gulhek, in the vicinity of Tehran.  One day he sat outside the gate and poured forth a pitiable tale of the death of his wife from cholera during the night, and begged for money to pay for her burial.  Having made his collection, he disappeared at nightfall, leaving his dead partner under the chenar-trees, and it was then discovered that he had possessed two wives, who called him agha, or master, and he had departed with the survivor, leaving the other to be buried by strangers.  After that he was known as the Prince of Darkness.

The privileged beggars or mendicant dervishes of Tehran are not all of the stained, soiled, dust-and-ashes description; some are occasionally seen presenting a pleasing contrast in washed white garments, and of neat appearance.  There was one such in Tehran, a well-known cheerful old man, who looked as if he could, in quiet company, tell entertaining stones, for recitation is adopted by some of these wandering dervishes as a pleasant means of livelihood, and many of them in the storytelling art show considerable talent, cultivated taste, and retentive memory.  But, to be successful, they must be able to indulge in variations of their old stories by the introduction of new incidents which they have heard or invented.  One who is known for good style is always welcomed at the many tea-shops and gardens in village and town.

[Illustration:  A DERVISH STORY-TELLER OF TEHRAN]