“The Sartiep has sent you his salaams and a present of sweetmeats, preparatory to calling round himself,” explains mine host; “he is a Persian gentleman, Ali Akbar Khan, at the head of the Meshed telegraph-service, and has the rank of general or Sartiep.”  The Sartiep himself arrives shortly afterward, accompanied by his favorite son, a budding youth of some eight or ten summers, of whose beauty he feels very justly proud.  The Sartiep’s son is one of those remarkably handsome boys met with occasionally in modern Persia, and which so profusely adorn old Persian paintings.  With soft, girlish features, big, black, lustrous eyes, and an abundance of long hair, they remind one of the beautiful youths of Oriental romance; his fond parent takes him about on his visits and finds much gratification in the admiring remarks bestowed upon the son.

The Sartiep is an ideal Persian official, courteous and complimentary, but never forgetful of Ali Akbar Khan; his full, round figure and sensual Oriental face speak eloquently of mutton pillau and other fattening dishes galore, sweetmeats, cucumbers, and melons; and deep draughts from pleasure’s intoxicating cup have not failed to leave their indelible marks.  In this particular the Sartiep is but a casually selected sample of the well-to-do Persian official.  Leaving out a few notable exceptions, this brief description of him suffices to describe them all.

Following in the train of the Sartiep arrive more servants, bearing dishes of kabobs, herb-seasoned pillau, and various other strange, savory dishes, which, Mr. Gray explains, are considered great delicacies among the upper-class Persians and are intended as a great compliment to me.

Although Mohammedans, and particularly Shiite Mohammedans, are forbidden by their religion to indulge in alcoholic beverages, the average high official in Persia is anything but a sanctimonious individual, and partakes with a keen relish of the forbidden fruit in an open-secret manner.  The thin, transparent veil of abstemiousness that the Persian noble wears in deference to the sanctimonious pretensions of the mollahs and seyuds and the public eye at large, is cast aside altogether in the presence of intimate friends, and particularly if that intimate friend is a Ferenghi.  Owing to their association in the telegraph-service, mine host and the Sartiep are on the most intimate terms.  The Sartiep soon after his arrival intimates, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, that he feels the need of a little medicine.  Mr. Gray, as becomes a good physician who knows well the constitutional requirements of his patient, and who knows what to prescribe without even going through the preliminary act of feeling the pulse, produces a pale-green bottle and a tumbler and pours out a full dose of its contents for an adult.

The patient swallows it at a gulp, nibbles a piece of sweetmeat, and strokes his stomach in token of approval.

“What was the medicine you prescribed, Gray?” “High wines,” says the physician, “95 proof alcohol; a bottle that the entomologist of the Boundary Commission happened to leave here a year ago; it was the only thing in the house except wine.  The patient pronounces it the ’best arrack’ he ever tasted; the firier these fellows can get it the better they like it.”