It is the special hour of prayer, and in every direction may be observed men, halting in whatever they may be doing, and kneeling down on some outer garment taken off for the purpose, repeatedly touch their foreheads to the ground, bending in the direction of Mecca.  Passing beneath the second musicians’ gate, I reach the artillery square just in time to see a company of army buglers formed in line at one end, and a company of musketeers at the other.  As these more modern trumpeters proceed to toot, the company of musketeers opposite present arms, and then the music of the new buglers, and the hoarse, fog-horn-like blasts of the fantastic tooters on the bala-khanas dies away together in a concerted effort that would do credit to a troop of wild elephants.

When the noisy trumpeting ceases, the ordinary noises round about seem like solemn silence in comparison, and above this comparative silence can be heard the voices of men here and there over the city, calling out “Al-lah-il-All-ah; Ali Ak-bar.” (God is greatest; there is no god but one God! etc.) with stentorian voices.  The men are perched on the roofs of the mosques, and on noblemen’s walls and houses; the Shah has a strong-voiced muezzin that can be heard above all the others.  The sun has just set; I can see the snowy cone of Mount Demavend, peeping apparently over the high barrack walls; it has just taken on a distinctive roseate tint, as it oftentimes does at sunset; the reason whereof becomes at once apparent upon turning toward the west, for the whole western sky is aglow with a gorgeous sunset-a sunset that paints the horizon a blood red, and spreads a warm, rich glow over half the heavens.

The moon will be full to-night, and a far lovelier picture even than the glorious sunset and the rose-tinted mountain, awaits anyone curious enough to come out-doors and look.  The Persian moonlight seems capable of surrounding the most commonplace objects with a halo of beauty, and of blending things that are nothing in themselves, into scenes of such transcendental loveliness that the mere casual contemplation of them sends a thrill of pleasure coursing through the system.  There is no city of the same size (180,000) in England or America, but can boast of buildings infinitely superior to anything in Teheran; what trees there are in and about the city are nothing compared to what we are used to having about us; and although the gates with their short minars and their gaudy facings are certainly unique, they suffer greatly from a close investigation.  Nevertheless, persons happening for the first time in the vicinity of one of these gates on a calm moonlight night, and perchance descrying “fair Luna “through one of the arches or between the minars, will most likely find themselves transfixed with astonishment at the marvellous beauty of the scene presented.  By repairing to the artillery square, or to the short street between the square and the palace front, on a moonlight night, one can experience