communication with Mashhad and towards Herat will be made, naturally, from Dushakh via Sarakhs to Pul-i-Khatun, and thence to Mashhad and Chihil-dukhtar. I think, however, that we may hope with fair reason that the task of reaching Herat by rail will be undertaken by the British Government and from India, and not by the Russian Government from Transcaspia. Leaving out other considerations, such a step is essential for the maintenance of our commercial interests in Afghanistan and Persia. One of the latest Russian proposals is to raise the duty on Indian tea imported into Central Asia, so as to make it more expensive. than the caravan teas brought in through Kuldja and Kiakhta. This, of course, will check the importation. We, being all for free trade, take no notice of tariffs à la M'Kinley, whether they emanate from Russia or the United States. With a railway, however, to Herat, and another across Beluchistan and Sistan to Southern Persia, Turkish Arabia, and Asia Minor, we might restore or retain, as the case may be, our supremacy in the trade of Persia and Afghanistan.

Running from Askhabad towards Merv, one passes under the northern cliffs of that great and curious natural fortress, Kalat-i-Nadiri. One or two recent writers have rather tended to spread the idea that this place is strategically valuable. It is not so. Fortified and held as it is by Persians, it is not even strong, far less impregnable. An enterprising European foe would be inside it in no time. But it is not worth fortifying strongly. The stream that flows in at the Arghawan-Shah Gate does not irrigate more than 20 or 30 acres, and it is doubtful if the whole cultivated area in this amphitheatre, measuring about 25 by 6 miles, amounts to 100 acres. Except the Arghawan-Shah stream, which flows along a narrow ravine, and which issues by the Nafta Gate on to the Atak, there is very little water. The pasture for sheep and cattle is not very good or abundant. Kalat commands no important route, although, if held by a determined and bold enemy, it would be an excellent base for harrying the Transcaspian Railway and the communications between. Askhabad and Merv. Perhaps its chief value is that its possessor can control to a great extent the water-supply of the Atak. This watersupply is all important to Transcaspia. As the home and abode of Nadir Shah, who emancipated Persia from Afghan domination, and subsequently overran parts of Afghanistan and Northern India as far as Delhi, this spot is dear to the pride of the Persians. The Shah guards it jealously. I spent three very pleasant days there in July 1885, as the guest of the commandant, a Persian nobleman with a fair knowledge of French. Nowadays strangers and foreigners are rigidly excluded. In 1885 I remember looking down from the top of the northern cliffs of Kalat-iNadiri, over Lutfabad, and Kakha, and Dushakh. I will not say that I looked on it with that interest with which Moses and Aaron gazed on the Promised Land. It was, however, impossible not to feel an attraction for that land of mystery, on which Shakespeare, Abbott, and Burnes, Wolf, Vambéry, and O'Donovan had after all shed but very little lightan attraction that was however warranted, not by such an unsightly expanse of barren steppe, but by its political and geographical interest. For I saw nothing more. Searching for oases on that expanse was like

looking for needles in trusses of hay. I rode from Gugumaz (the principal village and residence of the commandant of Kalat-i-Nadiri) to the northern scarp of this natural fortress, along narrow pathways overhanging steep slopes. My Persian companions were evidently accustomed to it. As I noted that my outer boot and stirrup were overhanging a quasi-precipice, I felt thankful that I had confidence in my pony. The roads from Mashhad to Kalat-i-Nadiri are the worst I ever traversedand I have tried some fairly bad ones off and on.

From Dushakh the railway runs nearly NE. to Merv, Bairam Ali, Charjui, and the Oxus Bridge. Certainly a good deal of romance and interest attaches to the name of Merv, but when seen it is a disappointing place. Denghil-Tepe is much more interesting. At Merv there is the fort of Kaushid Khan. The area of the fort is probably about the same as that of Denghil-Tepe. One finds that its southern rampart does not exist, and that the other three are so indented and worn away as to be indefensible. Yet the Merv Turkomans in 1881 talked of putting this fort in a state of repair and resisting the Russians. I can quite understand that they abandoned as hopeless the idea of repairing those ramparts, although, if sound, they would be much more defensible than those of Denghil-Tepe. The bazaar, town, and barracks of Merv are miserable structures on the west bank of the Murghab. Kaushid Khan's Fort, enclosing the club, some official buildings, officials' houses, new barracks, the site of the bi-weekly bazaar or fair, and several groups of kibitkas, is on the east bank. It is curious to think of the magic import that attached eight or ten years ago to the word "Merv." The lustre of its medieval prosperity, the romance of O'Donovan's visit to it in '81, and, more than anything else, the universal ignorance about it, had surrounded it with a halo of importance that was out of proportion to its actual value. Of course it and its neighbour, Bairam Ali, are not to be ignored. Under the administration of Russians, and thanks to works of irrigation, it is possible that the time may come when the Imperial domain at Bairam Ali and the Turkoman lands at Merv will again support a large population. The modern Merv is not on the site of the ancient town, but 18 miles SW. of it. The ancient Merv is close to Bairam Ali. In constructing the Maruchak and Sultan-bend dams, the Russians are merely reviving the irrigation system that has gone to rack and ruin since the Amir Maasum of Bokhara destroyed the city of Bairam Ali about one hundred years ago. The latest reports from Sir Colin Moncrieff and M. Cotard are of a nature to suggest that the Tsar may find his domain at Bairam Ali not so productive as he anticipated. If the dams are, however, a success, the whole of the banks of the Murghab, from Panjdeh to Merv, will be brought under cultivation, instead of being a desert relieved by one or two oases. Good roads will be made from Merv to Maruchak and Chihal-dukhtar, and the valleys of the Murghab, Kushk, and Kochan, and the steppes of Badghis will once more be studded with towns and cities. The remains of these towns are there. If they existed once, they may exist again. If we consider the history of the past twelve hundred years, the Mohammedan conquest, the invasions of Chengiz Khan, Tamerlane, and their successors, the continuous changes of dynasties in

Bokhara, Merv, Herat, and Persia, with all the tangled web of rivalries, feuds, and wars, followed by the lawless domination of the Turkomans during the present century, the desolation of Badghis is not surprising.

The Merv of to-day is no longer the abode of the Turkomans. The aul and kibitka have given place to the bazaars, barracks, and buildings of the Russians. The Turkomans reside in settlements round about, and come in to the bi-weekly fairs held in Kaushid Khan's Fort. Like the Uzbek, the Turkoman seldom condescends to walk. He has a horse to ride, if he can afford it; and if he cannot do that, he has a donkey. From 8 to 11 a.m. they crowd into the fair, bringing their wares. There is a place for everything. There are melons, grapes, and other fruits and vegetables; here are piles of the coats, boots, and sheepskin hats that the Turkomans affect; here again, carpets, saddlebags, Astrakan skins, webs of cloth made of cotton, and of goat or camel-hair. The best camel-hair cloth is very good and very expensive. The Turkoman carpets are famous for durability of colour and material. The Turkomans often make certain parts of their carpets of silk; but a year or two ago the Tekes presented an entire silk carpet to the Tsar.

If the scheme for irrigating Bairam Ali succeeds, that place will soon be greatly changed. Already large storehouses are springing up. A nursery, containing thousands of saplings, covers an area of a square mile or so. Probably, under the influences of a new civilisation, much of the remarkable remains now existing there will be effaced. These remains, whether they are the handiwork of Alexander, or of a race earlier than the date of his invasions, of Iranian or Turanian, of Zoroastrian or Mohammedan origin, whether they bear the name of Alexander, Sultan Sanjar, or Bairam Ali, are well worth seeing. Those who wish to see them would do well to take advantage of the next excursion that goes to Transcaspia. To visit the ruins properly entails a ride of fully 20 miles. We spent four hours hurriedly inspecting them, and could easily have spent four hours more. The bricks of the ruined city of Bairam Ali are now being used in the new buildings. What appears to be the ruin of greatest antiquity is a circular rampart, about half a mile in diameter, and in some places about 100 feet high above the level of the surrounding country. It encloses a citadel of almost equal height. Excavations were begun here, but discontinued-presumably from want of funds. Alexander is said to have founded a city here; but the Turkomans, who have only occupied this country for fifty years or so, know nothing about its site. More things in Asia are attributed to Alexander than that king and conqueror ever dreamt of. The great landmark of the district is the tomb of Sultan Sanjar, of the Seljuki dynasty, who ruled in the twelfth century A.D. It is second only in size to the mosque of Bibi Khanum, in Samarkand. The original tombstone has been destroyed, and is now replaced by a mud structure that is very unworthy of the edifice in which it stands. The other large ruins are thought to be ice-pits, water reservoirs, and pigeon-houses. I am in favour of the latter. I have seen huge pigeon-houses at Kumesheh, in Persia, and between Herat and Ghorian, that bear some resemblance to those of ancient Merv. It is well to view this great expanse of ruins from some

commanding point. What was once so populous is all a desert now. If it could be irrigated by races that we now look upon as uncivilised and unenlightened, are the leading English and French engineers to admit their inability to re-irrigate it? Yet such is the purport of paragraphs that are now appearing in the papers. We know that many of the engineering and architectural works of olden times are such as to excite wonder nowadays. We have our steam, pneumatic, hydraulic, and electric contrivances; and the ancients (we suppose) had none of these. That was the age of stone, and this is the age of iron and steel. We rear Forth Bridges and Eiffel Towers, and they reared Pyramids and Babylons. It is difficult, however, to believe that irrigation is a science that was more advanced 1000 years ago than it is now. There is one thing, however, to remember, and that is, that now the water is diverted to the Turkoman and Russian settlements at Yulatan and Kaushid Khan Kalah. This was probably not the case until within the last century. That the Tsar and the Government are in earnest about the repopulation of Bairam Ali is certain. An imperial domain, an extensive nursery-garden, and substantial stone buildings are not established for nothing. In October last, about 100 families of Tunganis or Dungans (as they are variously styled) arrived from Kuldja, for employment at Bairam Ali. These Tunganis are Chinese Mohammedans, like the Panthays of Yunnan. Both alike rebelled against the Chinese Government, some twenty years ago; and both, at a later period, felt the mercilessness of Chinese revenge. Many of the Tunganis found refuge in Russia and of the Panthays in the Shan States and Burma. In speaking of a trip to Tashkent, one can hardly ignore altogether the Transcaspian Railway, although it has already been well described by Major C. E. Yate, Colonel Le Mesurier, Mr. Curzon, Mr. Dobson, and by several other writers, English, French, and Russian. The length of the line, from Uzanada to Samarkand is 900 miles. It is built to admit of slow traffic only, like most of the lines in European Russia. It will be remembered that not long ago (I think in 1889) a serious accident occurred to the Tsar's special. It all came, I am told, of running too fast on a badly-made line. Similar mishaps would presumably occur on the Transcaspian line, if the trains ran too fast. As for the sands, I have already pointed out my reasons for thinking that drift-sand cannot be controlled. After a storm, the line has to be cleared of sand. I was assured that, in the ten years that have elapsed since the line was begun at Mikhailovsk, no serious sand-block has been known. The permanent way has in many places been edged and solidified with saxaul bushes, and with good results. It at least prevents the sand from being blown away and leaving the rails and sleepers all bare. I heard Russians talking of planting trees, and running canals or ditches parallel to the line, from Charjui towards Repetek and Peski (where the sand is worst); but I don't think such projects are practical. Anyhow, they are likely to cost more than they are worth. Near the Oxus, at Charjui, the wind sets pretty steadily from the NE. and NNE. You can tell this by the lay of the sand-drifts, which slope gradually on the north, and abruptly on the south side. For years past the sand has been invading the tract on the

right bank of the Oxus, form Farab to Karakul. It comes from the Kizil Kum. The sand-drifts extend as far as the eye can see on either side of the railway. It is a tract that is evidently doomed to desolation. In time it will be the counterpart of the tract on the left bank, from Charjui to Peski, which is nothing but an expanse of rolling sand-deserts, studded with saxaul and tamarisk. The average pace of the mail-train on the Transcaspian Railway is 15 miles an hour, including stoppages. It would not be advisable to go quicker, otherwise some of the cars might shake themselves off the line. The gauge is five feet. The ordinary gauge in Great Britain is 4' 8". The regular trains on the line are three mails each way weekly, and a daily mixed train each way, between Uzanada and Samarkand. There are also goods trains as required. The fuel used in the locomotives is astatki-the refuse of the Baku naphtha, after the extraction by distillation of all its valuable properties. Special trains run for supplying the several stations with water, victuals, and astatki. Most of the stations have reservoirs for water and astatki. The railway buildings are mostly of good solid masonry. The Oxus bridge was finished early in 1888, and is still standing. It is entirely of wood; and trains have to cross it carefully at the rate of four miles an hour. It is two miles long; so the trains take half-an-hour to cross it. Undoubtedly General Annenkoff would gladly see this wooden structure replaced by an iron one; but the bed of the Oxus is so continually shifting, that to sink a large sum of money in an iron bridge that might be left high and dry in a year or two would be rash.

One of the pleasantest days that we spent in Transcaspia was spent with his Excellency General Annenkoff at Amudarya. When we arrived at the railway station early on the morning of the 5th of October we were met by an A.D.C., who told us that General Annenkoff expected us at his house at ten o'clock. The first place the General took us to was the schoolhouse. There were seventy boys and girls, some twenty of whom came every morning from Farab on the right (east) bank of the Oxus by train, returning in the evening. The general remarked to us : "When I start a cantonment anywhere for my railway troops, amongst the first things I construct are a school and a church." The appearance

of the Amudarya school was very similar to that of our national schools. The children sang in chorus several Russian airs and hymns, and were catechised by the schoolmistress for the edification of his Excellency. From the schoolroom we went to the barracks, where we found all in apple-pie order and the soldiers standing at attention with a rigidity that Tommy Atkins might envy. On such occasions as these, Russian generals and soldiers always interchange a few stereotyped words of a complimentary nature. In the kitchen of one company we were invited to taste the soup for the soldiers' mid-day meal. It contained meat and potatoes, flour, salt, butter, onions, cabbage, etc., etc., and was excellent. The men of each company manage their own catering, electing one of their number as caterer. We then were taken to hear the band practise. After this we returned to the road. Bugles were sounded. In ten minutes the railway battalion had turned out and fallen in. Meantime a message was sent to the Turkistan battalion encamped about a mile away.

This