The entire stage has been one continuous descent. Got in at half-past four; eight hours in saddle. Half-an-hour lunch. The people plough the almost perpendicular sides of many of the hills, so we were constantly coming on patches of various greens.
The climate has become tepid, and full of moisture; lots of flies. A fine chupper-khana, with a new water-cellar close by, from which I attempted to sketch the valley. We are all very tired, and have walked a good deal of the way perforce.
A curious thing happened this morning when we left Masreh. I had given the postmaster my knife to cut something; when I left I forgot it, and only thought of it when a mile away. I cantered back, and found my servants just leaving. I immediately said to the head-man:
“Have you got my knife, as directed, from the postmaster?”
He took the hint, and said:
“No; I forgot it.”
“Give it me.”
The postmaster put his hand in his pocket, and gave it up; but had I said “Where is my knife?” or “Have you got my knife?” I should never have seen it again.
To get on with Persians it is necessary to be smart and unscrupulous to a certain extent. Their own proverb is; “Better is a lie which causes joy, than truth which produces grief.” See the first tale in Sāadi. I am afraid my “as directed” was an acted lie. But then Sāadi is a high authority.