parkling
villages, while Khania, in the center, grew into distinctness--a
picturesque jumble of mosques, old Venetian arches and walls, pink and
yellow buildings, and palm trees. The character of the scene was Syrian
rather than Greek, being altogether richer and warmer than anything in
Greece.

Khania occupies the site of the ancient Cydonia, by which name the Greek
bishopric is still called. The Venetian city was founded in 1252, and
any remnants of the older town which may have then remained, were quite
obliterated by it. The only ruins now are those of Venetian churches,
some of which have been converted into mosques, and a number of immense
arched vaults, opening on the harbor, built to shelter the galleys of
the Republic. Just beyond the point on which stands the Serai, I counted
fifteen of these, side by side, eleven of which are still entire. A
little further, there are three more, but all are choked up with sand,
and of no present use. The modern town is an exact picture of a Syrian
seaport, with its narrow, crooked streets, shaded bazaars, and turbaned
merchants. Its population is 9,500, including the garrison, according to
a census just completed at the time of our visit. It is walled, and the
gates are closed during the night....

Passing through the large Turkish cemetery, which was covered with an
early crop of blue anemones, we came upon the rich plain of Khania,
lying broad and fair, like a superb garden, at the foot of the White
Mountains, whose vast masses of shining snow filled up the entire
southern heaven. Eastward, the plain slopes to the deep Bay of Suda,
whose surface shone blue above the silvery line of the olive groves;
while, sixty miles away, rising high above the intermediate headlands,
the solitary peak of Mount Ida, bathed in a warm afternoon glow, gleamed
like an Olympian mount, not only the birthplace, but the throne of
immortal Jove. Immense olive trees from the dark-red, fertile earth;
cypresses and the canopied Italian pine interrupted their gray monotony,
and every garden hung the golden lamps of its oranges over the wall. The
plain is a paradise of fruitfulness....

In the morning, the horses were brought to us at an early hour, in
charge of a jolly old officer of gendarmes, who was to accompany us. As
far as the village of Kalepa, there is a carriage road; afterward, only
a stony path. From the spinal ridge of the promontory, which we crossed,
we overlooked all the plain of Khan