rkey in Asia is called Armenia. There are many high
mountains in Armenia, and one of them you would like to see very much. It
is the mountain on which Noah's ark rested after the flood. I mean
Ararat.[4]

It is a very high mountain with two peaks; and its highest peak is always
covered with snow. People say that no one ever climbed to the top of that
peak. I should think Noah's ark rested on a lower part of the mountain
between the two peaks, for it would have been very cold for Noah's
family on the snow-covered peak, and it would have been very difficult
for them to get down. How pleasant it must be to stand on the side of
Ararat, and to think, "Here my great father Noah stood, and my great
mother, Noah's wife; here they saw the earth in all its greenness, just
washed with the waters of the flood, and here they rejoiced and praised
God."

I am glad to say that all the Armenians are not Mahomedans. Many are
Christians, but, alas! they know very little about Christ except his
name. I will tell you a short anecdote to show how ignorant they are.

Once a traveller went to see an old church in Armenia called the Church
of Forty Steps, because there are forty steps to reach it: for it is
built on the steep banks of a river.

The traveller found the churchyard full of boys. This churchyard was
their school-room. And what were their books? The grave-stones that lay
flat upon the ground. Four priests were teaching the boys. These priests
wore black turbans; while Turkish Imams wear white turbans. One of these
Armenian priests led the traveller to an upper room, telling him he had
something very wonderful to show him. What could it be? The priest went
to a nacho in the wall and took out of it a bundle; then untied a silk
handkerchief, and then another, and then another; till he had untied
twenty-five silk handkerchiefs. What was the precious thing so carefully
wrapped up? It was a New Testament.

It is a precious book indeed: but it ought to be read, and not wrapped
up. The priest praised it, saying, "This is a wonderful book; it has
often been laid upon sick persons, and has cured them." Then a poor old
man, bent and tottering, pressed forward to kiss the book, and to rub his
heavy head. This was worshipping the _book_, instead of Him who wrote it.

An Armenian village looks like a number of molehills: for the dwellings
are holes dug in the ground with low stone walls round the holes; the
roof is made of branches of trees