e treading out and winnowing the grain. Over
these bright, busy scenes, rose the lesser heights of the Taurus, and
beyond them, mingled in white clouds, the snows of the crowning range.

The road to Tarsus, which is eight hours distant, lies over an unbroken
plain. Towards the sea, there are two tumuli, resembling those on the
plains east of Antioch. Stone wells, with troughs for watering horses,
occur at intervals of three or four miles; but there is little cultivation
after leaving the vicinity of Adana. The sun poured down an intense summer
heat, and hundreds of large gad-flies, swarming around us, drove the
horses wild with their stings. Towards noon, we stopped at a little
village for breakfast. We took possession of a shop, which the
good-natured merchant offered us, and were about to spread our provisions
upon the counter, when the gnats and mosquitoes fairly drove us away. We
at once went forward in search of a better place, which gave occasion to
our chief mukkairee, Hadji Youssuf, for a violent remonstrance. The terms
of the agreement at Aleppo gave the entire control of the journey into our
own hands, and the Hadji now sought to violate it. He protested against
our travelling more than six hours a day, and conducted himself so
insolently, that we threatened to take him before the Pasha of Tarsus.
This silenced him for the time; but we hate him so cordially since then,
that I foresee we shall have more trouble. In the afternoon, a gust,
sweeping along the sides of Taurus, cooled the air and afforded us a
little relief.

By three o'clock we reached the River Cydnus, which is bare of trees on
its eastern side, but flows between banks covered with grass and shrubs.
It is still spanned by the ancient bridge, and the mules now step in the
hollow ruts worn long ago by Roman and Byzantine chariot wheels. The
stream is not more than thirty yards broad, but has a very full and rapid
current of a bluish-white color, from the snows which feed it. I rode down
to the brink and drank a cup of the water. It was exceedingly cold, and I
do not wonder that a bath in it should have killed the Emperor Barbarossa.
From the top of the bridge, there is a lovely view, down the stream, where
it washes a fringe of willows and heavy fruit-trees on its western bank,
and then winds away through the grassy plain, to the sea. For once, my
fancy ran parallel with the inspiration of the scene. I could think of
nothing but the galley of Cleopa