s these wandering tribes
are very strict in keeping Ramazan. When we had reached our dessert--a
plate of fine cherries--another white-bearded and dignified gentleman
visited us. We handed him the cherries, expecting that he would take a few
and politely return the dish: but no such thing. He coolly produced his
handkerchief, emptied everything into it, and marched off. He also did not
venture to eat, although we pointed to the Taurus, on whose upper snows
the last gleam of daylight was just melting away.

We arose this morning in a dark, cloudy dawn. There was a heavy black
storm hanging low in the west, and another was gathering its forces along
the mountains behind us. A cold wind blew down the valley, and long peals
of thunder rolled grandly among the gorges of Taurus. An isolated hill,
crowned with a shattered crag which bore a striking resemblance to a
ruined fortress, stood out black and sharp against the far, misty, sunlit
peaks. As far as the springs were yet undried, the land was covered with
flowers. In one place I saw a large square plot of the most brilliant
crimson hue, burning amid the green wheat-fields, as if some Tyrian mantle
had been flung there. The long, harmonious slopes and rounded summits of
the hills were covered with drifts of a beautiful purple clover, and a
diminutive variety of the _achillea_, or yarrow, with glowing yellow
blossoms. The leaves had a pleasant aromatic odor, and filled the air with
their refreshing breath, as they were crushed under the hoofs of our
horses.

We had now reached the highest ridge of the hilly country along the
northern base of Taurus, and saw, far and wide before us, the great
central plain of Karamania. Two isolated mountains, at forty or fifty
miles distance, broke the monotony of the desert-like level: Kara Dagh in
the west, and the snow-capped summits of Hassan Dagh in the north-east.
Beyond the latter, we tried to catch a glimpse of the famous Mons Argseus,
at the base of which is Kaisariyeh, the ancient Caesarea of Cappadocia.
This mountain, which is 13,000 feet high, is the loftiest peak of Asia
Minor. The clouds hung low on the horizon, and the rains were falling,
veiling it from our sight.

Our road, for the remainder of the day, was over barren hills, covered
with scanty herbage. The sun shone out intensely hot, and the glare of the
white soil was exceedingly painful to my eyes. The locality of Eregli was
betrayed, some time before we reached it, by