ive columns. The large dimensions of the building gave
it a truly grand effect, and but for the whine of a distant jackal I could
have believed that we were sitting in the aisles of a roofless Gothic
cathedral, in the heart of Europe. Francois was somewhat fearful of
thieves, but the peace and repose of the place we've so perfect that I
would not allow any such apprehensions to disturb me. In two minutes after
I touched my bed I was insensible, and I did not move a limb until
sunrise.

Beyond Kara-bounar, there is a low, barren ridge, climbing which, we
overlooked an immense plain, uncultivated, apparently unfertile, and
without a sign of life as far as the eye could reach. Kara Dagh, in the
south, lifted nearer us its cluster of dark summits; to the north, the
long ridge of Uesedjik Dagh (the Pigmy Mountain) stretched like a cape into
the plain; Hassan Dagh; wrapped in a soft white cloud, receded behind us,
and the snows of Taurus seemed almost as distant as when we first beheld
them from the Syrian Gates. We rode for four hours over the dead level,
the only objects that met our eyes being an occasional herd of camels in
the distance. About noon, we reached a well, similar to that of the
previous day, but of recent construction. A long, steep gallery led down
to the water, which was very cold, but had a villainous taste of lime,
salt, and sulphur.

After an hour's halt, we started again. The sun was intensely hot, and for
hours we jogged on over the dead level, the bare white soil blinding our
eyes with its glare. The distant hills were lifted above the horizon by a
mirage. Long sheets of blue water were spread along their bases, islanding
the isolated peaks, and turning into ships and boats the black specks of
camels far away. But the phenomena were by no means on so grand a scale as
I had seen in the Nubian Desert. On the south-western horizon, we
discerned the summits of the Karaman range of Taurus, covered with snow.
In the middle of the afternoon, we saw a solitary tent upon the plain,
from which an individual advanced to meet us. As he drew nearer, we
noticed that he wore white Frank pantaloons, similar to the Turkish
soldiery, with a jacket of brown cloth, and a heavy sabre. When he was
within convenient speaking distance, he cried out: "Stop! why are you
running away from me?" "What do you call running away?" rejoined Francois;
"we are going on our journey." "Where do you come from?" he then asked.
"From there