water, gushing up
beside the road. I believe it is the same called by some travellers the
Fountain of Midas, but am ignorant wherefore the name is given it. We rode
for several hours through a succession of grand, rich landscapes. A
smaller lake succeeded to that of Ak-Sheher, Emir Dagh rose higher in the
pale-blue sky, and Sultan Dagh showed other peaks, broken and striped with
snow; but around us were the same glorious orchards and gardens, the same
golden-green wheat and rustling phalanxes of poppies--armies of vegetable
Round-heads, beside the bristling and bearded Cavaliers. The sun was
intensely hot during the afternoon, as we crossed the plain, and I became
so drowsed that it required an agony of exertion to keep from tumbling off
my horse. We here left the great post-road to Constantinople, and took a
less frequented track. The plain gradually became a meadow, covered with
shrub cypress, flags, reeds, and wild water-plants. There were vast wastes
of luxuriant grass, whereon thousands of black buffaloes were feeding. A
stone causeway, containing many elegant fragments of ancient sculpture,
extended across this part of the plain, but we took a summer path beside
it, through beds of iris in bloom--a fragile snowy blossom, with a lip of
the clearest golden hue. The causeway led to a bare salt plain, beyond
which we came to the town of Bolawaduen, and terminated our day's journey
of forty miles.

Bolawaduen is a collection of mud houses, about a mile long, situated on an
eminence at the western base of Emir Dagh. I went into the bazaar, which
was a small place, and not very well supplied, though, as it was near
sunset, there was quite a crowd of people, and the bakers were shovelling
out their fresh bread at a brisk rate. Every one took me for a good
Egyptian Mohammedan, and I was jostled right and left among the turbans,
in a manner that certainly would not have happened me had I not also worn
one. Mr. H., who had fallen behind the caravan, came up after we had
encamped, and might have wandered a long time without finding us, but for
the good-natured efforts of the inhabitants to set him aright. This
evening he knocked over a hedgehog, mistaking it for a cat. The poor
creature was severely hurt, and its sobs of distress, precisely like those
of a little child, were to painful to hear, that we were obliged to have
it removed from the vicinity of the tent.

Chapter XXII

The Forests of Phrygia.

The Fro