oads went winding away to other gardens and
villages in the distance. The mountains of Phrygia, through which we had
passed, were the loftiest in the circle that inclosed the valley. The city
at our feet presented a thick array of red-tiled roofs, out of which rose
here and there the taper shaft of a minaret, or the dome of a mosque or
bath. From the southern side of the citadel, we looked down into the gorge
which supplies Kiutahya with water--a wild, desert landscape of white
crags and shattered peaks of gray rock, hanging over a narrow winding bed
of the greenest foliage.

Instead of taking the direct road to Brousa, we decided to make a detour
of two days, in order to visit the ruins of the old Greek city of
OEzani, which are thirty-six miles south of Kiutahya. Leaving at
noon, we ascended the gorge behind the city, by delightfully embowered
paths, at first under the eaves of superb walnut-trees, and then through
wild thickets of willow, hazel, privet, and other shrubs, tangled
together with the odorous white honeysuckle. Near the city, the
mountain-sides were bare white masses of gypsum and other rock, in many
places with the purest chrome-yellow hue; but as we advanced they were
clothed to the summit with copsewood. The streams that foamed down these
perennial heights were led into buried channels, to come to light again in
sparkling fountains, pouring into ever-full stone basins. The day was cool
and cloudy, and the heavy shadows which hung on the great sides of the
mountain gateway, heightened, by contrast, the glory of the sunlit plain
seen through them.

After passing the summit ridge, probably 5,000 feet above the sea, we came
upon a wooded, hilly region, stretching away in long misty lines to Murad
Dagh, whose head was spotted with snow. There were patches of wheat and
rye in the hollows, and the bells of distant herds tinkled occasionally
among the trees. There was no village on the road, and we were on the way
to one which we saw in the distance, when we came upon a meadow of good
grass, with a small stream running through it. Here we encamped, sending
Achmet, the katurgee, to the village for milk and eggs. The ewes had just
been milked for the suppers of their owners, but they went over the flock
again, stripping their udders, which greatly improved the quality of the
milk. The night was so cold that I could scarcely sleep during the morning
hours. There was a chill, heavy dew on the meadow; but when Fran