cois awoke
me at sunrise, the sky was splendidly clear and pure, and the early beams
had a little warmth in them. Our coffee, before starting, made with
sheep's milk, was the richest I ever drank.

After riding for two hours across broad, wild ridges, covered with cedar,
we reached a height overlooking the valley of the Rhyndacus, or rather the
plain whence he draws his sources--a circular level, ten or twelve miles
in diameter, and contracting towards the west into a narrow dell, through
which his waters find outlet; several villages, each embowered in gardens,
were scattered along the bases of the hills that inclose it. We took the
wrong road, but were set aright by a herdsman, and after threading a lane
between thriving grain-fields, were cheered by the sight of the Temple of
OEzani, lifted on its acropolis above the orchards of Chavduer, and
standing out sharp and clear against the purple of the hills.

Our approach to the city was marked by the blocks of sculptured marble
that lined the way: elegant mouldings, cornices, and entablatures, thrown
together with common stone to make walls between the fields. The village
is built on both sides of the Rhyndacus; it is an ordinary Turkish hamlet,
with tiled roofs and chimneys, and exhibits very few of the remains of the
old city in its composition. This, I suspect, is owing to the great size
of the hewn blocks, especially of the pillars, cornices, and entablatures,
nearly all of which are from twelve to fifteen feet long. It is from the
size and number of these scattered blocks, rather than from the buildings
which still partially exist, that one obtains an idea of the size and
splendor of the ancient OEzani. The place is filled with fragments,
especially of columns, of which there are several hundred, nearly all
finely fluted. The Rhyndacus is still spanned by an ancient bridge of
three arches, and both banks are lined with piers of hewn stone. Tall
poplars and massy walnuts of the richest green shade the clear waters, and
there are many picturesque combinations of foliage and ruin--death and
life--which would charm a painter's eye. Near the bridge we stopped to
examine a pile of immense fragments which have been thrown together by the
Turks--pillars, cornices, altars, pieces of a frieze, with bulls' heads
bound together by hanging garlands, and a large square block, with a
legible tablet. It resembled an altar in form, and, from the word
"_Artemidoron_" appeared to have