Scanner's Notes:This was scanned from an original edition, copyright 1887, 547 pages. It is as close as I could come in ASCII to the printed text. Scanning time: 15 hoursOCR time: 20+ hoursProof #1: 25 hoursProof #2: ? (A slow reading by a friend)

The numerous italics have been unfortunately omitted, and theconjoined '‘' have been changed to 'ae'; as well as others, similarly. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close aspossible to the printed text, including that of titles and headings. Theissue of end-of-line hyphenation was difficult, as normal usage in the1880's often hyphenated words which have since been concatenated. 

Stevens also used phonetic spelling and italics for much of the unfamiliarlanguage or dialects that he heard; a great deal of foreign words andphrases are also included and always italicized. A word which might seemmis-spelled, such as 'yaort', was originally in italics and was the 1886spelling of 'yogurt'. Many of the names of places and peoples have longsince changed and so are no longer easily referenced. 

The book is written in the common English of a San Francisco journalistof the era and so is filled with contemporaneous idioms and prejudices, as well as his own wry wit. 

One of the more unfortunate issues is the omission of the over 100illustrations of the original edition. I also elected to omit theinformative captions. I hope to make an HTML edition available athttp://rjs. Org/gutenberg/ which will include them. 

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuationerrors, or if you disagree with my formatting choices please feelfree to email me those errors: gutenburg@rjs. OrgThe space between the double quotes and the quoted text is sometimesomitted, usually included. This is an artifact of the OCR programinterpreting the small space in the original print, and if someone wants toremove the space from all of the quotes, I would be glad to see it. 

I have written a wxPython program to assist in converting raw OCR text tothe project's formatting, as well as general punctuation and spelling. Http://rjs. Org/gutenberg/OCR2Gutenberg/Code contributions/modifications are most welcome; it is a bit of a hack, but it reduced the proof time needed by more than what it took to write778 lines of code. 

Ray Schumacher

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 CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER I. PAGEOVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS, . . . . . 1

 CHAPTER II. OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA, . . . . 21

 CHAPTER III. THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES, . . 46

 CHAPTER IV. FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC, . . 70

 CHAPTER V. FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER, . . . 91

 CHAPTER VI. GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY, . . . . 121

 CHAPTER VII. THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA, . . . . 153

 CHAPTER VIII. BULGARIA, ROUMELIA, AND INTO TURKEY, . . . 184

 PREFACE. Shakespeare says, in All's Well that Ends Well, that "a goodtraveller is something at the latter end of a dinner;" and I never wasmore struck with the truth of this than when I heard Mr. Thomas Stevens, after the dinner given in his honor by the Massachusetts Bicycle Club, make a brief, off-hand report of his adventures. He seemed like JulesVerne, telling his own wonderful performances, or like a contemporarySinbad the Sailor. We found that modern mechanical invention, insteadof disenchanting the universe, had really afforded the means of exploringits marvels the more surely. Instead of going round the world with arifle, for the purpose of killing something, - or with a bundle of tracts, in order to convert somebody, - this bold youth simply went round the globeto see the people who were on it; and since he always had something toshow them as interesting as anything that they could show him, he madehis way among all nations. 

What he had to show them was not merely a man perched on a lofty wheel, as if riding on a soap-bubble; but he was also a perpetual object-lessonin what Holmes calls "genuine, solid old Teutonic pluck. " When thesoldier rides into danger he has comrades by his side, his country'scause to defend, his uniform to vindicate, and the bugle to cheer himon; but this solitary rider had neither military station, nor an oathof allegiance, nor comrades, nor bugle; and he went among men of unknownlanguages, alien habits and hostile faith with only his own tact andcourage to help him through. They proved sufficient, for he returnedalive. 

I have only read specimen chapters of this book, but find in them thesame simple and manly quality which attracted us all when Mr. Stevenstold his story in person. It is pleasant to know that while peace reignsin America, a young man can always find an opportunity to take his lifein his hand and originate some exploit as good as those of the much-wanderingUlysses. In the German story "Titan, " Jean Paul describes a manly youthwho "longed for an adventure for his idle bravery;" and it is pleasantto read the narrative of one who has quietly gone to work, in an honestway, to satisfy this longing. THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON. 

CAMBRIDGE, MASS. , April 10, 1887. 

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. 

CHAPTER I. 

OVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS. 

The beauties of nature are scattered with a more lavish hand across thecountry lying between the summit of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and theshores where the surf romps and rolls over the auriferous sands of thePacific, in Golden Gate Park, than in a journey of the same length inany other part of the world. Such, at least, is the verdict of many whosefortune it has been to traverse that favored stretch of country. Nothingbut the limited power of man's eyes prevents him from standing on thetop of the mountains and surveying, at a glance, the whole gloriouspanorama that stretches away for more than two hundred miles to the west, terminating in the gleaming waters of the Pacific Ocean. Could he dothis, he would behold, for the first seventy-five or eighty miles, avast, billowy sea of foot-hills, clothed with forests of sombre pine andbright, evergreen oaks; and, lower down, dense patches of white-blossomedchaparral, looking in the enchanted distance like irregular banks ofsnow. Then the world-renowned valley of the Sacramento River, with itslevel plains of dark, rich soil, its matchless fields of ripening grain, traversed here and there by streams that, emerging from the shadowydepths of the foot-hills, wind their way, like gleaming threads of silver, across the fertile plain and join the Sacramento, which receives them, one and all, in her matronly bosom and hurries with them øn to the sea. 

Towns and villages, with white church-spires, irregularly sprinkled overhill and vale, although sown like seeds from the giant hand of a mightyhusbandman, would be seen nestling snugly amid groves of waving shadeand semi-tropical fruit trees. Beyond all this the lower coast-range, where, toward San Francisco, Mount Diablo and Mount Tamalpais - grimsentinels of the Golden Gate - rear their shaggy heads skyward, and seemto look down with a patronizing air upon the less pretentious hills thatborder the coast and reflect their shadows in the blue water of SanFrancisco Bay. Upon the sloping sides of these hills sweet, nutritiousgrasses grow, upon which peacefully graze the cows that supply SanFrancisco with milk and butter. 

Various attempts have been made from time to time, by ambitious cyclers, to wheel across America from ocean to ocean; but - "Around the World!"

"The impracticable scheme of a visionary, " was the most charitableverdict one could reasonably have expected. 

The first essential element of success, however, is to have sufficientconfidence in one's self to brave the criticisms - to say nothing of thewitticisms - of a sceptical public. So eight o'clock on the morning ofApril 22, 1884, finds me and my fifty-inch machine on the deck of theAlameda, one of the splendid ferry-boats plying between San Franciscoand Oakland, and a ride of four miles over the sparkling waters of thebay lands us, twenty-eight minutes later, on the Oakland pier, that jutsfar enough out to allow the big ferries to enter the slip in deep water. On the beauties of San Francisco Bay it is, perhaps, needless to dwell, as everybody has heard or read of this magnificent sheet of water, itssurface flecked with snowy sails, and surrounded by a beautiful frameworkof evergreen hills; its only outlet to the ocean the famous Golden Gate - anarrow channel through which come and go the ships of all nations. 

With the hearty well-wishing of a small group of Oakland and 'Friscocyclers who have come, out of curiosity, to see the start, I mount andride away to the east, down San Pablo Avenue, toward the village of thesame Spanish name, some sixteen miles distant. The first seven miles area sort of half-macadamized road, and I bowl briskly along. 

The past winter has been the rainiest since 1857, and the continuouspelting rains had not beaten down upon the last half of this imperfectmacadam in vain; for it has left it a surface of wave-like undulations, from out of which the frequent bowlder protrudes its unwelcome head, asif ambitiously striving to soar above its lowly surroundings. But thisone don't mind, and I am perfectly willing to put up with the bowldersfor the sake of the undulations. The sensation of riding a small boatover "the gently-heaving waves of the murmuring sea" is, I think, oneof the pleasures of life; and the next thing to it is riding a bicycleover the last three miles of the San Pablo Avenue macadam as I found iton that April morning. 

The wave-like macadam abruptly terminates, and I find myself on a commondirt road. It is a fair road, however, and I have plenty of time to lookabout and admire whatever bits of scenery happen to come in view. Thereare few spots in the "Golden State" from which views of more or lessbeauty are not to be obtained; and ere I am a baker's dozen of milesfrom Oakland pier I find myself within an ace of taking an undesirableheader into a ditch of water by the road-side, while looking upon a scenethat for the moment completely wins me from my immediate surroundings. There is nothing particularly grand or imposing in the outlook here; butthe late rains have clothed the whole smiling face of nature with abright, refreshing green, that fails not to awaken a thrill of pleasurein the breast of one fresh from the verdureless streets of a large sea-port city. Broad fields of pale-green, thrifty-looking young wheat, anddarker-hued meads, stretch away on either side of the road; and awaybeyond to the left, through an opening in the hills, can be seen, asthrough a window, the placid waters of the bay, over whose glittering, sunlit surface white-winged, aristocratic yachts and the plebeian smacksof Greek and Italian fishermen swiftly glide, and fairly vie with eachother in giving the finishing touches to a picture. 

So far, the road continues level and fairly good; and, notwithstandingthe seductive pleasures of the ride over the bounding billows of thegently heaving macadam, the dalliance with the scenery, and the all toofrequent dismounts in deference to the objections of phantom-eyedroadsters, I pulled up at San Pablo at ten o'clock, having covered thesixteen miles in one hour and thirty-two minutes; though, of course, there is nothing speedy about this - to which desirable qualification, indeed, I lay no claim. 

Soon after leaving San Pablo the country gets somewhat "choppy, " andthe road a succession of short-hills, at the bottom of which modest-lookingmud-holes patiently await an opportunity to make one's acquaintance, orscraggy-looking, latitudinous washouts are awaiting their chance tocommit a murder, or to make the unwary cycler who should venture to "coast, "think he had wheeled over the tail of an earthquake. One neverminds a hilly road where one can reach the bottom with an impetus thatsends him spinning half-way up the next; but where mud-holes or washoutsresolutely "hold the fort" in every depression, it is different, andthe progress of the cycler is necessarily slow. I have set upon reachingSuisun, a point fifty miles along the Central Pacific Railway, to-night;but the roads after leaving San Pablo are anything but good, and the dayis warm, so six P. M. Finds me trudging along an unridable piece of roadthrough the low tuile swamps that border Suisun Bay. "Tuile" is thename given to a species of tall rank grass, or rather rush, that growsto the height of eight or ten feet, and so thick in places that it isdifficult to pass through, in the low, swampy grounds in this part ofCalifornia. These tuile swamps are traversed by a net-work of small, sluggish streams and sloughs, that fairly swarm with wild ducks andgeese, and justly entitle them to their local title of "the duck-hunters'paradise. " Ere I am through this swamp, the shades of night gatherominously around and settle down like a pall over the half-flooded flats;the road is full of mud-holes and pools of water, through which it isdifficult to navigate, and I am in something of a quandary. I am sweepingalong at the irresistible velocity of a mile an hour, and wondering howfar it is to the other end of the swampy road, when thrice welcome succorappears from a strange and altogether unexpected source. I had noticeda small fire, twinkling through the darkness away off in the swamp; andnow the wind rises and the flames of the small fire spread to the thickpatches of dead tuile. In a short time the whole country, including myroad, is lit up by the fierce glare of the blaze; so that I am enabledto proceed with little trouble. These tuiles often catch on fire in thefall and early winter, when everything is comparatively dry, and fairlyrival the prairie fires of the Western plains in the fierceness of theflames. 

The next morning I start off in a drizzling rain, and, after going sixteenmiles, I have to remain for the day at Elmira. Here, among other itemsof interest, I learn that twenty miles farther ahead the Sacramento Riveris flooding the country, and the only way I can hope to get through isto take to the Central Pacific track and cross over the six miles ofopen trestle-work that spans the Sacramento River and its broad bottom-lands, that are subject to the annual spring overflow. From Elmira my way leadsthrough a fruit and farming country that is called second to none in theworld. Magnificent farms line the road; at short intervals appear largewell-kept vineyards, in which gangs of Chinese coolies are hoeing andpulling weeds, and otherwise keeping trim. A profusion of peach, pear, and almond orchards enlivens the landscape with a wealth of pink andwhite blossoms, and fills the balmy spring air with a subtle, sensuousperfume that savors of a tropical clime. 

Already I realize that there is going to be as much "foot-riding" asanything for the first part of my journey; so, while halting for dinnerat the village of Davisville, I deliver my rather slight shoes over tothe tender mercies of an Irish cobbler of the old school, with carteblanche instructions to fit them out for hard service. While diligentlyhammering away at the shoes, the old cobbler grows communicative, andin almost unintelligible brogue tells a complicated tale of Irish life, out of which I can make neither head, tail, nor tale; though nodding andassenting to it all, to the great satisfaction of the loquacious manipulatorof the last, who in an hour hands over the shoes with the proud assertion, "They'll last yez, be jabbers, to Omaha. "

Reaching the overflowed country, I have to take to the trestle-work andbegin the tedious process of trundling along that aggravating roadway, where, to the music of rushing waters, I have to step from tie to tie, and bump, bump, bump, my machine along for six weary miles. The SacramentoRiver is the outlet for the tremendous volumes of water caused everyspring by the melting snows on the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and theselong stretches of open trestle have been found necessary to allow thewater to pass beneath. Nothing but trains are expected to cross thistrestle-work, and of course no provision is made for pedestrians. Theengineer of an approaching train sets his locomotive to tooting for allshe is worth as he sees a "strayed or stolen" cycler, slowly bumpingalong ahead of his train. But he has no need to slow up, for occasionalcross-beams stick out far enough to admit of standing out of reach, andwhen he comes up alongside, he and the fireman look out of the windowof the cab and see me squatting on the end of one of these handy beams, and letting the bicycle hang over. 

That night I stay in Sacramento, the beautiful capital of the GoldenState, whose well-shaded streets and blooming, almost tropical gardenscombine to form a city of quiet, dignified beauty, of which Californiansfeel justly proud. Three and a half miles east of Sacramento, the hightrestle bridge spanning the main stream of the American River has to becrossed, and from this bridge is obtained a remarkably fine view of thesnow-capped Sierras, the great barrier that separates the fertile valleysand glorious climate of California, from the bleak and barren sage-brushplains, rugged mountains, and forbidding wastes of sand and alkali, that, from the summit of the Sierras, stretch away to the eastward for over athousand miles. The view from the American River bridge is grand andimposing, encompassing the whole foot-hill country, which rolls in broken, irregular billows of forest-crowned hill and charming vale, upward andonward to the east, gradually getting more rugged, rocky, and immense, the hills changing to mountains, the vales to ca¤ons, until they terminatein bald, hoary peaks whose white rugged pinnacles seem to penetrate thesky, and stand out in ghostly, shadowy outline against the azure depthsof space beyond. 

After crossing the American River the character of the country changes, and I enjoy a ten-mile ride over a fair road, through one of thosesplendid sheep-ranches that are only found in California, and which havelong challenged the admiration of the world. Sixty thousand acres, Iam informed, is the extent of this pasture, all within one fence. Thesoft, velvety greensward is half-shaded by the wide-spreading branchesof evergreen oaks that singly and in small groups are scattered atirregular intervals from one end of the pasture to the other, giving itthe appearance of one of the old ancestral parks of England. As I bowlpleasantly along I involuntarily look about me, half expecting to seesome grand, stately old mansion peeping from among some one of thesplendid oak-groves; and when a jack-rabbit hops out and halts at twentypaces from my road, I half hesitate to fire at him, lest the noise ofthe report should bring out the vigilant and lynx-eyed game-keeper, andget me "summoned" for poaching. I remember the pleasant ten-mile ridethrough this park-like pasture as one of the brightest spots of the wholejourney across America. But "every rose conceals a thorn, " and pleasantpaths often load astray; when I emerge from the pasture I find myselfseveral miles off the right road and have to make my unhappy way acrosslots, through numberless gates and small ranches, to the road again. 

There seems to be quite a sprinkling of Spanish or Mexican rancherosthrough here, and after partaking of the welcome noon-tide hospitalityof one of the ranches, I find myself, before I realize it, illustratingthe bicycle and its uses, to a group of sombrero-decked rancheros anddarked-eyed se¤oritas, by riding the machine round and round on theirown ranch-lawn. It is a novel position, to say the least; and oftenafterward, wending my solitary way across some dreary Nevada desert, with no company but my own uncanny shadow, sharply outlined on the whitealkali by the glaring rays of the sun, my untrammelled thoughts wouldwander back to this scene, and I would grow "hot and cold by turns, " inmy uncertainty as to whether the bewitching smiles of the se¤oritas weresmiles of admiration, or whether they were simply "grinning" at thefigure I cut. While not conscious of having cut a sorrier figure thanusual on that occasion, somehow I cannot rid myself of an unhappy, ban-owing suspicion, that the latter comes nearer the truth than the former. 

The ground is gradually getting more broken; huge rocks intrude themselvesupon the landscape. At the town of Rocklin we are supposed to enter thefoot-hill country proper. Much of the road in these lower foot-hills isexcellent, being of a hard, stony character, and proof against the winterrains. Everybody who writes anything about the Golden State is expectedto say something complimentary - or otherwise, as his experience may seemto dictate - about the "glorious climate of California;" or else renderan account of himself for the slight, should he ever return, which heis very liable to do. For, no matter what he may say about it, the "glorious climate"generally manages to make one, ever after, somewhatdissatisfied with the extremes of heat and cold met with in less genialregions. This fact of having to pay my measure of tribute to the climateforces itself on my notice prominently here at Rocklin, because, in-directly, the "climate" was instrumental in bringing about a slightaccident, which, in turn, brought about the - to me - serious calamity ofsending me to bed without any supper. Rocklin is celebrated - and bycertain bad people, ridiculed - all over this part of the foot-hills forthe superabundance of its juvenile population. If one makes any inquisitiveremarks about this fact, the Rocklinite addressed will either blush orgrin, according to his temperament, and say, "It's the glorious climate. "A bicycle is a decided novelty up here, and, of course, the multitudinousyouth turn out in droves to see it. The bewildering swarms of these smallmountaineers distract my attention and cause me to take a header thattemporarily disables the machine. The result is, that, in order to reachthe village where I wish to stay over night, I have to "foot it" overfour miles of the best road I have found since leaving San Pablo, andlose my supper into the bargain, by procrastinating at the village smithy, so as to have my machine in trim, ready for an early start next morning. If the "glorious climate of California " is responsible for the exceedinglyhopeful prospects of Rocklin's future census reports, and the said livelyoutlook, materialized, is responsible for my mishap, then plainly thesaid "G. C. Of C. " is the responsible element in the case. I hope thiscompliment to the climate will strike the Californians as about thecorrect thing; but, if it should happen to work the other way, I beg ofthem at once to pour out the vials of their wrath on the heads of the'Frisco Bicycle Club, in order that their fury may be spent ere I againset foot on their auriferous soil. 

"What'll you do when you hit the snow?" is now a frequent question askedby the people hereabouts, who seem to be more conversant with affairspertaining to the mountains than they are of what is going on in thevalleys below. This remark, of course, has reference to the deep snowthat, toward the summits of the mountains, covers the ground to the depthof ten feet on the level, and from that to almost any depth where it hasdrifted and accumulated. I have not started out on this greatest of allbicycle tours without looking into these difficulties, and I remind themthat the long snow-sheds of the Central Pacific Railway make it possiblefor one to cross over, no matter how deep the snow may lie on the groundoutside. Some speak cheerfully of the prospects for getting over, butmany shake their heads ominously and say, "You'll never be able to makeit through. "

Rougher and more hilly become the roads as we gradually penetrate fartherand farther into the foot-hills. We are now in far-famed Placer County, and the evidences of the hardy gold diggers' work in pioneer days areall about us. In every gulch and ravine are to be seen broken and decayingsluice-boxes. Bare, whitish-looking patches of washed-out gravel showwhere a "claim " has been worked over and abandoned. In every directionare old water-ditches, heaps of gravel, and abandoned shafts - all telling, in language more eloquent than word or pen, of the palmy days of '49, and succeeding years; when, in these deep gulches, and on these yellowhills, thousands of bronzed, red-shirted miners dug and delved, and"rocked the cradle" for the precious yellow dust and nuggets. But allis now changed, and where were hundreds before, now only a few "oldtimers " roam the foot-hills, prospecting, and working over the oldclaims; but "dust, " "nuggets, " and "pockets " still form the burden ofconversation in the village barroom or the cross-roads saloon. Now andthen a "strike " is made by some lucky - or perhaps it turns out, unlucky -prospector. This for a few days kindles anew the slumbering spark of"gold fever" that lingers in the veins of the people here, ever readyto kindle into a flame at every bit of exciting news, in the way of alucky "find" near home, or new gold-fields in some distant land. Theseoccasions never fail to have their legitimate effect upon the businessof the bar where the "old-timers" congregate to learn the news; and, between drinks, yarns of the good old days of '49 and '50, of "streaksof luck, " of "big nuggets, " and "wild times, " are spun over and overagain. Although the palmy days of the "diggin's" are no more, yet thefinder of a "pocket" these days seems not a whit wiser than in the dayswhen "pockets" more frequently rewarded the patient prospector thanthey do now; and at Newcastle - a station near the old-time mining campsof Ophir and Gold Hill - I hear of a man who lately struck a "pocket, " outof which he dug forty thousand dollars; and forthwith proceeded to imitatehis reckless predecessors by going down to 'Frisco and entering upon acareer of protracted sprees and debauchery that cut short his earthlycareer in less than six months, and wafted his riotous spirit to wherethere are no more forty thousand dollar pockets, and no more 'Friscosin which to squander it. In this instance the "find" was clearly anunlucky one. Not quite so bad was the case of two others who, but a fewdays before my arrival, took out twelve hundred dollars; they simply, in the language of the gold fields "turned themselves loose, " "madethings hum, " and "whooped 'em up" around the bar-room of their villagefor exactly three days; when, "dead broke, " they took to the gulchesagain, to search for more. "Yer oughter hev happened through here withthat instrumint of yourn about that time, young fellow; yer might hevkept as full as a tick till they war busted, " remarked a slouchy-lookingold fellow whose purple-tinted nose plainly indicated that he had devoteda good part of his existence to the business of getting himself "fullas a tick" every time he ran across the chance. 

Quite a different picture is presented by an industrious old Mexican, whom I happen to see away down in the bottom of a deep ravine, alongwhich swiftly hurries a tiny stream. He is diligently shovelling dirtinto a rude sluice-box which he has constructed in the bed of the streamat a point where the water rushes swiftly down a declivity. Setting mybicycle up against a rock, I clamber down the steep bank to investigate. In tones that savor of anything but satisfaction with the result of hislabor, he informs me that he has to work "most infernal hard" to panout two dollars' worth of "dust" a day. "I have had to work over allthat pile of gravel you see yonder to clean up seventeen dollars' worthof dust, " further volunteered the old "greaser, " as I picked up a spareshovel and helped him remove a couple of bowlders that he was trying toroll out of his war. I condole with him at the low grade of the gravelhe is working, hope he may "strike it rich " one of these days, andtake my departure. 

Up here I find it preferable to keep the railway track, alongside ofwhich there are occasionally ridable side-paths; while on the wagon roadslittle or no riding can be done on account of the hills, and the stickynature of the red, clayey soil. From the railway track near Newcastleis obtained a magnificent view of the lower country, traversed duringthe last three days, with the Sacramento River winding its way throughits broad valley to the sea. Deep cuts and high embankments follow eachother in succession, as the road-bed is now broken through a hill, nowcarried across a deep gulch, and anon winds around the next hill andover another ravine. Before reaching Auburn I pass through "BloomerCut, " where perpendicular walls of bowlders loom up on both sides of thetrack looking as if the slightest touch or jar would unloose them andsend them bounding and crashing on the top of the passing train as itglides along, or drop down on the stray cycler who might venture through. On the way past Auburn, and on up to Clipper Gap, the dry, yellow dirtunder the overhanging rocks, and in the crevices, is so suggestive of "dust, " that I take a small prospecting glass, which I have in my tool-bag, and do a little prospecting; without, however, finding sufficient "color"to induce me to abandon my journey and go to digging. 

Before reaching Clipper Gap it begins to rain; while I am taking dinnerat that place it quits raining and begins to come down by buckets full, so that I have to lie over for the remainder of the day. The hills aroundClipper Gap are gay and white with chaparral blossom, which gives thewhole landscape a pleasant, gala-day appearance. It rains all the evening, and at night turns to heavy, damp snow, which clings to the trees andbushes. In the morning the landscape, which a few hours before was whitewith chaparral bloom, is now even more white with the bloom of the snow. My hostelry at Clipper Gap is a kind of half ranch, half roadside inn, down in a small valley near the railway; and mine host, a jovial Irishblade of the good old "Donnybrook Fair" variety, who came here in 1851, during the great rush to the gold fields, and, failing to make his fortunein the "diggings, " wisely decided to send for his family and settledown quietly on a piece of land, in preference to returning to the "ouldsod. "He turns out to be a "bit av a sphort meself, " and, aftershowing me a number of minor pets and favorites, such as game chickens, Brahma geese, and a litter of young bull pups, he proudly leads the wayto the barn to show me "Barney, " his greatest pet of all, whom he atpresent keeps securely tied up for safe-keeping. More than one evil-mindedperson has a hankering after Barney's gore since his last battle for thechampionship of Placer County, he explains, in which he inflicted severepunishment on his adversary and resolutely refused to give in; althoughhis opponent on this important occasion was an imported dog, broughtinto the county by Barney's enemies, who hoped to fill their pockets bybetting against the local champion. But Barney, who is a medium-sized, ferocious-looking bull terrier, "scooped"the crowd backing the importeddog, to the extent of their "pile, " by "walking all round" his adversary;and thereby stirring up the enmity of said crowd against himself, who - sosays Barney's master - have never yet been able to scare up a dog able to"down" Barney. As we stand in the barn-door Barney eyes me suspiciously, and then looks at his master; but luckily for me his master fails togive the word. Noticing that the dog is scarred and seamed all over, Iinquire the reason, and am told that he has been fighting wild boars inthe chaparral, of which gentle pastime he is extremely fond. "Yes, andhe'll tackle a cougar too, of which there are plenty of them around here, if that cowardly animal would only keep out of the trees, " admiringlycontinues mine host, as he orders Barney into his empty salt-barrelagain. 

To day is Sunday, and it rains and snows with little interruption, sothat I am compelled to stay over till Monday morning. While it is rainingat Clipper Gap, it is snowing higher up in the mountains, and a railwayemployee 'volunteers the cheering information that, during the winter, the snow has drifted and accumulated in the sheds, so that a train canbarely squeeze through, leaving no room for a person to stand to oneside. I have my own ideas of whether this state of affairs is probableor not, however, and determine to pay no heed to any of these rumors, but to push ahead. So I pull out on Monday morning and take to therailway-track again, which is the only passable road since the tremendousdownpour of the last two days. 

The first thing I come across is a tunnel burrowing through a hill. Thistunnel was originally built the proper size, but, after being walled up, there were indications of a general cave-in; so the company had to goto work and build another thick rock-wall inside the other, which leavesbarely room for the trains to pass through without touching the sides. It is anything but an inviting path around the hill; but it is far thesafer of the two. Once my foot slips, and I unceremoniously sit down andslide around in the soft yellow clay, in my frantic endeavors to keepfrom slipping down the hill. This hardly enhances my personal appearance;but it doesn't matter much, as I am where no one can see, and a clay-besmeared individual is worth a dozen dead ones. Soon I am on the trackagain, briskly trudging up the steep grade toward the snow-line, whichI can plainly see, at no great distance ahead, through the windingsaround the mountains. 

All through here the only riding to be done is along occasional shortstretches of difficult path beside the track, where it happens to be ahard surface; and on the plank platforms of the stations, where I generallytake a turn or two to satisfy the consuming curiosity of the miners, whocan't imagine how anybody can ride a thing that won't stand alone; atthe same time arguing among themselves as to whether I ride along on oneof the rails, or bump along over the protruding ties. 

This morning I follow the railway track around the famous "Cape Horn, "a place that never fails to photograph itself permanently upon the memoryof all who once see it. For scenery that is magnificently grand andpicturesque, the view from where the railroad track curves around CapeHorn is probably without a peer on the American continent. 

When the Central Pacific Railway company started to grade their road-bedaround here, men were first swung over this precipice from above withropes, until they made standing room for themselves; and then a narrowledge was cut on the almost perpendicular side of the rocky mountain, around which the railway now winds. 

Standing on this ledge, the rocks tower skyward on one side of the trackso close as almost to touch the passing train; and on the other is asheer precipice of two thousand five hundred feet, where one can standon the edge and see, far below, the north fork of the American River, which looks like a thread of silver laid along the narrow valley, andsends up a far-away, scarcely perceptible roar, as it rushes and rumblesalong over its rocky bed. The railroad track is carefully looked afterat this point, and I was able, by turning round and taking the downgrade, to experience the novelty of a short ride, the memory of whichwill be ever welcome should one live to be as old as "the oldestinhabitant. " The scenery for the next few miles is glorious; the grandand imposing mountains are partially covered with stately pines down totheir bases, around which winds the turbulent American River, receivingon its boisterous march down the mountains tribute from hundreds ofsmaller streams and rivulets, which come splashing and dashing out ofthe dark ca¤ons and crevasses of the mighty hills. 

The weather is capricious, and by the time I reach Dutch Flat, ten mileseast of Cape Horn, the floodgates of heaven are thrown open again, andless than an hour succeeds in impressing Dutch Flat upon my memory as aplace where there is literally "water, water, everywhere, but not adrop to -;" no, I cannot finish the quotation. What is the use of lying'. There is plenty to drink at Dutch Flat; plenty of everything. 

But there is no joke about the water; it is pouring in torrents fromabove; the streets are shallow streams; and from scores of ditches andgullies comes the merry music of swiftly rushing waters, while, to crownall, scores of monster streams are rushing with a hissing sound from themouths of huge pipes or nozzles, and playing against the surroundinghills; for Dutch Flat and neighboring camps are the great centre ofhydraulic mining operations in California at the present day. Streamsof water, higher lip the mountains, are taken from their channels andconducted hither through miles of wooden flumes and iron piping; andfrom the mouths of huge nozzles are thrown with tremendous force againstthe hills, literally mowing them down. The rain stops as abruptly as itbegan. The sun shines out clear and warm, and I push ahead once more. 

Gradually I have been getting up into the snow, and ever and anon amuffled roar comes booming and echoing over the mountains like the soundof distant artillery. It is the sullen noise of monster snow-slides amongthe deep, dark ca¤ons of the mountains, though a wicked person at GoldRun winked at another man and tried to make me believe it was the grizzlies"going about the mountains like roaring lions, seeking whom they mightdevour. " The giant voices of nature, the imposing scenery, the gloomypine forests which have now taken the place of the gay chaparral, combineto impress one who, all alone, looks and listens with a realizing senseof his own littleness. What a change has come over the whole face ofnature in a few days' travel. But four days ago I was in the semi-tropicalSacramento Valley; now gaunt winter reigns supreme, and the only vegetationis the hardy pine. 

This afternoon I pass a small camp of Digger Indians, to whom my bicycleis as much a mystery as was the first locomotive; yet they scarcely turntheir uncovered heads to look; and my cheery greeting of "How, " scarceelicits a grunt and a stare in reply. Long years of chronic hunger andwretchedness have well-nigh eradicated what little energy these Diggersever possessed. The discovery of gold among their native mountains hasbeen their bane; the only antidote the rude grave beneath the pine andthe happy hunting-grounds beyond. 

The next morning finds me briskly trundling through the great, gloomysnow-sheds that extend with but few breaks for the next forty miles. When I emerge from them on the other end I shall be over the summit andwell down the eastern slope of the mountains. These huge sheds have beenbuilt at great expense to protect the track from the vast quantities ofsnow that fall every winter on these mountains. They wind around themountain-sides, their roofs built so slanting that the mighty avalancheof rock and snow that comes thundering down from above glides harmlesslyover, and down the chasm on the other side, while the train glides alongunharmed beneath them. The section-houses, the water-tanks, stations, and everything along here are all under the gloomy but friendly shelterof the great protecting sheds. Fortunately I find the difficulties ofgetting through much less than I had been led by rumors to anticipate;and although no riding can be done in the sheds, I make very good progress, and trudge merrily along, thankful of a chance to get over the mountainswithout having to wait a month or six weeks for the snow outside todisappear. At intervals short breaks occur in the sheds, where the trackruns over deep gulch or ravine, and at one of these openings the sinuousstructure can be traced for quite a long distance, winding its tortuousway around the rugged mountain sides, and through the gloomy pine forest, all but buried under the snow. It requires no great effort of the mindto imagine it to be some wonderful relic of a past civilization, when aventuresome race of men thus dared to invade these vast wintry solitudesand burrow their way through the deep snow, like moles burrowing throughthe loose earth. Not a living thing is in sight, and the only sounds theoccasional roar of a distant snow-slide, and the mournful sighing of thebreeze as it plays a weird, melancholy dirge through the gently swayingbranches of the tall, sombre pines, whose stately trunks are half buriedin the omnipresent snow. To-night I stay at the Summit Hotel, seventhousand and seventeen feet above the level of the sea. The "Summit"is nothing if not snowy, and I am told that thirty feet on the level isno unusual thing up here. Indeed, it looks as if snow-balling on the "Glorious Fourth" were no great luxury at the Summit House; yetnotwithstanding the decidedly wintry aspect of the Sierras, the lowtemperature of the Rockies farther east is unknown; and although thereis snow to the right, snow to the left, snow all around, and ice underfoot, I travel all through the gloomy sheds in my shirt-sleeves, withbut a gossamer rubber coat thrown over my shoulders to keep off the snow-water which is constantly melting and dripping through the roof, makingit almost like going through a shower of rain. Often, when it is warmand balmy outside, it is cold and frosty under the sheds, and the drippingwater, falling among the rocks and timbers, freezes into all manner offantastic shapes. Whole menageries of ice animals, birds and all imaginableobjects, are here reproduced in clear crystal ice, while in many placesthe ground is covered with an irregular coating of the same, that oftenhas to be chipped away from the rails. 

East of the summit is a succession of short tunnels, the space betweenbeing covered with snow-shed; and when I came through, the openings andcrevices through which the smoke from the engines is wont to make itsescape, and through which a few rays of light penetrate the gloomyinterior, are blocked up with snow, so that it is both dark and smoky;and groping one's way with a bicycle over the rough surface is anythingbut pleasant going. But there is nothing so bad, it seems, but that itcan get a great deal worse; and before getting far, I hear an approachingtrain and forthwith proceed to occupy as small an amount of space aspossible against the side, while three laboriously puffing engines, tugging a long, heavy freight train up the steep grade, go past. Thesethree puffing, smoke-emitting monsters fill every nook and corner of thetunnel with dense smoke, which creates a darkness by the side of whichthe natural darkness of the tunnel is daylight in comparison. Here is adarkness that can be felt; I have to grope my way forward, inch by inch;afraid to set my foot down until I have felt the place, for fear ofblundering into a culvert; at the same time never knowing whether thereis room, just where I am, to get out of the way of a train. A cyclometerwouldn't have to exert itself much through here to keep tally of therevolutions; for, besides advancing with extreme caution, I pause everyfew steps to listen; as in the oppressive darkness and equally oppressivesilence the senses are so keenly on the alert that the gentle rattle ofthe bicycle over the uneven surface seems to make a noise that wouldprevent me hearing an approaching train. This finally comes to am end;and at the opening in the sheds I climb up into a pine-tree to obtaina view of Donner Lake, called the "Gem of the Sierras. " It is a lovelylittle lake, and amid the pines, and on its shores occurred one of themost pathetically tragic events of the old emigrant days. Briefly related: A small party of emigrants became snowed in while camped at the lake, and when, toward spring, a rescuing party reached the spot, the lastsurvivor of the partly, crazed with the fearful suffering he had under-gone, was sitting on a log, savagely gnawing away at a human arm, thelast remnant of his companions in misery, off whose emaciated carcasseshe had for some time been living!

My road now follows the course of the Truckee River down the easternslope of the Sierras, and across the boundary line into Nevada. TheTruckee is a rapid, rollicking stream from one end to the other, andaffords dam-sites and mill-sites without limit. There is little ridableroad down the Truckee ca¤on; but before reaching "Verdi, a station a fewmiles over the Nevada line, I find good road, and ride up and dismountat the door of the little hotel as coolly as if I had rode without adismount all the way from 'Frisco. Here at Verdi is a camp of WashoeIndians, who at once showed their superiority to the Diggers by clusteringaround and examining; the bicycle with great curiosity. Verdi is lessthan forty miles from the summit of the Sierras, and from the porch ofthe hotel I can see the snow-storm still fiercely raging up in the placewhere I stood a few hours ago; yet one can feel that he is already in adryer and altogether different climate. The great masses of clouds, travelling inward from the coast with their burdens of moisture, likemessengers of peace with presents to a far country, being unable tosurmount the great mountain barrier that towers skyward across theirpath, unload their precious cargoes on the mountains; and the parchedplains of Nevada open their thirsty mouths in vain. At Verdi I bid good-byto the Golden State and follow the course of the sparkling Truckee towardthe Forty-mile Desert. 

CHAPTER II. 

OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 

Gradually I leave the pine-clad slopes of the Sierras behind, and everyrevolution of my wheel reveals scenes that constantly remind me that Iam in the great "Sage-brush State. " How appropriate indeed is the name. Sage-brush is the first thing seen on entering Nevada, almost the onlyvegetation seen while passing through it, and the last thing seen onleaving it. Clear down to the edge of the rippling waters of the Truckee, on the otherwise barren plain, covering the elevated table-lands, up thehills, even to the mountain-tops-everywhere, everywhere, nothing butsagebrush. In plain view to the right, as I roll on toward Reno, are themountains on which the world-renowned Comstock lode is situated, andReno was formerly the point from which this celebrated mining-camp wasreached. 

Before reaching Reno I meet a lone Washoe Indian; he is riding a diminutive, scraggy-looking mustang. One of his legs is muffled up in a red blanket, and in one hand he carries a rudely-invented crutch. "How will you tradehorses?" I banteringly ask as we meet in the road; and I dismount foran interview, to find out what kind of Indians these Washoes are. To myfriendly chaff he vouchsafes no reply, but simply sits motionless on hispony, and fixes a regular "Injun stare" on the bicycle. "What's thematter with your leg?" I persist, pointing at the blanket-be-muffledmember. 

"Heap sick foot" is the reply, given with the characteristic brevityof the savage; and, now that the ice of his aboriginal reserve is broken, he manages to find words enough to ask me for tobacco. I have no tobacco, but the ride through the crisp morning air has been productive of asurplus amount of animal spirits, and I feel like doing something funny;so I volunteer to cure his " sick foot" by sundry dark and mysteriousmanoeuvres, that I unbiushingly intimate are "heap good medicine. " Withowlish solemnity my small monkey-wrench is taken from the tool-bag andwaved around the " sick foot" a few times, and the operation is completedby squirting a few drops from my oil-can through a hole in the blanket. Before going I give him to understand that, in order to have the "goodmedicine " operate to his advantage, he will have to soak his copper-coloredhide in a bath every morning for a week, flattering myself that, whilemy mystic manoauvres will do him no harm, the latter prescription willcertainly do him good if he acts on it, which, however, is extremelydoubtful. Boiling into Reno at 10. 30 A. M. The characteristic whiskey-straight hospitality of the Far West at once asserts itself, and oneindividual with sporting proclivities invites me to stop over a day ortwo and assist him to "paint Reno red " at his expense. Leaving Reno, my route leads through the famous Truckee meadows - a strip of very goodagricultural land, where plenty of money used to be made by raisingproduce for the Virginia City market. " But there's nothing in it anymore, since the Comstock's played out, " glumly remarks a ranchman, atwhose place I get dinner. "I'll take less for my ranch now than I wasoffered ten years ago, " he continues. 

The " meadows" gradually contract, and soon after dinner I find myselfagain following the Truckee down a narrow space between mountains, whosevolcanic-looking rocks are destitute of all vegetation save stunted sage-brush. All down here the road is ridable in patches; but many dismountshave to be made, and the walking to be done aggregates at least one-thirdof the whole distance travelled during the day. Sneakish coyotes prowlabout these mountains, from whence they pay neighborly visits to thechicken-roosts of the ranchers in the Truckee meadows near by. Towardnight a pair of these animals are observed following behind at therespectful distance of five hundred yards. One need not be apprehensiveof danger from these contemptible animals, however; they are simplyfollowing behind in a frame of mind similar to that of a hungry school-boy'swhen gazing longingly into a confectioner's window. Still, night isgathering around, and it begins to look as though I will have to pillowmy head on the soft side of a bowlder, and take lodgings on the footstepsof a bald mountain to-night; and it will scarcely invite sleep to knowthat two pairs of sharp, wolfish eyes are peering wistfully through thedarkness at one's prostrate form, and two red tongues are licking aboutin hungry anticipation of one's blood. Moreover, these animals have anunpleasant habit of congregating after night to pay their complimentsto the pale moon, and to hold concerts that would put to shame a wholeregiment of Kilkenny cats; though there is but little comparison betweenthe two, save that one howls and the other yowls, and either is equallyeffective in driving away the drowsy Goddess. I try to draw these twoanimals within range of my revolver by hiding behind rocks; but they aretoo chary of their precious carcasses to take any risks, and the momentI disappear from their sight behind a rock they are on the alert, andlooking " forty ways at the same time, " to make sure that I am notcreeping up on them from some other direction. Fate, however, has decreedthat I am not to sleep out to-night - not quite out. A lone shanty loomsup through the gathering darkness, and I immediately turn my footstepsthitherwise. I find it occupied. I am all right now for the night. Holdon, though! not so fast. "There is many a slip, " etc. The little shanty, with a few acres of rather rocky ground, on the bank of the Truckee, ispresided over by a lonely bachelor of German extraction, who eyes mewith evident suspicion, as, leaning on my bicycle in front of his rudecabin door I ask to be accommodated for the night. Were it a man onhorseback, or a man with a team, this hermit-like rancher could satisfyhimself to some extent as to the character of his visitor, for he seesmen on horseback or men in wagons, on an average, perhaps, once a weekduring the summer, and can see plenty of them any day by going to Reno. But me and the bicycle he cannot "size up" so readily. He never sawthe like of us before, and we are beyond his Teutonic frontier-likecomprehension. He gives us up; he fails to solve the puzzle; he knowsnot how to unravel the mystery; and, with characteristic Teutonicbluntness, he advises us to push on through fifteen miles of rocks, sand, and darkness, to Wadsworth. The prospect of worrying my way, hungry andweary, through fifteen miles of rough, unknown country, after dark, loomsup as rather a formidable task. So summoning my reserve stock of persuasiveeloquence, backed up by sundry significant movements, such as settingthe bicycle up against his cabin-wall, and sitting down on a block ofwood under the window, I finally prevail upon him to accommodate me witha blanket on the floor of the shanty. He has just finished supper, andthe remnants of the frugal repast are still on the table; but he saysnothing about any supper for me: he scarcely feels satisfied with himselfyet: he feels that I have, in some mysterious manner, gained an unfairadvantage over him, and obtained a foothold in his shanty against hisown wish-jumped his claim, so to speak. Not that I think the man reallyinhospitable at heart; but he has been so habitually alone, away fromhis fellowmen so much, that the presence of a stranger in his cabin makeshim feel uneasy; and when that stranger is accompanied by a queer-lookingpiece of machinery that cannot stand alone, but which he neverthelesssays he rides on, our lonely rancher is perhaps not so much to be wonderedat, after all, for his absent-mindedness in regard to my supper. Hismind is occupied with other thoughts. "You couldn't accommodate a fellowwith a bite to eat, could you. " I timidly venture, after devouring whateatables are in sight, over and over again, with my eyes. "I have plentyof money to pay for any accommodation I get, " I think it policy to add, by way of cornering him up and giving him as little chance to refuse aspossible, for I am decidedly hungry, and if money or diplomacy, or both, will produce supper, I don't propose to go to bed supperless. I am notmuch surprised to see him bear out my faith in his innate hospitalityby apologizing for not thinking of my supper before, and insisting, against my expressed wishes, on lighting the fire and getting me a warmmeal of fried ham and coffee, for which I beg leave to withdraw anyunfavorable impressions in regard to him which my previous remarks maypossibly have made on the reader's mind. 

After supper he thaws out a little, and I wheedle out of him a part ofhis history. He settled on this spot of semi-cultivable land during theflush times on the Comstock, and used to prosper very well by raisingvegetables, with the aid of Truckee-River water, and hauling them to themining-camps; but the palmy days of the Comstock have departed and withthem our lonely rancher's prosperity. Mine host has barely blanketsenough for his own narrow bunk, and it is really an act of generosityon his part when he takes a blanket off his bed and invites me to extractwhat comfort I can get out of it for the night. Snowy mountains are roundabout, and curled up on the floor of the shanty, like a kitten under astove in mid-winter, I shiver the long hours away, and endeavor to feelthankful that it is no worse. 

For a short distance, next morning, the road is ridable, but nearingWadsworth it gets sandy, and " sandy, " in Nevada means deep, loose sand, in which one sinks almost to his ankles at every step, and where thepossession of a bicycle fails to awaken that degree of enthusiasm thatit does on a smooth, hard road. At Wadsworth I have to bid farewell tothe Truckee River, and start across the Forty-mile Desert, which liesbetween the Truckee and Humboldt Rivers. Standing on a sand-hill andlooking eastward across the dreary, desolate waste of sand, rocks, andalkali, it is with positive regret that I think of leaving the cool, sparkling stream that has been my almost constant companion for nearlya hundred miles. It has always been at hand to quench my thirst or furnisha refreshing bath. More than once have I beguiled the tedium of someuninteresting part of the journey by racing with some trifling objecthurried along on its rippling surface. I shall miss the murmuring musicof its dancing waters as one would miss the conversation of a companion. 

This Forty-mile Desert is the place that was so much dreaded by theemigrants en route to the gold-fields of California, there being not ablade of grass nor drop of water for the whole forty miles; nothing buta dreary waste of sand and rocks that reflects the heat of the sun, andrenders the desert a veritable furnace in midsummer; and the stock ofthe emigrants, worn out by the long journey from the States, would succumbby the score in crossing. Though much of the trail is totally unfit forcycling, there are occasional alkali flats that are smooth and hardenough to play croquet on; and this afternoon, while riding with carelessease across one of these places, I am struck with the novelty of thesituation. I am in the midst of the dreariest, deadest-looking countryimaginable. Whirlwinds of sand, looking at a distance like huge columnsof smoke, are wandering erratically over the plains in all directions. The blazing sun casts, with startling vividness on the smooth whitealkali, that awful scraggy, straggling shadow that, like a vengeful fate, always accompanies the cycler on a sunny day, and which is the bane ofa sensitive wheelman's life. The only representative of animated naturehereabouts is a species of small gray lizard that scuttles over the bareground with astonishing rapidity. Not even a bird is seen in the air. All living things seem instinctively to avoid this dread spot save thelizard. A desert forty miles wide is not a particularly large one; butwhen one is in the middle of it, it might as well be as extensive asSahara itself, for anything he can see to the contrary, and away off tothe right I behold as perfect a mirage as one could wish to see. A personcan scarce help believing his own eyes, and did one not have some knowledgeof these strange and wondrous phenomena, one's orbs of vision wouldindeed open with astonishment; for seemingly but a few miles away is abeautiful lake, whose shores are fringed with wavy foliage, and whosecool waters seem to lave the burning desert sands at its edge. 

A short distance to the right of Hot Springs Station broken clouds ofsteam are seen rising from the ground, as though huge caldrons of waterwere being heated there. Going to the spot I find, indeed, " caldronsof boiling water;" but the caldrons are in the depths. At irregularopenings in the rocky ground the bubbling water wells to the surface, and the fires-ah! where are the fires. On another part of this desertare curious springs that look demure and innocuous enough most of thetime, but occasionally they emit columns of spray and steam. It is relatedof these springs that once a party of emigrants passed by, and one ofthe men knelt down to take a drink of the clear, nice-looking water. Atthe instant he leaned over, the spring spurted a quantity of steam andspray all over him, scaring him nearly out of his wits. The man sprangup, and ran as if for his life, frantically beckoning the wagons to moveon, at the same time shouting, at the top of his voice, "Drive on! driveon! hell's no great distance from here!"

>From the Forty-mile Desert my road leads up the valley of the HumboldtRiver. On the shores of Humboldt Lake are camped a dozen Piute lodges, and I make a half-hour halt to pay them a visit. I shall never knowwhether I am a welcome visitor or not; they show no signs of pleasureor displeasure as I trundle the bicycle through the sage-brush towardthem. Leaning it familiarly up against one of their teepes, I wanderamong them and pry into their domestic affairs like a health-officer ina New York tenement. I know I have no right to do this without saying, "By your leave, " but item-hunters the world over do likewise, so I feellittle squeamishness about it. Moreover, when I come back I find theIndians are playing " tit-for-tat" against me. Not only are they curiouslyexamining the bicycle as a whole, but they have opened the toolbag andare examining the tools, handing them around among themselves. I don'tthink these Piutes are smart or bold enough to steal nowadays; theirintercourse with the whites along the railroad has, in a measure, relievedthem of those aboriginal traits of character that would incite them tosteal a brass button off their pale-faced brother's coat, or screw a nutoff his bicycle; but they have learned to beg; the noble Piute of to-dayis an incorrigible mendicant. Gathering up my tools from among them, themonkey-wrench seems to have found favor in the eyes of a wrinkled-facedbrave, who, it seems, is a chief. He hands the wrench over with a smilethat is meant to be captivating, and points at it as I am putting itback into the bag, and grunts, " Ugh. Piute likum. Piute likum!" As Ihold it up, and ask him if this is what he means, he again points andrepeats, " Piute likum;" and this time two others standing by point athim and also smile and say, " Him big chief; big Piute chief, him;"thinking, no doubt, this latter would be a clincher, and that I wouldat once recognize in " big Piute chief, him " a vastly superior beingand hand him over the wrench. In this, however, they are mistaken, forthe wrench I cannot spare; neither can I see any lingering trace ofroyalty about him, no kingliness of mien, or extra cleanliness; nor isthere anything winning about his smile - nor any of their smiles for thatmatter. The Piute smile seems to me to be simply a cold, passionlessexpansion of the vast horizontal slit that reaches almost from one earto the other, and separates the upper and lower sections of theirexpressionless faces. Even the smiles of the squaws are of the sameunlovely pattern, though they seem to be perfectly oblivious of anyugliness whatever, and whenever a pale-faced visitor appears near theirteepe they straightway present him with one of those repulsive, unwinningsmiles. Sunday, May 4th, finds me anchored for the day at the villageof Lovelocks, on the Humboldt River, where I spend quite a remarkableday. Never before did such a strangely assorted crowd gather to see thefirst bicycle ride they ever saw, as the crowd that gathers behind thestation at Lovelocks to-day to see me. There are perhaps one hundred andfifty people, of whom a hundred are Piute and Shoshone Indians, and theremainder a mingled company of whites and Chinese railroaders; and amongthem all it is difficult to say who are the most taken with the noveltyof the exhibition - the red, the yellow, or the white. Later in the eveningI accept the invitation of a Piute brave to come out to their camp, behind the village, and witness rival teams of Shoshone and Piute squawsplay a match-game of " Fi-re-fla, " the national game of both the Shoshoneand Piute tribes. The principle of the game is similar to polo. Thesquaws are armed with long sticks, with which they endeavor to carry ashorter one to the goal. It is a picturesque and novel sight to see thesquaws, dressed in costumes in which the garb of savagery and civilizationis strangely mingled and the many colors of the rainbow are promiscuouslyblended, flitting about the field with the agility of a team of professionalpolo-players; while the bucks and old squaws, with their pappooses, sitaround and watch the game with unmistakable enthusiasm. The Shoshoneteam wins and looks pleased. Here, at Lovelocks, I fall in with one ofthose strange and seemingly incongruous characters that are occasionallymet with in the West. He is conversing with a small gathering of Piutesin their own tongue, and I introduce myself by asking him the probableage of one of the Indians, whose wrinkled and leathery countenance wouldindicate unusual longevity. He tells me the Indian is probably ninetyyears old; but the Indians themselves never know their age, as they counteverything by the changes of the moon and the seasons, having no knowledgewhatever of the calendar year. While talking on this subject, imaginemy surprise to hear my informant - who looks as if the Scriptures are thelast thing in the world for him to speak of - volunteer the informationthat our venerable and venerated ancestors, the antediluvians, used tocount time in the same way as the Indians, and that instead of Methuselahbeing nine hundred and sixty-nine years of age, it ought to be revisedso as to read " nine hundred and sixty-nine moons, " which would bringthat ancient and long-lived person-the oldest man that ever lived-downto the venerable but by no means extraordinary age of eighty years andnine months. This is the first time I have heard this theory, and myastonishment at hearing it from the lips of a rough-looking habitue ofthe Nevada plains, seated in the midst of a group of illiterate Indians, can easily be imagined. On, up the Humboldt valley I continue, now ridingover a smooth, alkali flat, and again slavishly trundling through deepsand, a dozen snowy mountain peaks round about, the Humboldt sluggishlywinding its way through the alkali plain; on past Eye Patch, to the rightof which are more hot springs, and farther on mines of pure sulphur-allthese things, especially the latter, unpleasantly suggestive of a certainplace where the climate is popularly supposed to be uncomfortably warm;on, past Humboldt

Station, near which place I wantonly shoot a poor harmless badger, whopeers inquisitively out of his hole as I ride past. There is somethingpeculiarly pathetic about the actions of a dying badger, and no soonerhas the thoughtless shot sped on its mission of death than I am sorryfor doing it. 

Going out of Mill City next morning I lose the way, and find myself upnear a small mining camp among the mountains south of the railroad. Thinking to regain the road quickly by going across country through thesage-brush, I get into a place where that enterprising shrub is go thickand high that I have to hold the bicycle up overhead to get through. 

At three o'clock in the afternoon I come to a railroad section-house. At the Chinese bunk-house I find a lone Celestial who, for some reason, is staying at home. Having had nothing to eat or drink since six o'clockthis morning, I present the Chinaman with a smile that is intended towin his heathen heart over to any gastronomic scheme I may propose; butsmiles are thrown away on John Chinaman. 

" John, can you fix me up something to eat. " " No; Chinaman no savvywhi' man eatee; bossee ow on thlack. Chinaman eatee nothing bu' licee[rice]; no licee cookee. " This sounds pretty conclusive; nevertheless Idon't intend to be thus put off so easily. There is nothing particularlybeautiful about a silver half-dollar, but in the almond-shaped eyes ofthe Chinaman scenes of paradisiacal loveliness are nothing compared tothe dull surface of a twenty-year-old fifty-cent piece; and the jingleof the silver coins contains more melody for Chin Chin's unromantic earthan a whole musical festival. 

" John, I'll give you a couple of two-bit pieces if you'll get me a biteof something, " I persist. John's small, black eyes twinkle at thesuggestion of two-bit pieces, and his expressive countenance assumes acommerical air as, with a ludicrous change of front, he replies:

" Wha'. You gib me flore bittee, me gib you bitee eatee. " "That's whatI said, John; and please be as lively as possible about it. "

" All li; you gib me flore bittee me fly you Melican plan-cae. " " Yes, pancakes will do. Go ahead!"

Visions of pancakes and molasses flit before my hunger-distorted visionas I sit outside until he gets them ready. In ten minutes John calls mein. On a tin plate, that looks as if it has just been rescued from abarrel of soap-grease, reposes a shapeless mass of substance resemblingputty-it is the " Melican plan-cae; " and the Celestial triumphantlysets an empty box in front of it for me to sit on and extends his greasypalm for the stipulated price. May the reader never be ravenously hungryand have to choose between a " Melican plan-cae " and nothing. It issimply a chunk of tenacious dough, made of flour and water only, andsoaked for a few minutes in warm grease. I call for molasses; he doesn'tknow what it is. I inquire for syrup, thinking he may recognize my wantby that name. He brings a jar of thin Chinese catsup, that tastes somethinglike Limburger cheese smells. I immediately beg of him to take it whereits presumably benign influence will fail to reach me. He produces someexcellent cold tea, however, by the aid of which I manage to "bolt" aportion of the "plan-cae. " One doesn't look for a very elegant spreadfor fifty cents in the Sage-brush State; but this "Melican plan-cae" isthe worst fifty-cent meal I ever heard of. 

To-night I stay in Winnemucca, the county seat of Humboldt County, andquite a lively little town of 1, 200 inhabitants. "What'll yer have. "is the first word on entering the hotel, and "Won't yer take a bottleof whiskey along. " is the last word on leaving it next morning. Thereare Piutes and Piutes camped at Winnemucca, and in the morning I meet ayoung brave on horseback a short distance out of town and let him tryhis hand with the bicycle. I wheel him along a few yards and let himdismount; and then I show him how to mount and invite him to try ithimself. He gallantly makes the attempt, but springs forward with toomuch energy, and over he topples, with the bicycle cavorting around ontop of him. This satisfies his aboriginal curiosity, and he smiles andshakes his head when I offer to swap the bicycle for his mustang. Theroad is heavy with sand all along by Winnemucca, and but little ridingis to be done. The river runs through green meadows of rich bottom-landhereabouts; but the meadows soon disappear as I travel eastward. Twentymiles east of Winnemucca the river arid railroad pass through the ca¤onin a low range of mountains, while my route lies over the summit. It isa steep trundle up the fountains, but from the summit a broad view ofthe surrounding country is obtained. The Humboldt River is not a beautifulstream, and for the greater part of its length it meanders throughalternate stretches of dreary sage-brush plain and low sand-hills, atlong intervals passing through a ca¤on in some barren mountain chain. But "distance lends enchantment to the view, " and from the summit ofthe mountain pass even the Humboldt looks beautiful. The sun shines onits waters, giving it a sheen, and for many a mile its glistening surfacecan be seen - winding its serpentine course through the broad, gray-lookingsage and grease-wood plains, while at occasional intervals narrow patchesof green, in striking contrast to the surrounding gray, show where thehardy mountain grasses venturously endeavor to invade the domains of theautocratic sagebrush. What is that queer-looking little reptile, halflizard, half frog, that scuttles about among the rocks. It is differentfrom anything I have yet seen. Around the back of its neck and along itssides, and, in a less prominent degree, all over its yellowishgray body, are small, horn-like protuberances that give the little fellow a verypeculiar appearance. Ah, I know who he is. I have heard of him, and haveseen his picture in books. I am happy to make his acquaintance. He is"Prickey, " the famed horned toad of Nevada. On this mountain spur, betweenthe Golconda miningcamp and Iron Point, is the only place I have seenhim on the tour. He is a very interesting little creature, more lizardthan frog, perfectly harmless; and his little bead-like eyes are brightand fascinating as the eyes of a rattlesnake. 

Alkali flats abound, and some splendid riding is to be obtained east ofIron Point. Just before darkness closes down over the surrounding areaof plain and mountain I reach Stone-House section-house. 

" Yes, I guess we can get you a bite of something; but it will be cold, "is the answer vouchsafed in reply to my query about supper. Being moreconcerned these days about the quantity of provisions I can command thanthe quality, the prospect of a cold supper arouses no ungrateful emotions. I would rather have a four-pound loaf and a shoulder of mutton for suppernow than a smaller quantity of extra choice viands; and I manage tosatisfy the cravings of my inner man before leaving the table. But whatabout a place to sleep. For some inexplicable reason these people refuseto grant me even the shelter of their roof for the night. They are notkeeping hotel, they say, which is quite true; they have a right to refuse, even if it is twenty miles to the next place; and they do refuse. "There'sthe empty Chinese bunk-house over there. You can crawl in there, if you arn't afeerd of ghosts, " is the parting remark, as the door closesand leaves me standing, like an outcast, on the dark, barren plain. 

A week ago this bunk-house was occupied by a gang of Chinese railroaders, who got to quarrelling among themselves, and the quarrel wound up inquite a tragic poisoning affair, that resulted in the death of two, andnearly killed a third. The Chinese are nothing, if not superstitious, and since this affair no Chinaman would sleep in the bunk-house or workon this section; consequently the building remains empty. The "spooks"of murdered Chinese are everything but agreeable company; neverthelessthey are preferable to inhospitable whites, and I walk over to the houseand stretch my weary frame in - for aught I know - the same bunk in which, but a few days ago, reposed the ghastly corpses of the poisoned Celestials. Despite the unsavory memories clinging around the place, and my pillowlessand blanketless couch, I am soon in the land of dreams. It is scarcelypresumable that one would be blessed with rosy-hued visions of pleasureunder such conditions, however, and near midnight I awake in a coldshiver. The snowy mountains rear their white heads up in the silentnight, grim and ghostly all around, and make the midnight air chilly, even in midsummer. I lie there, trying in vain to doze off again, forit grows perceptibly cooler. At two o'clock I can stand it no longer, and so get up and strike out for Battle Mountain, twenty miles ahead. 

The moon has risen; it is two-thirds full, and a more beautiful sightthan the one that now greets my exit from the bunk-house it is scarcelypossible to conceive. Only those who have been in this inter-mountaincountry can have any idea of a glorious moonlight night in the clearatmosphere of this dry, elevated region. It is almost as light as day, and one can see to ride quite well wherever the road is ridable. Thepale moon seems to fill the whole broad valley with a flood of soft, silvery light; the peaks of many snowy mountains loom up white andspectral; the stilly air is broken by the excited yelping of a pack ofcoyotes noisily baying the pale-yellow author of all this loveliness, and the wild, unearthly scream of an unknown bird or animal coming fromsome mysterious, undefinable quarter completes an ideal Western picture, a poem, a dream, that fully compensates for the discomforts of thepreceding hour. The inspiration of this beautiful scene awakes theslumbering poesy within, and I am inspired to compose a poem-"Moonlightin the Rockies"-that I expect some day to see the world go into rapturesover!

A few miles from the Chinese shanty I pass a party of Indians camped bythe side of my road. They are squatting around the smouldering embersof a sage-brush fire, sleeping and dozing. I am riding slowly and carefullyalong the road that happens to be ridable just here, and am fairly pastthem before being seen. As I gradually vanish in the moonlit air I wonderwhat they think it was - that strange-looking object that so silently andmysteriously glided past. It is safe to warrant they think me anythingbut flesh and blood, as they rouse each other and peer at my shadowyform disappearing in the dim distance. 

>From Battle Mountain my route leads across a low alkali bottom, throughwhich dozens of small streams are flowing to the Humboldt. Many of themare narrow enough to be jumped, but not with a bicycle on one's shoulder, for under such conditions there is always a disagreeable uncertaintythat one may disastrously alight before he gets ready. But I am gettingtired of partially undressing to ford streams that are little more thanditches, every little way, and so I hit upon the novel plan of using themachine for a vaulting-pole. Beaching it out into the centre of thestream, I place one hand on the head and the other on the saddle, andvault over, retaining my hold as I alight on the opposite shore. Pullingthe bicycle out after me, the thing is done. There is no telling to whatuses this two-wheeled "creature" could be put in case of necessity. Certainly the inventor never expected it to be used for a vaulting-polein leaping across streams. Twenty-five miles east of Battle Mountain thevalley of the Humboldt widens into a plain of some size, through whichthe river meanders with many a horseshoe curve, and maps out the pot-hooksand hangers of our childhood days in mazy profusion. Amid these innumerablecurves and counter-curves, clumps of willows and tall blue-joint reedsgrow thickly, and afford shelter to thousands of pelicans, that heremake their homes far from the disturbing presence of man. All unconsciousof impending difficulties, I follow the wagon trail leading through thisvalley until I find myself standing on the edge of the river, ruefullylooking around for some avenue by which I can proceed on my way. I amin the bend of a horseshoe curve, and the only way to get out is toretrace my footsteps for several miles, which disagreeable performanceI naturally feel somewhat opposed to doing. Casting about me I discovera couple of old fence-posts that have floated down from the Be-o-wa-wesettlement above and lodged against the bank. I determine to try andutilize them in getting the machine across the river, which is not overthirty yards wide at this point. Swimming across with my clothes first, I tie the bicycle to the fence-posts, which barely keep it from sinking, and manage to navigate it successfully across. The village of Be-o-wa-weis full of cowboys, who are preparing for the annual spring round-up. Whites, Indians, and Mexicans compose the motley crowd. They look awild lot, with their bear-skin chaparejos and semi-civilized trappings, galloping to and fro in and about the village. "I can't spare the time, or I would, " is my slightly un-truthful answer to an invitation to stopover for the day and have some fun. Briefly told, this latter, with thecowboy, consists in getting hilariously drunk, and then turning his "pop"loose at anything that happens to strike his whiskey-bedevilled fancyas presenting a fitting target. Now a bicycle, above all things, wouldintrude itself upon the notice of a cowboy on a " tear" as a peculiarand conspicuous object, especially if it had a man on it; so after takinga "smile" with them for good-fellowship, and showing them the modusoperandi of riding the wheel, I consider it wise to push on up the valley. 

Three miles from Be-o-wa-we is seen the celebrated "Maiden's Grave, " ona low hill or bluff by the road-side; and "thereby hangs a tale. " Inearly days, a party of emigrants were camped near by at Gravelly Ford, waiting for the waters to subside, so that they could cross the liver, when a young woman of the party sickened and died. A rudely carved head-board was set up to mark the spot where she was buried. Years afterward, when the railroad was being built through here, the men discovered thisrude head-board all alone on the bleak hill-top, and were moved by worthysentiment to build a rough stone wall around it to keep off the ghoulishcoyotes; and, later on, the superintendent of the division erected alarge white cross, which now stands in plain view of the railroad. Onone side of the cross is written the simple inscription, "Maiden'sGrave;" on the other, her name, "Lucinda Duncan" Leaving the bicycleby the road-side, I climb the steep bluff and examine the spot with somecuriosity. There are now twelve other graves beside the original"Maiden's Grave, " for the people of Be-o-wa-we and the surrounding countryhave selected this romantic spot on which to inter the remains of theirdeparted friends. This afternoon I follow the river through HumboldtCa¤on in preference to taking a long circuitous route over the mountains. The first noticeable things about this ca¤on are the peculiar water-marksplainly visible on the walls, high up above where the water could possiblyrise while its present channels of escape exist unobstructed. It isthought that the country east of the spur of the Red Range, which stretchesclear across the valley at Be-o-wa-we, and through which the Humboldtseems to have cut its way, was formerly a lake, and that the watergradually wore a passage-way for itself through the massive barrier, leaving only the high-water marks on the mountain sides to tell of themighty change. In this ca¤on the rocky walls tower like giganticbattlements, grim and gloomy on either side, and the seething, boilingwaters of the Humboldt - that for once awakens from its characteristiclethargy, and madly plunges and splutters over a bed of jagged rockswhich seem to have been tossed into its channel by some Herculean hand -fill this mighty "rift" in the mountains with a never-ending roar. It hasbeen threatening rain for the last two hours, and now the first peal ofthunder I have heard on the whole journey awakens the echoing voices ofthe ca¤on and rolls and rumbles along the great jagged fissure like anangry monster muttering his mighty wrath. Peal after peal follow eachother in quick succession, the vigorous, newborn echoes of one pealseeming angrily to chase the receding voices of its predecessor fromcliff to cliff, and from recess to projection, along its rocky, erraticcourse up the ca¤on. Vivid flashes of forked lightning shoot athwart theheavy black cloud that seems to rest on either wall, roofing the ca¤onwith a ceiling of awful grandeur. Sheets of electric flame light up thedark, shadowy recesses of the towering rocks as they play along theridges and hover on the mountain-tops; while large drops of rain beginto patter down, gradually increasing with the growing fury of theirbattling allies above, until a heavy, drenching downpour of rain andhail compels me to take shelter under an overhanging rock. At 4 P. M. Ireach Palisade, a railroad village situated in the most romantic spotimaginable, under the shadows of the towering palisades that hover abovewith a sheltering care, as if their special mission were to protect itfrom all harm. Evidently these mountains have been rent in twain by anearthquake, and this great gloomy chasm left open, for one can plainlysee that the two walls represent two halves of what was once a solidmountain. Curious caves are observed in the face of the cliffs, and one, more conspicuous than the rest, has been christened "Maggie's Bower, "in honor of a beautiful Scottish maiden who with her parents once lingeredin a neighboring creek-bottom for some time, recruiting their stock. Butall is not romance and beauty even in the glorious palisades of theHumboldt; for great, glaring, patent-medicine advertisements are paintedon the most conspicuously beautiful spots of the palisades. Businessenterprise is of course to be commended and encouraged; but it is reallyannoying that one cannot let his esthetic soul - that is constantlyyearning for the sublime and beautiful - rest in gladsome reflection onsome beautiful object without at the same time being reminded of " corns, "and " biliousness, " and all the multifarious evils that flesh is heirto. 

It grows pitchy dark ere I leave the ca¤on on my way to Carlin. Fartheron, the gorge widens, and thick underbrush intervenes between the roadand the river. From out the brush I see peering two little roundphosphorescent balls, like two miniature moons, turned in my direction. I wonder what kind of an animal it is, as I trundle along through thedarkness, revolver in hand, ready to defend myself, should it make anattack. I think it is a mountain-lion, as they seem to be plentiful inthis part of Nevada, Late as it is when I reach Carlin, the "boys"must see how a bicycle is ridden, and, as there is no other place suitable, I manage to circle around the pool-table in the hotel bar-room a fewtimes, nearly scalping myself against the bronze chandelier in theoperation. I hasten, however, to explain that these proceedings tookplace immediately after my arrival, lest some worldly wise, over-sagaciousperson should be led to suspect them to be the riotous undertakings ofone who had "smiled with the boys once too often. " Little riding ispossible all through this section of Nevada, and, in order to completethe forty miles a day that I have rigorously imposed upon myself, Isometimes get up and pull out at daylight. It is scarce more than sunrisewhen, following the railroad through Five-mile Canon - another rift throughone of the many mountain chains that cross this part of Nevada in alldirections under the general name of the Humboldt Mountains-I meet witha startling adventure. I am trundling through the ca¤on alongside theriver, when, rounding the sharp curve of a projecting mountain, a tawnymountain lion is perceived trotting leisurely along ahead of me, notover a hundred yards in advance. He hasn't seen me yet; he is perfectlyoblivious of the fact that he is in "the presence. " A person of ordinarydiscretion would simply have revealed his presence by a gentlemanlysneeze, or a slight noise of any kind, when the lion would have immediatelybolted back into the underbrush. Unable to resist the temptation, I firedat him, and of course missed him, as a person naturally would at a hundredyards with a bull-dog revolver. The bullet must have singed him a littlethough, for, instead of wildly scooting for the brush, as I anticipated, he turns savagely round and comes bounding rapidly toward me, and attwenty paces crouches for a spring. Laying his cat-like head almost onthe ground, his round eyes flashing fire, and his tail angrily wavingto and fro, he looks savage and dangerous. Crouching behind the bicycle, I fire at him again. Nine times out of ten a person will overshoot themark with a revolver under such circumstances, and, being anxious toavoid this, I do the reverse, and fire too low. The ball strikes theground just in front of his head, and throws the sand and gravel in hisface, and perhaps in his wicked round eyes; for he shakes his head, springs up, and makes off into the brush. I shall shed blood of somesort yet before I leave Nevada. There isn't a day that I don't shoot atsomething or other; and all I ask of any animal is to come within twohundred yards and I will squander a cartridge on him, and I never failto hit the ground. 

At Elko, where I take dinner, I make the acquaintance of an individual, rejoicing in the sobriquet of "Alkali Bill, " who has the largest andmost comprehensive views of any person I ever met. He has seen a paragraph, something about me riding round the world, and he considerately takesupon himself the task of summing up the few trifling obstacles that Ishall encounter on the way round:

"There is only a small rise at Sherman, " he rises to explain, " andanother still smaller at the Alleghanies; all the balance is downhillto the Atlantic. Of course you'll have to 'boat it' across the Frogpond;then there's Europe - mostly level; so is Asia, except the Himalayas - andyou can soon cross them; then you're all 'hunky, ' for there's no mountainsto speak of in China. " Evidently Alkali Bill is a person who points thefinger of scorn at small ideas, and leaves the bothersome details oflife to other and smaller-minded folks. In his vast and glorious imageryhe sees a centaur-like cycler skimming like a frigate-bird across statesand continents, scornfully ignoring sandy deserts and bridgeless streams, halting for nothing but oceans, and only slowing up a little when heruns up against a peak that bobs up its twenty thousand feet of snowygrandeur serenely in his path. What a Ceasar is lost to this benightedworld, because in its blindness, it will not search out such men asAlkali and ask them to lead it onward to deeds of inconceivable greatness. Alkali Bill can whittle more chips in an hour than some men could in aweek. Much of the Humboldt Valley, through which my road now runs, isat present flooded from the vast quantities of water that are pouringinto it from the Ruby Range of mountains now visible to the southeast, and which have the appearance of being the snowiest of any since leavingthe Sierras. Only yesterday I threatened to shed blood before I leftNevada, and sure enough my prophecy is destined to speedy fulfilment. Just east of the Osino Ca¤on, and where the North Fork of the Humboldtcomes down from the north and joins the main stream, is a stretch ofswampy ground on which swarms of wild ducks and geese are paddling about. I blaze away at them, and a poor inoffensive gosling is no more. Whilewriting my notes this evening, in a room adjoining the "bar" at Halleck, near the United States fort of the same name, I overhear a boozy soldiermodestly informing his comrades that forty-five miles an hour is nounusual speed to travel with a bicycle. Gradually I am nearing the sourceof the Humboldt, and at the town of Wells I bid it farewell for good. Wells is named from a group of curious springs near the town. They aresupposed to be extinct volcanoes, now filled with water; and report saysthat no sounding-line has yet been found long enough to fathom the bottom. Some day when some poor, unsuspecting tenderfoot is peering inquisitivelydown one of these well-like springs, the volcano may suddenly come intoplay again and convert the water into steam that will shoot him clearup into the moon. These volcanoes may have been soaking in water formillions of years; but they are not to be trusted on that account; theycan be depended upon to fill some citizen full of lively surprise oneof these days. Everything here is surprising. You look across the desertand see flowing water and waving trees; but when you get there, withyour tongue hanging out and your fate wellnigh sealed, you are surprisedto find nothing but sand and rocks. You climb a mountain expecting tofind trees and birds' eggs, and you are surprised to find high-watermarks and sea-shells. Finally, you look in the looking-glass and aresurprised to find that the wind and exposure have transformed your niceblonde complexion to a semi-sable hue that would prevent your own motherfrom recognizing you. 

The next day, when nearing the entrance to Moutella Pass, over the GooseCreek Range, I happen to look across the mingled sagebrush and juniper-sprucebrush to the right, and a sight greets my eyes that causes me toinstinctively look around for a tall tree, though well knowing that thereis nothing of the kind for miles; neither is there any ridable road near, or I might try my hand at breaking the record for a few miles. Standingbolt upright on their hind legs, by the side of a clump of juniper-sprucebushes and intently watching my movements, are a pair of full-growncinnamon bears. When a bear sees a man before the man happens to descryhim, and fails to betake himself off immediately, it signifies that heis either spoiling for a fight or doesn't care a continental passwordwhether war is declared or not. Moreover, animals recognize the peculiaradvantages of two to one in a fight equally with their human infer! - superiors;and those two over there are apparently in no particular hurry to moveon. They don't seem awed at my presence. On the contrary, they looksuspiciously like being undecided and hesitative about whether to letme proceed peacefully on my way or not. Their behavior is outrageous;they stare and stare and stare, and look quite ready for a fight. I don'tintend one to come off, though, if I can avoid it. I prefer to have itsettled by arbitration. I haven't lost these bears; they aren't mine, and I don't want anything that doesn't belong to me. I am not covetous;so, lest I should be tempted to shoot at them if I come within theregulation two hundred yards, I "edge off" a few hundred yards in theother direction, and soon have the intense satisfaction of seeing themstroll off toward the mountains. I wonder if I don't owe my escape onthis occasion to my bicycle. Do the bright spokes glistening in thesunlight as they revolve make an impression on their bearish intellectsthat influences their decision in favor of a retreat. It is perhapsneedless to add that, all through this mountain-pass, I keep a loose eyebusily employed looking out for bears. 

But nothing more of a bearish nature occurs, and the early gloaming findsme at Tacoma, a village near the Utah boundary line. There is an awfulcalamity of some sort hovering over this village. One can feel it in theair. The habitues of the hotel barroom sit around, listless and glum. When they speak at all it is to predict all sorts of difficulties forme in my progress through Utah and Wyoming Territories. "The black gnatsof the Salt Lake mud flat'll eat you clean up, " snarls one. "Bear River'sflooding the hull kintry up Weber Ca¤on way, " growls another. "Theslickest thing you kin do, stranger, is to board the keers and git outof this, " says a third, in a tone of voice and with an emphasis thatplainly indicates his great disgust at "this. " By " this" he means thevillage of Tacoma; and he is disgusted with it. They are all disgustedwith it and with the whole world this evening, because Tacoma is "outof whiskey. " Yes, the village is destitute of whiskey; it should havearrived yesterday, and hasn't shown up yet; and the effect on the societyof the bar-room is so depressing that I soon retire to my couch, to dreamof Utah's strange intermingling of forbidding deserts and beautifulorchards through which my route now leads me. 

CHAPTER III. 

THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 

A dreary-looking country is the " Great American Desert, " in Utah, thenorthern boundary line of which I traverse next morning. To the leftof the road is a low chain of barren hills; to the right, the uninvitingplain, over which one's eye wanders in vain for some green object thatmight raise hopes of a less desolate region beyond; and over all hangsan oppressive silence - the silence of a dead country - a country destituteof both animal and vegetable life. Over the great desert hangs a smokyhaze, out of which Pilot Peak, thirty-eight miles away, rears its conicalhead 2, 500 feet above the level plain at its base. 

Some riding is obtained at intervals along this unattractive stretch ofcountry, but there are no continuously ridable stretches, and the principalincentive to mount at all is a feeling of disgust at so much compulsorywalking. A noticeable feature through the desert is the almost unquenchablethirst that the dry saline air inflicts upon one. Reaching a railwaysection-house, I find no one at home; but there is a small undergroundcistern of imported water, in which "wrigglers " innumerable wriggle, but which is otherwise good and cool. There is nothing to drink out of, and the water is three feet from the surface; while leaning down to tryand drink, the wooden framework at the top gives way and precipitatesme head first into the water. Luckily, the tank is large enough to enableme to turn round and reappear at the surface, head first, and withconsiderable difficulty I scramble out again, with, of course, not a drythread on me. 

At three in the afternoon I roll into Terrace, a small Mormon town. Herea rather tough-looking citizen, noticing that my garments are damp, suggests that 'cycling must be hard work to make a person perspire likethat in this dry climate. At the Matlin section-house I find accommodationfor the night with a whole-souled section-house foreman, who is keepingbachelor's hall temporarily, as his wife is away on a visit at Ogden. >From this house, which is situated on the table-land of the Bed DomeMountains, can be obtained a more comprehensive view of the Great AmericanDesert than when we last beheld it. It has all the appearance of beingthe dry bed of an ancient salt lake or inland sea. A broad, level plainof white alkali, which is easily mistaken in the dim distance for smooth, still water, stretches away like a dead, motionless sea as far as humanvision can penetrate, until lost in the haze; while, here and there, isolated rocks lift their rugged heads above the dreary level, likeislets out of the sea. It is said there are many evidences that go toprove this desert to have once been covered by the waters of the greatinland sea that still, in places, laves its eastern borders with itsbriny flood. I am informed there are many miles of smooth, hard, salt-flats, over which a 'cycler could skim like a bird; but I scarcely think enoughof bird-like skimming to go searching for it on the American Desert. Afew miles east of Matlin the road leads over a spur of the Red DomeRange, from whence I obtain my first view of the Great Salt Lake, andsoon I am enjoying a long-anticipated bath in its briny waters. It isdisagreeably cold, but otherwise an enjoyable bath. One can scarce sinkbeneath the surface, so strongly is the water impregnated with salt. Fordinner, I reach Kelton, a town that formerly prospered as the point fromwhich vast quantities of freight were shipped to Idaho. Scores of hugefreight-wagons are now bunched up in the corrals, having outlived theirusefulness since the innovation from mules and "overland ships " tolocomotives on the Utah Northern Railway. Empty stores and a general airof vanished prosperity are the main features of Kelton to-day; and theinhabitants seem to reflect in their persons the aspect of the town;most of them being freighters, who, finding their occupation gone, hanglistlessly around, as though conscious of being fit for nothing else. >From Kelton I follow the lake shore, and at six in the afternoon arriveat the salt-works, near Monument Station, and apply for accommodation, which is readily given. Here is erected a wind-mill, which pumps thewater from the lake into shallow reservoirs, where it evaporates andleaves a layer of coarse salt on the bottom. These people drink waterthat is disagreeably brackish and unsatisfactory to one unaccustomed toit, but which they say has become more acceptable to them, from habitualuse, than purely fresh water. This spot, is the healthiest and mostfavorable for the prolific production of certain forms of insect life Iever was in, and I spend the liveliest night here I ever spent anywhere. These people professed to give me a bed to myself, but no sooner have Ilaid my head on the pillow than I recognize the ghastly joke they areplaying on me. The bed is already densely populated with guests, whonaturally object to being ousted or overcrowded. They seem quite akittenish and playful lot, rather inclined to accomplish their ends byplaying wild pranks than by resorting to more austere measures. Watchingtill I have closed my eyes in an attempt to doze off, they slip up andplayfully tickle me under the chin, or scramble around in my ear, andanon they wildly chase each other up and down my back, and play leap-frogand hide-and-go-seek all over my sensitive form, so that I arise in themorning anything but refreshed from my experience. 

Still following the shores of the lake, for several miles, my road nowleads over the northern spur of the Promontory Mountains. On these hillsI find a few miles of hard gravel that affords the best riding I haveexperienced in Utah, and I speed along as rapidly as possible, for dark, threatening clouds are gathering overhead. But ere I reach the summitof the ridge a violent thunder-storm breaks over the hills, and I seemto be verily hobnobbing with the thunder and lightning, that appears tobe round about me, rather than overhead. A troop of wild bronchos, startled and stampeded by the vivid lightning and sharp peals of thunder, come wildly charging down the mountain trail, threatening to run quiteover me in their mad career. Pulling my six-shooter, I fire a couple ofshots in the air to attract their attention, when they rapidly swerveto the left, and go tearing frantically over the rolling hills on theirwild flight to the plains below. 

Most of the rain falls on the plain and in the lake, and when I arriveat the summit I pause to take a view at the lake and surrounding country. A more auspicious occasion could scarcely have been presented. The stormhas subsided, and far beneath my feet a magnificent rainbow spans theplain, and dips one end of its variegated beauty in the sky-blue watersof the lake. From this point the view to the west and south is trulygrand-rugged, irregular mountain-chains traverse the country at everyconceivable angle, and around among them winds the lake, filling withits blue waters the intervening spaces, and reflecting, impartiallyalike, their grand majestic beauty and their faults. What dreams ofempire and white-winged commerce on this inland sea must fill the mindand fire the imagery of the newly arrived Mormon convert who, standingon the commanding summit of these mountains, feasts his eyes on theglorious panorama of blue water and rugged mountains that is spread likea wondrous picture before him. Surely, if he be devotionally inclined, it fails not to recall to his mind another inland sea in far-off AsiaMinor, on whose pebbly shores and by whose rippling waves the cradle ofan older religion than Morrnonism was rocked - but not rocked to sleep. 

Ten miles farther on, from the vantage-ground of a pass over anotherspur of the same range, is obtained a widely extended view of the countryto the east. For nearly thirty miles from the base of the mountains, low, level mud-flats extend eastward, bordered on the south by the marshy, sinuous shores of the lake, and on the north by the Blue Creek Mountains. Thirty miles to the east - looking from this distance strangely like flocksof sheep grazing at the base of the mountains - can be seen the white-painted houses of the Mormon settlements, that thickly dot the narrowbut fertile strip of agricultural land, between Bear River and the mightyWahsatch Mountains, that, rearing their snowy crest skyward, shut outall view of what lies beyond. From this height the level mud-flats appearas if one could mount his wheel and bowl across at a ten-mile pace; butI shall be agreeably surprised if I am able to aggregate ten miles ofriding out of the thirty. Immediately after getting down into the bottomI make the acquaintance of the tiny black gnats that one of our whiskey-bereaved friends at Tacoma had warned me against. One's head is constantlyenveloped in a black cloud of these little wretches. They are ofinfinitesimal proportions, and get into a person's ears, eyes, andnostrils, and if one so far forgets himself as to open his mouth, theyswarm in as though they think it the "pearly gates ajar, " and this theirlast chance of effecting an entrance. Mingled with them, and apparentlyon the best of terms, are swarms of mosquitoes, which appear perfectJumbos in comparison with their disreputable associates. 

As if partially to recompense me for the torments of the afternoon, DameFortune considerately provides me with two separate and distinct suppersthis evening. I had intended, when I left Promontory Station, to reachCorinne for the night; consequently I bring a lunch with me, knowing itwill take me till late to reach there. These days, I am troubled withan appetite that makes me blush to speak of it, and about five o'clockI sit down - on the bleached skeleton of a defunct mosquito! - and proceedto eat my lunch of bread and meat - and gnats; for I am quite certain ofeating hundreds of these omnipresent creatures at every bite I take. Twohours afterward I am passing Quarry section-house, when the foremanbeckons me over and generously invites me to remain over night. He bringsout canned oysters and bottles of Milwaukee beer, and insists on myhelping him discuss these acceptable viands; to which invitation it isneedless to say I yield without extraordinary pressure, the fact ofhaving eaten two hours before being no obstacle whatever. So much for'cycling as an aid to digestion. Arriving at Corinne, on Bear River, atten o'clock next morning, I am accosted by a bearded, patriarchal Mormon, who requests me to constitute myself a parade of one, and ride the bicyclearound the town for the edification of the people's minds. 

" In course they knows what a ' perlocefede' is, from seein' 'em inpicturs; but they never seed a real machine, and it'd be a 'hefty' treatfer 'em, "is the eloquent appeal made by this person in behalf of theCorinnethians, over whose destinies and happiness he appears to presidewith fatherly solicitude. As the streets of Corinne this morning consistentirely of black mud of uncertain depth, I am reluctantly compelled tosay the elder nay, at the same time promising him that if he would havethem in better condition next time I happened around, I would willinglysecond his brilliant idea of making the people happy by permitting thema glimpse of my " perlocefede " in action. 

After crossing Bear River I find myself on a somewhat superior roadleading through the Mormon settlements to Ogden. No greater contrast canwell be imagined than that presented by this strip of country lyingbetween the lake and the "Wahsatch Mountains, and the desert country tothe westward. One can almost fancy himself suddenly transported by somegood genii to a quiet farming community in an Eastern State. Instead ofuntamed bronchos and wild-eyed cattle, roaming at their own free willover unlimited territory, are seen staid work-horses ploughing in thefield, and the sleek milch-cow peacefully cropping tame grass in enclosedmeadows. Birds are singing merrily in the willow hedges and the shade-trees;green fields of alfalfa and ripening grain line the road and spreadthemselves over the surrounding country in alternate squares, like thoseof a vast checker-board. Farms, on the average, are small, and, consequently, houses are thick; and not a farm-house among them all but is emboweredin an orchard of fruit and shade-trees that mingle their green leavesand white blossoms harmoniously. At noon I roll into a forest of fruit-trees, among which, I am informed, Willard City is situated; but one cansee nothing of any city. Nothing but thickets of peach, plum, and appletrees, all in full bloom, surround the spot where I alight and begin tolook around for some indications of the city. "Where is Willard City. "I inquire of a boy who comes out from one of the orchards carrying a canof kerosene in his hand, suggestive of having just come from a grocery, and so he has. " This is Willard City, right here, " replies the boy; andthen, in response to my inquiry for the hotel, he points to a small gateleading into an orchard, and tells me the hotel is in there. 

The hote l -like every other house and store here - is embowered amid anorchard of blooming fruit-trees, and looks like anything but a publiceating-house. No sign up, nothing to distinguish it from a privatedwelling; and I am ushered into a nicely furnished parlor, on the neatlypapered walls of which hang enlarged portraits of Brigham Young and otherMormon celebrities, while a large-sized Mormon bible, expensively boundin morocco, reposes on the centre-table. A charming Miss of -teen summerspresides over a private table, on which is spread for my material benefitthe finest meal I have eaten since leaving California. Such snow-whitebread. Such delicious butter. And the exquisite flavor of "spiced peach-butter" lingers in my fancy even now; and as if this were not enoughfor "two bits" (a fifty per cent, come-down from usual rates in themountains), a splendid bouquet of flowers is set on the table to roundoff the repast with their grateful perfume. As I enjoy the wholesome, substantial food, I fall to musing on the mighty chasm that intervenesbetween the elegant meal now before me and the "Melican plan-cae " oftwo weeks ago. "You have a remarkably pleasant country here, Miss, " Iventure to remark to the young lady who has presided over my table, andwhom I judge to be the daughter of the house, as she comes to the doorto see the bicycle. 

"Yes; we have made it pleasant by planting so many orchards, " sheanswers, demurely. 

"I should think the Mormons ought to be contented, for they possess theonly good piece of farming country between California and 'the States, '"I blunderingly continued. 

"I never heard anyone say they are not contented, but their enemies, "replies this fair and valiant champion of Mormonism in a voice that showsshe quite misunderstands my meaning. "What I intended to say was, thatthe Mormon people are to be highly congratulated on their good sense insettling here, " I hasten to explain; for were I to leave at this house, where my treatment has been so gratifying, a shadow of prejudice againstthe Mormons, I should feel like kicking myself all over the Territory. The women of the Mormon religion are instructed by the wiseacres of thechurch to win over strangers by kind treatment and by the charm of theirconversation and graces; and this young lady has learned the lesson well;she has graduated with high honors. Coming from the barren deserts ofNevada and Western Utah - from the land where the irreverent and irrepressible"Old Timer" fills the air with a sulphurous odor from his profanityand where nature is seen in its sternest aspect, and then suddenly findingone's self literally surrounded by flowers and conversing with Beautyabout Religion, is enough to charm the heart of a marble statue. Ogdenis reached for supper, where I quite expect to find a 'cycler or two(Ogden being a city of eight thousand inhabitants); but the nearestapproach to a bicycler in Ogden is a gentleman who used to belong to aChicago club, but who has failed to bring his "wagon" West with him. Twelve miles of alternate riding and walking eastwardly from Ogden bringme to the entrance of Weber Canon, through which the Weber River, theUnion Pacific Railroad, and an uncertain wagon-trail make their waythrough the Wahsatch Mountains on to the elevated table-lands of WyomingTerritory. Objects of interest follow each other in quick successionalong this part of the journey, and I have ample time to examine them, for Weber River is flooding the canon, and in many places has washedaway the narrow space along which wagons are wont to make their way, sothat I have to trundle slowly along the railway track. Now the road turnsto the left, and in a few minutes the rugged and picturesque walls ofthe canon are towering in imposing heights toward the clouds. The WeberRiver comes rushing - a resistless torrent - from under the dusky shadowsof the mountains through which it runs for over fifty miles, and onwardto the pkin below, where it assumes a more moderate pace, as if consciousthat it has at last escaped from the hurrying turmoil of its boisterousmarch down the mountain. 

Advancing into the yawning jaws of the range, a continuously resoundingroar is heard in advance, which gradually becomes louder as I proceedeastward; in a short time the source of the noise is discovered, and aweird scene greets my enraptured vision. At a place where the fall istremendous, the waters are opposed in their mad march by a rough-and-tumblecollection of huge, jagged rocks, that have at some time detachedthemselves from the walls above, and come crashing down into the bed ofthe stream. The rushing waters, coming with haste from above, appear topounce with insane fury on the rocks that dare thus to obstruct theirpath; and then for the next few moments all is a hissing, seething, roaring caldron of strife, the mad waters seeming to pounce with ever-increasing fury from one imperturbable antagonist to another, now leapingclear over the head of one, only to dash itself into a cloud of sprayagainst another, or pour like a cataract against its base in a persistent, endless struggle to undermine it; while over all tower the dark, shadowyrocks, grim witnesses of the battle. This spot is known by the appropriatename of "The Devil's Gate. " Wherever the walls of the canon recede fromthe river's brink, and leave a space of cultivable land, there theindustrious Mormons have built log or adobe cabins, and converted thecircumscribed domain into farms, gardens, and orchards. In one of theseisolated settlements I seek shelter from a passing shower at the houseof a "three-ply Mormon " (a Mormon with three wives), and am introducedto his three separate and distinct better-halves; or, rather, one shouldsay, " better-quarters, " for how can anything have three halves. Anoticeable feature at all these farms is the universal plurality of womenaround the house, and sometimes in the field. A familiar scene in anyfarming community is a woman out in the field, visiting her husband, or, perchance, assisting him in his labors. The same thing is observable atthe Mormon settlements along the Weber River - only, instead of one woman, there are generally two or three, and perhaps yet another standing inthe door of the house. Passing through two tunnels that burrow throughrocky spurs stretching across the canon, as though to obstruct fartherprogress, across the river, to the right, is the "Devil's Slide" - twoperpendicular walls of rock, looking strangely like man's handiwork, stretching in parallel lines almost from base to summit of a sloping, grass-covered mountain. The walls are but a dozen feet apart. It is acurious phenomenon, but only one among many that are scattered at intervalsall through here. A short distance farther, and I pass the famous"Thousand-mile Tree" - a rugged pine, that stands between the railroad andthe river, and which has won renown by springing up just one thousandmiles from Omaha. This tree is having a tough struggle for its life thesedays; one side of its honored trunk is smitten as with the leprosy. Thefate of the Thousand-mile Tree is plainly sealed. It is unfortunate inbeing the most conspicuous target on the line for the fe-ro-ci-ous youthwho comes West with a revolver in his pocket and shoots at things fromthe car-window. Judging from the amount of cold lead contained in thatside of its venerable trunk next the railway few of these thoughtlessmarksmen go past without honoring it with a shot. Emerging from "theNarrows" of Weber Canon, the route follows across a less contractedspace to Echo City, a place of two hundred and twenty-five inhabitants, mostly Mormons, where I remain over-night. The hotel where I put up atEcho is all that can be desired, so far as "provender" is concerned;but the handsome and picturesque proprietor seems afflicted with sundryeccentric habits, his leading eccentricity being a haughty contempt forfractional currency. Not having had the opportunity to test him, it isdifficult to say whether this peculiarity works both ways, or only whenthe change is due his transient guests. However, we willingly give himthe benefit of the doubt. 

Heavily freighted rain-clouds are hovering over the mountains next morningand adding to the gloominess of the gorge, which, just east of Echo City, contracts again and proceeds eastward under the name of Echo Gorge. Turning around a bold rocky projection to the left, the far-famed"Pulpit Rock" towers above, on which Brigham Young is reported to havestood and preached to the Mormon host while halting over Sunday at thispoint, during their pilgrimage to their new home in the Salt Lake Valleybelow. Had the redoubtable prophet turned "dizzy " while haranguing hisfollowers from the elevated pinnacle of his novel pulpit, he would atleast have died a more romantic death than he is accredited with - fromeating too much green corn. 

Fourteen miles farther brings me to "Castle Rocks, " a name given to thehigh sandstone bluffs that compose the left-hand side of the canon atthis point, and which have been worn by the elements into all manner offantastic shapes, many of them calling to mind the towers and turretsof some old-world castle so vividly, that one needs but the pomp andcircumstance of old knight-errant days to complete the illusion. But, as one gazes with admiration on these towering buttresses of nature, itis easy to realize that the most massive and imposing feudal castle, orramparts built with human hands, would look like children's toys besidethem. The weather is cool and bracing, and when, in the middle of theafternoon, I reach Evanston, Wyo. Terr. , too late to get dinner at thehotel, I proceed to devour the contents of a bakery, filling the proprietorwith boundless astonishment by consuming about two-thirds of his stock. When I get through eating, he bluntly refuses to charge anything, considering himself well repaid by having witnessed the most extraordinarygastronomic feat on record - the swallowing of two-thirds of a bakery. Following the trail down Yellow Creek, I arrive at Hilliard after dark. The Hilliardites are "somewhat seldom, " but they are made of the rightmaterial. The boarding-house landlady sets about preparing me supper, late though it be; and the "boys" extend me a hearty invitation to turnin with them for the night. Here at Hilliard is a long V-shaped flume, thirty miles long, in which telegraph poles, ties, and cord wood arefloated down to the railroad from the pineries of the Uintah Mountains, now plainly visible to the south. The "boys" above referred to are menengaged in handling ties thus floated down; and sitting around the red-hotstove, they make the evening jolly with songs and yarns of tie-drives, and of wild rides down the long "V" flume. A happy, light-hearted setof fellows are these "tie-men, " and not an evening but their rude shantyresounds with merriment galore. Fun is in the air to-night, and "Beaver"(so dubbed on account of an unfortunate tendency to fall into everyhole of water he goes anywhere near) is the unlucky wight upon whom therude witticisms concentrate; for he has fallen into the water again to-day, and is busily engaged in drying his clothes by the stove. Theyaccuse him of keeping up an uncomfortably hot fire, detrimental toeverybody's comfort but his own, and threaten him with dire penaltiesif he doesn't let the room cool off; also broadly hinting their disapprovalof his over-fondness for "Adam's ale, " and threaten to make him "set'em up" every time he tumbles in hereafter. In revenge for these remarks, "Beaver" piles more wood into the stove, and, with many a westernism- not permitted in print - threatens to keep up a fire that will drive themall out of the shanty if they persist in their persecutions. Crossingnext day the low, broad pass over the Uintah Mountains, some stretchesof ridable surface are passed over, and at this point I see the firstband of antelope on the tour; but as they fail to come within theregulation two hundred yards they are graciously permitted to live. 

At Piedmont Station I decide to go around by way of Port Bridger andstrike the direct trail again at Carter Station, twentyfour miles farthereast. 

A tough bit of Country. The next day at noon finds me "tucked in mylittle bed" at Carter, decidedly the worse for wear, having experiencedthe toughest twenty-four hours of the entire journey. I have to ford noless than nine streams of ice-cold water; get benighted on a rain-soakedadobe plain, where I have to sleep out all night in an abandoned freight-wagon; and, after carrying the bicycle across seven miles of deep, stickyclay, I finally arrive at Carter, looking like the last sad remnant ofa dire calamity - having had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. FromCarter my route leads through the Bad-Lands, amid buttes of mingled clayand rock, which the elements have worn into all conceivable shapes, andconspicuous among them can be seen, to the south, "Church Buttes, " socalled from having been chiselled by the dexterous hand of nature intoa group of domes and pinnacles, that, from a distance, strikingly resemblessome magnificent cathedral. High-water marks are observable on thesebuttes, showing that Noah's flood, or some other aqueous calamity oncehappened around here; and one can easily imagine droves of miserable, half-clad Indians, perched on top, looking with doleful, melancholyexpression on the surrounding wilderness of waters. Arriving at Granger, for dinner, I find at the hotel a crest-fallen state of affairs somewhatsimilar to the glumness of Tacoma. Tacoma had plenty of customers, butno whiskey; Granger on the contrary has plenty of whiskey, but nocustomers. The effect on that marvellous, intangible something, thesaloon proprietor's intellect, is the same at both places. Here is plainlya new field of research for some ambitious student of psychology. Whiskeywithout customers. Customers without whiskey. Truly all is vanity andvexation of spirit. 

Next day I pass the world-renowned castellated rocks of Green River, andstop for the night at Rock Springs, where the Union Pacific RailwayCompany has extensive coal mines. On calling for my bill at the hotelhere, next morning, the proprietor - a corpulent Teuton, whose thoughts, words, and actions, run entirely to beer - replies, "Twenty-five cents aquart. " Thinking my hearing apparatus is at fault, I inquire again. "Twenty-five cents a quart and vurnish yer own gan. " The bill is abnormallylarge, but, as I hand over the amount, a "loaded schooner" is shovedunder my nose, as though a glass of beer were a tranquillizing antidotefor all the ills of life. Splendid level alkali flats abound east ofRock Springs, and I bowl across them at a lively pace until they terminate, and my route follows up Bitter Creek, where the surface is just thereverse; being seamed and furrowed as if it had just emerged from adevastating flood. It is said that the teamster who successfully navigatedthe route up Bitter Creek, considered himself entitled to be called "atough cuss from Bitter Creek, on wheels, with a perfect education. " Ajustifiable regard for individual rights would seem to favor my ownassumption of this distinguished title after traversing the route witha bicycle. Ten o'clock next morning finds me leaning on my wheel, surveyingthe scenery from the "Continental Divide" - the backbone of the continent. Pacing the north, all waters at my right hand flow to the east, and allon my left flow to the west - the one eventually finding their way to theAtlantic, the other to the Pacific. This spot is a broad low pass throughthe Rockies, more plain than mountain, but from which a most commandingview of numerous mountain chains are obtained. To the north and northwestare the Seminole, Wind River, and Sweet-water ranges - bold, rugged mountain-chains, filling the landscape of the distant north with a mass of great, jagged, rocky piles, grand beyond conception; their many snowy peakspeopling the blue ethery space above with ghostly, spectral forms wellcalculated to inspire with feelings of awe and admiration a lone cycler, who, standing in silence and solitude profound on the great ContinentalDivide, looks and meditates on what he sees. Other hoary monarchs arevisible to the east, which, however, we shall get acquainted with lateron. Down grade is the rule now, and were there a good road, what anenjoyable coast it would be, down from the Continental Divide! but halfof it has to be walked. About eighteen miles from the divide I am greatlyamused, and not a little astonished, at the strange actions of a coyotethat comes trotting in a leisurely, confidential way toward me; and whenhe reaches a spot commanding a good view of my road he stops and watchesmy movements with an air of the greatest inquisitiveness and assurance. He stands and gazes as I trundle along, not over fifty yards away, andhe looks so much like a well-fed collie, that I actually feel like pattingmy knee for him to come and make friends. Shoot at him . Certainly not. One never abuses a confidence like that. He can come and rub his sleekcoat up against the bicycle if he likes, and - blood-thirsty rascal thoughhe no doubt is - I will never fire at him. He has as much right to gazein astonishment at a bicycle as anybody else who never saw one before. 

Staying over night and the next day at Rawlins, I make the sixteen milesto Port Fred Steele next morning before breakfast, there bein" a verygood road between the two places. This fort stands on the west bank ofNorth Platte River, and a few miles west of the river I ride through thefirst prairie dog town encountered in crossing the continent from thewest, though I shall see plenty of these interesting little fellowsduring the next three hundred miles. These animals sit near their holesand excitedly bark at whatever goes past. Never before have they had anopportunity to bark at a bicycle, and they seem to be making the mostof their opportunity. I see at this village none of the small speckledowls, which, with the rattlesnake, make themselves so much at home inthe prairie-dogs' comfortable quarters, but I see them farther east. These three strangely assorted companions may have warm affections towardeach other; but one is inclined to think the great bond of sympathy thatbinds them together is the tender regard entertained by the owl and therattlesnake for the nice, tender young prairie-pups that appear atintervals to increase the joys and cares of the elder animals. 

I am now getting on to the famous Laramie Plains, and Elk Mountain loomsup not over ten miles to the south - a solid, towery mass of black rocksand dark pine forests, that stands out bold and distinct from surroundingmountain chains as though some animate thing conscious of its own strengthand superiority. A snow-storm is raging on its upper slopes, obscuringthat portion of the mountain; but the dark forest-clad slopes near thebase are in plain view, and also the rugged peak which elevates its whitecrowned head above the storm, and reposes peacefully in the brightsunlight in striking contrast to the warring elements lower down. I haveheard old hunters assert that this famous "landmark of the Rockies"is hollow, and that they have heard wolves howling inside the mountain;but some of these old western hunters see and hear strange things!

As I penetrate the Laramie Plains the persistent sage-brush, that hasconstantly hovered around my path for the last thousand miles, growsbeautifully less, and the short, nutritious buffalo-grass is creepingeverywhere. In Carbon, where I arrive after dark, I mention among otherthings in reply to the usual volley of questions, the fact of having tofoot it so great a proportion of the way through the mountain country;and shortly afterward, from among a group of men, I hear a voice, thickand husky with "valley tan, " remark: " Faith, Oi cud roide a bicyclemeself across the counthry av yeez ud lit me walluk it afut!" andstraightway a luminous bunch of shamrocks dangled for a brief moment inthe air, and then vanished. After passing Medicine Bow Valley and ComoLake I find some good ridable road, the surface being hard gravel andthe plains high and dry. Reaching the brow of one of those rocky ridgesthat hereabouts divide the plains into so many shallow basins, I findmyself suddenly within a few paces of a small herd of antelope peacefullygrazing on the other side of the narrow ridge, all unconscious of thepresence of one of creation's alleged proud lords. My ever-handy revolverrings out clear and sharp on the mountain air, and the startled antelopego bounding across the plain in a succession of quick, jerky jumpspeculiar to that nimble animal; but ere they have travelled a hundredyards one of them lags behind and finally staggers and lays down on thegrass. As I approach him he makes a gallant struggle to rise and makeoff after his companions, but the effort is too much for him, and comingup to him, I quickly put him out of pain by a shot behind the ear. Thismakes a proud addition to my hitherto rather small list of game, whichnow comprises jack-rabbits, a badger, a fierce gosling, an antelope, anda thin, attenuated coyote, that I bowled over in Utah. 

>From this ridge an extensive view of the broad, billowy plains andsurrounding mountains is obtained. Elk Mountain still seems close athand, its towering form marking the western limits of the Medicine BowRange whose dark pine-clad slopes form the western border of the plains. Back of them to the west is the Snowy Range, towering in ghostly grandeuras far above the timber-clad summits of the Medicine Bow Range as theselatter are above the grassy plains at their base. To the south more snowymountains stand out against the sky like white tracery on a blue ground, with Long's Peak and Fremont's Peak towering head and shoulders abovethem all. The Rattlesnake Range, with Laramie Peak rearing its tenthousand feet of rugged grandeur to the clouds, are visible to the north. On the east is the Black Hills Range, the last chain of the Rockies, andnow the only barrier intervening between me and the broad prairies thatroll away eastward to the Missouri River and "the States. "

A genuine Laramie Plains rain-storm is hovering overhead as I pull outof Rock Creek, after dinner, and in a little while the performance begins. There is nothing of the gentle pattering shower about a rain and windstorm on these elevated plains; it comes on with a blow and a blusterthat threatens to take one off his feet. The rain is dashed about in theair by the wild, blustering wind, and comes from all directions at thesame time. While you are frantically hanging on to your hat, the windplayfully unbuttons your rubber coat and lifts it up over your head andflaps the wet, muddy corners about in your face and eyes; and, ere youcan disentangle your features from the cold uncomfortable embrace of thewet mackintosh, the rain - which "falls" upward as well as down, andsidewise, and every other way-has wet you through up as high as thearmpits; and then the gentle zephyrs complete your discomfiture bypurloining your hat and making off across the sodden plain with it, ata pace that defies pursuit. The storm winds up in a pelting shower ofhailstones - round chunks of ice that cause me to wince whenever one makesa square hit, and they strike the steel spokes of the bicycle and makethem produce harmonious sounds. Trundling through Cooper Lake Basin, after dark, I get occasional glimpses of mysterious shadowy objectsflitting hither and thither through the dusky pall around me. The basinis full of antelope, and my presence here in the darkness fills themwith consternation; their keen scent and instinctive knowledge of astrange presence warn them of my proximity; and as they cannot see mein the darkness they are flitting about in wild alarm. Stopping for thenight at Lookout, I make an early start, in order to reach Laramie Cityfor dinner. These Laramie Plains "can smile and look pretty" when theychoose, and, as I bowl along over a fairly good road this sunny Sundaymorning, they certainly choose. The Laramie River on my left, the MedicineBow and Snowy ranges - black and white respectively - towering aloft to theright, and the intervening plains dotted with herds of antelope, completea picture that can be seen nowhere save on the Laramie Plains. Reachinga swell of the plains, that almost rises to the dignity of a hill, I cansee the nickel-plated wheels of the Laramie wheelmen glistening in thesunlight on the opposite side of the river several miles from where Istand. They have come out a few miles to meet me, but have taken thewrong side of the river, thinking I had crossed below Rock Creek. Themembers of the Laramie Bicycle Club are the first wheelmen I have seensince leaving California; and, as I am personally acquainted at Laramie, it is needless to dwell on my reception at their hands. The rambles ofthe Laramie Club are well known to the cycling world from the manyinteresting letters from the graphic pen of their captain, Mr. Owen, who, with two other members, once took a tour on their wheels to theYellowstone National Park. They have some very good natural roads aroundLaramie, but in their rambles over the mountains these "rough riders ofthe Rockies" necessarily take risks that are unknown to their fraternalbrethren farther east. 

Tuesday morning I pull out to scale the last range that separates mefrom "the plains" - popularly known as such - and, upon arriving at thesummit, I pause to take a farewell view of the great and wonderful inter-mountain country, across whose mountains, plains, and deserts I havebeen travelling in so novel a manner for the last month. The view fromwhere I stand is magnificent - ay, sublime beyond human power to describe -and well calculated to make an indelible impression on the mind of one gazingupon it, perhaps for the last time. The Laramie Plains extend northwardand westward, like a billowy green sea. Emerging from a black canonbehind Jelm Mountain, the Laramie River winds its serpentine course ina northeast direction until lost to view behind the abutting mountainsof the range, on which I now stand, receiving tribute in its course fromthe Little Laramie and numbers of smaller streams that emerge from themountainous bulwarks forming the western border of the marvellous picturenow before me. The unusual rains have filled the numberless depressionsof the plains with ponds and lakelets that in their green setting glistenand glimmer in the bright morning sunshine like gems. A train is comingfrom the west, winding around among them as if searching out the mostbeautiful, and finally halts at Laramie City, which nestles in theirmidst - the fairest gem of them all - the "Gem of the Rockies. " SheepMountain, the embodiment of all that is massive and indestructible, juts boldlyand defiantly forward as though its mission were to stand guard over allthat lies to the west. The Medicine Bow Eange is now seen to greateradvantage, and a bald mountain-top here and there protrudes above thedark forests, timidly, as if ashamed of its nakedness. Our old friend, Elk Mountain, is still in view, a stately and magnificent pile, servingas a land-mark for a hundred miles around. Beyond all this, to the westand south - a good hundred miles away - are the snowy ranges; their hoarypeaks of glistening purity penetrating the vast blue dome above, likemonarchs in royal vestments robed. Still others are seen, white andshadowy, stretching away down into Colorado, peak beyond peak, ridgebeyond ridge, until lost in the impenetrable distance. 

As I lean on my bicycle on this mountain-top, drinking in the gloriousscene, and inhaling the ozone-laden air, looking through the loop-holesof recent experiences in crossing the great wonderland to the west; itsstrange intermingling of forest-clad hills and grassy valleys; its barren, rocky mountains and dreary, desolate plains; its vast, snowy solitudesand its sunny, sylvan nooks; the no less strange intermingling of people;the wandering red-skin with his pathetic history; the feverishly hopefulprospector, toiling and searching for precious metals locked in theeternal hills; and the wild and free cow-boy who, mounted on his wirybronco, roams these plains and mountains, free as the Arab of the desert -I heave a sigh as I realize that no tongue or pen of mine can hope to dothe subject justice. 

My road is now over Cheyenne Pass, and from this point is mostly down-gradeto Cheyenne. Soon I come to a naturally smooth granite surface whichextends for twelve miles, where I have to keep the brake set most of thedistance, and the constant friction heats the brake-spoon and scorchesthe rubber tire black. To-night I reach Cheyenne, where I find a bicycleclub of twenty members, and where the fame of my journey from San Franciscodraws such a crowd on the corner where I alight, that a blue-coatedguardian of the city's sidewalks requests me to saunter on over to thehotel. Do I. Yes, I saunter over. The Cheyenne "cops" are bold, bad mento trifle with. They have to be "bold, bad men to trifle with, " or thewild, wicked cow-boys would come in and "paint the city red " altogethertoo frequently. It is the morning of June 4th as I bid farewell to the"Magic City, " and, turning my back to the mountains, ride away over veryfair roads toward the rising sun. I am not long out before meeting withthat characteristic feature of a scene on the Western plains, a "prairieschooner;" and meeting prairie schooners will now be a daily incidentof my eastward journey. Many of these "pilgrims" come from the backwoodsof Missouri and Arkansas, or the rural districts of some other WesternState, where the persevering, but at present circumscribed, cycler hasnot yet had time to penetrate, and the bicycle is therefore to them awonder to be gazed at and commented on, generally - it must be admitted -in language more fluent as to words than in knowledge of the subjectdiscussed. Not far from where the trail leads out of Crow Creek bottomon to the higher table-land, I find the grassy plain smoother than thewagon-trail, and bowl along for a short distance as easily as one couldwish. But not for long is this permitted; the ground becomes coveredwith a carpeting of small, loose cacti that stick to the rubber tirewith the clinging tenacity of a cuckle-burr to a mule's tail. Of coursethey scrape off again as they come round to the bridge of the fork, butit isn't the tire picking them up that fills me with lynx-eyed vigilanceand alarm; it is the dreaded possibility of taking a header among theseawful vegetables that unnerves one, starts the cold chills chasing eachother up and down my spinal column, and causes staring big beads ofperspiration to ooze out of my forehead. No more appalling physicalcalamity on a small scale could befall a person than to take a headeron to a cactus-covered greensward; millions of miniature needles wouldfill his tender hide with prickly sensations, and his vision with floatingstars. It would perchance cast clouds of gloom over his whole life. Henceforth he would be a solemn-visaged, bilious-eyed needle-cushionamong men, and would never smile again. I once knew a young man namedWhipple, who sat down on a bunch of these cacti at a picnic in VirginiaDale, Wyo. , and he never smiled again. Two meek-eyed maidens of theRockies invited him to come and take a seat between them on a thin, innocuous-looking layer of hay. Smilingly poor, unsuspecting Whippleaccepted the invitation; jokingly he suggested that it would be a rosebetween two thorns. But immediately he sat down he became convinced thatit was the liveliest thorn - or rather millions of thorns - between tworoses. Of course the two meek-eyed maidens didn't know it was there, howshould they. But, all the same, he never smiled again - not on them. 

At the section-house, where I call for dinner, I make the mistake ofleaving the bicycle behind the house, and the woman takes me for anuncommercial traveller - yes, a tramp. She snaps out, "We can't feedeverybody that comes along, " and shuts the door in my face. Yesterday Iwas the centre of admiring crowds in the richest city of its size inAmerica; to-day I am mistaken for a hungry-eyed tramp, and spurned fromthe door by a woman with a faded calico dress and a wrathy what - are?look in her eye. Such is life in the Far West. 

Gradually the Rockies have receded from my range of vision, and I amalone on the boundless prairie. There is a feeling of utter isolationat finding one's self alone on the plains that is not experienced in themountain country. There is something tangible and companionable about amountain; but here, where there is no object in view anywhere - nothingbut the boundless, level plains, stretching away on every hand as faras the eye can reach, I and all around, whichever way one looks, nothingbut the green carpet below and the cerulean arch above-one feels thathe is the sole occupant of a vast region of otherwise unoccupied space. This evening, while fording Pole Creek with the bicycle, my clothes, andshoes - all at the same time - the latter fall in the river; and m my wildscramble after the shoes I drop some of the clothes; then I drop themachine in my effort to save the clothes, and wind up by falling downin the water with everything. Everything is fished out again all right, but a sad change has come over the clothes and shoes. This morning I wasmistaken for a homeless, friendless wanderer; this evening as I standon the bank of Pole Creek with nothing over me but a thin mantle ofnative modesty, and ruefully wring the water out of my clothes, I feelconsiderably like one. Pine Bluffs provides me with shelter for thenight, and a few miles' travel next morning takes me across the boundary-lineinto Nebraska My route leads down Pole Creek, with ridable roads probablyhalf the distance, and low, rocky bluffs lining both sides of the narrowvalley, and leading up to high, rolling prairie beyond. Over these rockybluffs the Indians were wont to stampede herds of buffalo, which fallingover the precipitous bluffs, would be killed by hundreds, thus procuringan abundance of beef for the long winter. There are no buffalo here now- they have departed with the Indians - and I shall never have a chance toadd a bison to my game-list on this tour. But they have left plenty oftangible evidence behind, in the shape of numerous deeply worn trailsleading from the bluffs to the creek. 

The prairie hereabouts is spangled with a wealth of divers-colored flowersthat fill the morning air with gratifying perfume. The air is soft andbalmy, in striking contrast to the chilly atmosphere of early morningin the mountain country, where the accumulated snows of a thousand wintersexert their chilling influence in opposition to the benign rays of oldSol. This evening I pass through "Prairie-dog City, " the largestcongregation of prairie-dog dwellings met with on the tour. The "city"covers hundreds of acres of ground, and the dogs come out in suchmultitudes to present their noisy and excitable protests against myintrusion, that I consider myself quite justified in shooting at them. I hit one old fellow fair and square, but he disappears like a flashdown his hole, which now becomes his grave. The lightning-like movementsof the prairie-dog, and his instinctive inclination toward his home, combine to perform the last sad rites of burial for his body at death. As, toward dark, I near Potter Station, where I expect accommodation forthe night, a storm comes howling from the west, and it soon resolvesinto a race between me and the storm. With a good ridable road I couldwin the race; but, being handicapped with an unridable trail, nearlyobscured beneath tall, rank grass, the storm overtakes me, and comes inat Potter Station a winner by about three hundred lengths. 

In the morning I start out in good season, and, nearing Sidney, the roadbecomes better, and I sweep into that enterprising town at a becomingpace. I conclude to remain at Sidney for dinner, and pass the remainderof the forenoon visiting the neighboring fort. 

CHAPTER IV. 

FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 

Through the courtesy of the commanding officer at Fort Sidney I am enabledto resume my journey eastward under the grateful shade of a militarysummer helmet in lieu of the semi-sombrero slouch that has lasted methrough from San Francisco. Certainly it is not without feelings ofcompunction that one discards an old friend, that has gallantly stoodby me through thick and thin throughout the eventful journey across theinter-mountain country; but the white helmet gives such a delightfullyimposing air to my otherwise forlorn and woebegone figure that I rideout of Sidney feeling quite vain. The first thing done is to fill a pooryellow-spotted snake - whose head is boring in the sand - with livelysurprise, by riding over his mottled carcass; and only the fact of thetire being rubber, and not steel, enables him to escape unscathed. Thissame evening, while halting for the night at Lodge Pole Station, theopportunity of observing the awe-inspiring aspect of a great thunder-stormon the plains presents itself. With absolutely nothing to obstruct the. Vision the Alpha and Omega of the whole spectacle are plainly observable. The gradual mustering of the forces is near the Rockies to the westward, then the skirmish-line of fleecy cloudlets comes rolling and tumblingin advance, bringing a current of air that causes the ponderous wind-millat the railway tank to "about face" sharply, and sets its giant armsto whirling vigorously around. Behind comes the compact, inky veil thatspreads itself over the whole blue canopy above, seemingly banishing allhope of the future; and athwart its Cimmerian surface shoot zigzag streaksof lightning, accompanied by heavy, muttering thunder that rolls andreverberates over the boundless plains seemingly conscious of thespaciousness of its play-ground. Broad sheets of electric flame playalong the ground, filling the air with a strange, unnatural light; heavy, pattering raindrops begin to fall, and, ten minutes after, a pelting, pitiless down-pour is drenching the sod-cabin of the lonely rancher, and, for the time being, converting the level plain into a shallow lake. A fleet of prairie schooners is anchored in the South Platte bottom, waiting for it to dry up, as I trundle down that stream - every mile madeinteresting by reminiscences of Indian fights and massacres - next day, toward Ogallala; and one of the "Pilgrims" looks wise as I approach, and propounds the query, "Does it hev ter git very muddy afore yer kinride yer verlocify, mister?" "Ya-as, purty dog-goned muddy, " I drawlout in reply; for, although comprehending his meaning, I don't care toventure into an explanatory lecture of uncertain length. Seven weeks'travel through bicycleless territory would undoubtedly convert an angelinto a hardened prevaricator, so far as answering questions is concerned. This afternoon is passed the first homestead, as distinguished from aranch-consisting of a small tent pitched near a few acres of newlyupturned prairie - in the picket-line of the great agricultural empirethat is gradually creeping westward over the plains, crowding theautocratic cattle-kings and their herds farther west, . Even as the Indiansand their still greater herds - buffaloes - have been crowded out by thelatter. At Ogallala--which but a few years ago was par excellence thecow-boys' rallying point - "homesteads, " "timber claims, " and "pre-emption"now form the all-absorbing topic. "The Platte's 'petered' since thehoosiers have begun to settle it up, " deprecatingly reflects a bronzedcow-boy at the hotel supper-table; and, from his standpoint, he iscorrect. Passing the next night in the dug-out of a homesteader, in theforks of the North and South Platte, I pass in the morning Buffalo Bill'shome ranch (the place where a ranch proprietor himself resides isdenominated the "home ranch" as distinctive from a ranch presided overby employes only), the house and improvements of which are said to bethe finest in Western Nebraska. Taking dinner at North Platte City, Icross over a substantial wagon-bridge, spanning the turgid yellow streamjust below where the north and south branches fork, and proceed eastwardas " the Platte " simply, reaching Brady Island for the night. Here Iencounter extraordinary difficulties in getting supper. Four families, representing the Union Pacific force at this place, all living in separatehouses, constitute the population of Brady Island. "All our folks arejust recovering from the scarlet fever, " is the reply to my firstapplication; "Muvver's down to ve darden on ve island, and we ain't dotno bread baked, " says a barefooted youth at house No. 2; "Me ould ooman'sacross ter the naybur's, 'n' there ain't a boite av grub cooked in theshanty, " answers the proprietor of No. 3, seated on the threshold, puffingvigorously at the traditional short clay; "We all to Nord Blatte beento veesit, und shust back ter home got mit notings gooked, " winds up thegloomy programme at No. 4. I am hesitating about whether to crawl insomewhere, supperless, for the night, or push on farther through thedarkness, when, "I don't care, pa! it's a shame for a stranger to comehere where there are four families and have to go without supper, " greetmy ears in a musical, tremulous voice. It is the convalescent daughterof house No. 1, valiantly championing my cause; and so well does shesucceed that her "pa" comes out, and notwithstanding my protests, insistson setting out the best they have cooked. Homesteads now become morefrequent, groves of young cottonwoods, representing timber claims, areoccasionally encountered, and section-house accommodation becomes a thingof the past. 

Near Willow Island I come within a trifle of stepping on a belligerentrattlesnake, and in a moment his deadly fangs are hooked to one of thethick canvas gaiters I am wearing. Were my exquisitely outlined calvesencased in cycling stockings only, I should have had a "heap sick foot"to amuse myself with for the next three weeks, though there is littledanger of being "snuffed out" entirely by a rattlesnake favor thesedays; an all-potent remedy is to drink plenty of whiskey as quickly aspossible after being bitten, and whiskey is one of the easiest thingsto obtain in the West. Giving his snakeship to understand that I don'tappreciate his ''good intentions " by vigorously shaking him off, Iturn my "barker "loose on him, and quickly convert him into a "goody-goodsnake; " for if "the only good Indian is a dead one, " surely the sameterse remark applies with much greater force to the vicious and deadlyrattler. As I progress eastward, sod-houses and dug-outs become lessfrequent, and at long intervals frame school-houses appear to remind methat I am passing through a civilized country. Stretches of sand alternatewith ridable roads all down the Platte. Often I have to ticklishly wobblealong a narrow space between two yawning ruts, over ground that isanything but smooth. I consider it a lucky day that passes without addingone or more to my long and eventful list of headers, and to-day I amfairly "unhorsed" by a squall of wind that-taking me unawares-blowsme and the bicycle fairly over. 

East of Plum Creek a greater proportion of ridable road is encountered, but they still continue to be nothing more than well-worn wagon-trailsacross the prairie, and when teams are met en route westward one has togive and the other take, in order to pass. It is doubtless owing tomisunderstanding a cycler's capacities, rather than ill-nature, thatmakes these Western teamsters oblivious to the precept, "It is betterto give than to receive;" and if ignorance is bliss, an outfit I meetto-day ought to comprise the happiest mortals in existence. Near ElmCreek I meet a train of "schooners, " whose drivers fail to recognizemy right to one of the two wheel-tracks; and in my endeavor to ride pastthem on the uneven greensward, I am rewarded by an inglorious header. Adozen freckled Arkansawish faces are watching my movements with undisguisedastonishment; and when my crest - alien self is spread out on the prairie, these faces - one and all - resolve into expansive grins, and a squeakingfemale voice from out nearest wagon, pipes: "La me! that's a right smartchance of a travelling machine, but, if that's the way they stop 'em, Iwonder they don't break every blessed bone in their body. " But all sortsof people are mingled promiscuously here, for, soon after this incident, two young men come running across the prairie from a semi-dug-out, whoprove to be college graduates from "the Hub, " who are rooting prairiehere in Nebraska, preferring the free, independent life of a Westernfarmer to the restraints of a position at an Eastern desk. They are moreconversant with cycling affairs than myself, and, having heard of mytour, have been on the lookout, expecting I would pass this way. AtKearney Junction the roads are excellent, and everything is satisfactory;but an hour's ride east of that city I am shocked at the gross misconductof a vigorous and vociferous young mule who is confined alone in apasture, presumably to be weaned. He evidently mistakes the picturesquecombination of man and machine for his mother, as, on seeing us approach, he assumes a thirsty, anxious expression, raises his unmusical, undignifiedvoice, and endeavors to jump the fence. He follows along the whole lengthof the pasture, and when he gets to the end, and realizes that I amdrawing away from him, perhaps forever, he bawls out in an agony of griefand anxiety, and, recklessly bursting through the fence, comes tearingdown the road, filling the air with the unmelodious notes of his soul-harrowing music. The road is excellent for a piece, and I lead him alively chase, but he finally overtakes me, and, when I slow up, he jogsalong behind quite contentedly. East of Kearney the sod-houses disappearentirely, and the improvements are of a more substantial character. At"Wood River I "make my bow" to the first growth of natural timber sinceleaving the mountains, which indicates my gradual advance off the vasttimberless plains. Passing through Grand Island, Central City, and othertowns, I find myself anchored Saturday evening, June 14th, at Duncan - asettlement of Polackers - an honest-hearted set of folks, who seem tothoroughly understand a cycler's digestive capacity, though understandingnothing whatever about the uses of the machine. Resuming my journey nextmorning, I find the roads fair. After crossing the Loup River, and passingthrough Columbus, I reach-about 11 A. M. - a country school-house, with agathering of farmers hanging around outside, awaiting the arrival of theparson to open the meeting. Alighting, I am engaged in answering fortyquestions or thereabouts to the minute when that pious individual cantersup, and, dismounting from his nag, comes forward and joins in theconversation. He invites me to stop over and hear the sermon; and whenI beg to be excused because desirous of pushing ahead while the weatheris favorable His Reverence solemnly warns me against desecrating theSabbath by going farther than the prescribed "Sabbath-day's journey. "

At Premont I bid farewell to the Platte - which turns south and joins theMissouri River at Plattsmouth - and follow the old military road throughthe Elkhorn Valley to Omaha. "Military road" sounds like music in acycler's ear - suggestive of a well-kept and well-graded highway; but thisparticular military road between Fremont and Omaha fails to awaken anyblithesome sensations to-day, for it is almost one continuous mud-hole. It is called a military road simply from being the route formerly traversedby troops and supply trains bound for the Western forts. Besting a dayin Omaha, I obtain a permit to trundle my wheel across the Union PacificBridge that spans the Missouri River - the "Big Muddy, " toward which Ihave been travelling so long - between Omaha and Council Bluffs; I bidfarewell to Nebraska, and cross over to Iowa. Heretofore I have omittedmentioning the tremendously hot weather I have encountered lately, becauseof my inability to produce legally tangible evidence; but to-day, whileeating dinner at a farm-house, I leave the bicycle standing against thefence, and old Sol ruthlessly unsticks the tire, so that, when I mount, it comes off, and gives me a gymnastic lesson all unnecessary. My firstday's experience in the great "Hawkeye State" speaks volumes for thehospitality of the people, there being quite a rivalry between twoneighboring farmers about which should take me in to dinner. A compromiseis finally made, by which I am to eat dinner at one place, and be "turnedloose" in a cherry orchard afterward at the other, to which happyarrangement I, of course, enter no objections. In striking contrast tothese friendly advances is my own unpardonable conduct the same eveningin conversation with an honest old farmer. 

"I see you are taking notes. I suppose you keep track of the crops asyou travel along?" says the H. O. F. "Certainly, I take more notice ofthe crops than anything; I'm a natural born agriculturist myself. " "Well, "continues the farmer, "right here where we stand is Carson Township. ""Ah! indeed. Is it possible that I have at last arrived at Carson Township. ""You have heard of the township before, then, eh. " "Heard of it!why, man alive, Carson Township is all the talk out in the Rockies; infact, it is known all over the world as the finest Township for corn inIowa. " This sort of conduct is, I admit, unwarrantable in the extreme;but cycling is responsible for it all. If continuous cycling is productiveof a superfluity of exhilaration, and said exhilaration bubbles overoccasionally, plainly the bicycle is to blame. So forcibly does thislatter fact intrude upon me as I shake hands with the farmer, andcongratulate him on his rare good fortune in belonging to Carson Townshipthat I mount, and with a view of taking a little of the shine out of it, ride down the long, steep hill leading to the bridge across the NishneboteneRiver at a tremendous pace. The machine "kicks" against this treatment, however, and, when about half wray down, it strikes a hole and sends mespinning and gyrating through space; and when I finally strike terrafirma, it thumps me unmercifully in the ribs ere it lets me up. "Variable"is the word descriptive of the Iowa roads; for seventy-five miles dueeast of Omaha the prairie rolls like a heavy Atlantic swell, and duringa day's journey I pass through a dozen alternate stretches of muddy anddusky road; for like a huge watering-pot do the rain-clouds pass to andfro over this great garden of the West, that is practically one continuousfertile farm from the Missouri to the Mississippi. Passing through DesMoines on the 23d, muddy roads and hot, thunder-showery weather characterizemy journey through Central Iowa, aggravated by the inevitable question, "Why don't you ride?" one Solomon-visaged individual asking me if therailway company wouldn't permit me to ride along one of the rails. Nobase, unworthy suspicions of a cycler's inability to ride on a two-inchrail finds lodgement in the mind of this wiseacre; but his compassionateheart is moved with tender solicitude as to whether the soulless "company"will, or will not, permit it. Hurrying timorously through Grinnell - thecity that was badly demolished and scattered all over the surroundingcountry by a cyclone in 1882 - I pause at Victor, where I find the inhabitantshighly elated over the prospect of building a new jail with the finesnightly inflicted on graders employed on a new railroad near by, whocome to town and "hilare" every evening. " What kind of a place do youcall this. " I inquire, on arriving at a queer-looking town twenty-fivemiles west of Iowa City. 

"This is South Amana, one of the towns of the Amana Society, " is thecivil reply. The Amana Society is found upon inquiry to be a communismof Germans, numbering 15, 000 souls, and owning 50, 000 acres of choiceland in a body, with woollen factories, four small towns, and the bestof credit everywhere. Everything is common property, and upon withdrawalor expulsion, a member takes with him only the value of what he broughtin. The domestic relations are as usual; and while no person of ambitionwould be content with the conditions of life here, the slow, ease-loving, methodical people composing the society seem well satisfied with theirlot, and are, perhaps, happier, on the whole, than the average outsider. I remain here for dinner, and take a look around. The people, thebuildings, the language, the food, everything, is precisely as if it hadbeen picked up bodily in some rural district in Germany, and set downunaltered here in Iowa. "Wie gehts, " I venture, as I wheel past a coupleof plump, rosy-cheeked maidens, in the quaint, old-fashioned garb of theGerman peasantry. "Wie gehts, " is the demure reply from them, both atonce; but not the shadow of a dimple responds to my unhappy attempt towin from them a smile. Pretty but not coquettish are these communisticmaidens of Amana. At Tiffin, the stilly air of night, is made joyous withthe mellifluous voices of whip-poor-wills-the first I have heard on thetour-and their tuneful concert is impressed on my memory in happy contrastto certain other concerts, both vocal and instrumental, endured en route. Passing through Iowa City, crossing Cedar River at Moscow, nine daysafter crossing the Missouri, I hear the distant whistle of a Mississippisteamboat. Its hoarse voice is sweetest music to me, heralding the factthat two-thirds of my long tour across the continent is completed. Crossing the "Father of Waters" over the splendid government bridgebetween Davenport and Rock Island, I pass over into Illinois. For severalmiles my route leads up the Mississippi River bottom, over sandy roads;but nearing Rock River, the sand disappears, and, for some distance, anexcellent road winds through the oak-groves lining this beautiful stream. The green woods are free from underbrush, and a cool undercurrent of airplays amid the leafy shades, which, if not ambrosial, are none the lessgrateful, as it registers over 100° in the sun; without, the silverysheen of the river glimmers through the interspaces; the dulcet notesof church-bells come floating on the breeze from over the river, seemingto proclaim, with their melodious tongues, peace and good-will to all. Eock River, with its 300 yards in width of unbridged waters, now obstructsmy path, and the ferryboat is tied up on the other shore. "Whoop-ee, "I yell at the ferryman's hut opposite, but without receiving any response. "Wh-o-o-p-e-ee, " I repeat in a gentle, civilized voice-learned, by theby, two years ago on the Crow reservation in Montana, and which sets thesurrounding atmosphere in a whirl and drowns out the music of the church-bells it has no effect whatever on the case-hardened ferryman in thehut; he pays no heed whatever until my persuasive voice is augmented bythe voices of two new arrivals in a buggy, when he sallies serenely forthand slowly ferries us across. Riding along rather indifferent roads, between farms worth $100 an acre, through the handsome town of Genesee, stopping over night at Atkinson, I resume my journey next morning througha country abounding in all that goes to make people prosperous, if nothappy. Pretty names are given to places hereabouts, for on my left Ipass "Pink Prairie, bordered with Green River. " Crossing over intoBureau County, I find splendid gravelled roads, and spend a most agreeablehour with the jolly Bicycle Club, of Princeton, the handsome county seatof Bureau County, Pushing on to Lamoille for the night, the enterprisingvillage barber there hustles me into his cosey shop, and shaves, shampoos, shingles, bay-rums, and otherwise manipulates me, to the great enhancementof my personal appearance, all, so he says, for the honor of havinglathered the chin of the "great and only--" In fact, the Illinoisiansseem to be most excellent folks. After three days' journey through thegreat Prairie State my head is fairly turned with kindness and flattery;but the third night, as if to rebuke my vanity, I am bluntly refusedshelter at three different farm-houses. I am benighted, and conclude tomake the best of it by "turning in" under a hay-cock; but the Fox Rivermosquitoes oust me in short order, and compel me to "mosey along" throughthe gloomy night to Yorkville. At Yorkville a stout German, on beinginformed that I am going to ride to Chicago, replies, "What. Ghigago mitdot. Why, mine dear Yellow, Ghi-gago's more as vorty miles; you gan'tride mit dot to Ghigago;" and the old fellow's eyes fairly bulge withastonishment at the bare idea of riding forty miles "mit dot. " Iconsiderately refrain from telling him of my already 2, 500-mile jaunt"mit dot, " lest an apoplectic fit should waft his Teutonic soul to realmsof sauer-kraut bliss and Limburger happiness forever. On the morning ofJuly 4th I roll into Chicago, where, having persuaded myself that Ideserve a few days' rest, I remain till the Democratic Convention windsup on the 13th. 

Fifteen miles of good riding and three of tough trundling, through deepsand, brings me into Indiana, which for the first thirty-five milesaround the southern shore of Lake Michigan is "simply and solely sand. "Finding it next to impossible to traverse the wagon-roads, I trundlearound the water's edge, where the sand is firmer because wet. Aftertwenty miles of this I have to shoulder the bicycle and scale the hugesand-dunes that border the lake here, and after wandering for an hourthrough a bewildering wilderness of swamps, sand-hills, and hickorythickets, I finally reach Miller Station for the night. This place isenough to give one the yellow-edged blues: nothing but swamps, sand, sad-eyed turtles, and ruthless, relentless mosquitoes. At Chesterton theroads improve, but still enough sand remains to break the force ofheaders, which, notwithstanding my long experience on the road, I stillmanage to execute with undesirable frequency. To-day I take one, andwhile unravelling myself and congratulating my lucky stars at being ina lonely spot where none can witness my discomfiture, a gruff, sarcastic"haw-haw" falls like a funeral knell on my ear, and a lanky "Hoosier"rides up on a diminutive pumpkin-colored mule that looks a veritablepygmy between his hoop-pole legs. It is but justice to explain that thislatter incident did not occur in "Posey County. "

At La Porte the roads improve for some distance, but once again I ambenighted, and sleep under a wheat-shock. Traversing several miles ofcorduroy road, through huckleberry swamps, next morning, I reach Cram'sPoint for breakfast. A remnant of some Indian tribe still lingers aroundhere and gathers huckleberries for the market, two squaws being in thevillage purchasing supplies for their camp in the swamps. "What's thename of these Indians here?" I ask. . "One of em's Blinkie, and t'other'sSeven-up, " is the reply, in a voice that implies such profound knowledgeof the subject that I forbear to investigate further. 

Splendid gravel roads lead from Crum's Point to South Bend, and on throughMishawaka, alternating with sandy stretches to Goshen, which town issaid - by the Goshenites - to be the prettiest in Indiana; but there seemsto be considerable pride of locality in the great Hoosier State, and Iventure there are scores of "prettiest towns in Indiana. " Nevertheless, Goshen is certainly a very handsome place, with unusually broad, well-shadedstreets; the centre of a magnificent farming country, it is romanticallysituated on the banks of the beautiful Elkhart Eiver. At "Wawaka I finda corpulent 300-pound cycler, who, being afraid to trust his jumboleanproportions on an ordinary machine, has had an extra stout bone-shakermade to order, and goes out on short runs with a couple of neighborwheelmen, who, being about fifty per cent, less bulky, ride regulationwheels. "Jumbo" goes all right when mounted, but, being unable to mountwithout aid, he seldom ventures abroad by himself for fear of having tofoot it back. Ninety-five degrees in the shade characterizes the weatherthese days, and I generally make a few miles in the gloaming - not, ofcourse, because it is cooler, but because the "gloaming" is so delightfullyromantic. 

At ten o'clock in the morning, July 17th, I bowl across the boundaryline into Ohio. Following the Merchants' and Bankers' Telegraph road toNapoleon, I pass through a district where the rain has overlooked themfor two months; the rear wheel of the bicycle is half buried in hot dust;the blackberries are dead on the bushes, and the long-suffering cornlooks as though afflicted with the yellow jaundice. I sup this sameevening with a family of Germans, who have been settled here forty years, and scarcely know a word of English yet. A fat, phlegmatic-looking babyis peacefully reposing in a cradle, which is simply half a monster pumpkinscooped out and dried; it is the most intensely rustic cradle in theworld. Surely, this youngster's head ought to be level on agriculturalaffairs, when he grows up, if anybody's ought. From Napoleon my routeleads up the Maumee River and canal, first trying the tow-path of thelatter, and then relinquishing it for the very fair wagon-road. TheMaumee River, winding through its splendid rich valley, seems to possessa peculiar beauty all its own, and my mind, unbidden, mentally comparesit with our old friend, the Humboldt. The latter stream traverses drearyplains, where almost nothing but sagebrush grows; the Maumee waters asmiling valley, where orchards, fields, and meadows alternate with sugar-maple groves, and in its fair bosom reflects beautiful landscape views, that are changed and rebeautified by the master-hand of the sun every hourof the day, and doubly embellished at night by the moon. It is whispered thatduring " the late unpleasantness " the Ohio regiments could out-yell theLouisiana tigers, or any other Confederate troops, two to one. Who has notheard the "Ohio yell?" Most people are magnanimously inclined to regard thisrumor as simply a "gag" on the Buckeye boys; but it isn't. The Ohioansare to the manner born; the "Buckeye yell" is a tangible fact. All along theMaumee it resounds in my ears; nearly every man or boy, who from thefields, far or near, sees me bowling along the road, straightway delivershimself of a yell, pure and simple. At Perrysburg, I strike the famous"Maumee pike"-forty miles of stone road, almost a dead level. The westernhalf is kept in rather poor repair these days; but from Fremont eastward itis splendid wheeling. The atmosphere of Bellevue is blue with politics, andmyself and another innocent, unsuspecting individual, hailing from New York, are enticed into a political meeting by a wily politician, and dexterously made topose before the assembled company as two gentlemen who have come - onefrom the Atlantic, the other from the Pacific - to witness the overwhelmingsuccess of the only honest, horny-handed, double-breasted patriots - the. . . Party. The roads are found rather sandy east of the pike, and the roadfulof wagons going to the circus, which exhibits to-day at Norwalk, causesconsiderable annoyance. 

Erie County, through which I am now passing, is one of the finest fruitcountries in the world, and many of the farmers keep open orchard. Stayingat Eidgeville overnight, I roll into Cleveland, and into the out-stretchedarms of a policeman, at 10 o'clock, next morning. "He was violating thecity ordinance by riding on the sidewalk, " the arresting policeman informsthe captain. "Ah! he was, hey!" thunders the captain, in a hoarse, bassvoice that causes my knees to knock together with fear and trembling;and the captain's eye seems to look clear through my trembling form. "P-l-e-a-s-e, s-i-r, I d-i-d-n't t-r-y t-o d-o i-t, " I falter, in a weak, gasping voice that brings tears to the eyes of the assembled officersand melts the captain's heart, so that he is already wavering betweenjustice and mercy when a local wheelman comes gallantly to the rescue, and explains my natural ignorance of Cleveland's city laws, and I breathethe joyous air of freedom once again. Three members of the ClevelandBicycle Club and a visiting wheelman accompany me ten miles out, ridingdown far-famed Euclid Avenue, and calling at Lake View Cemetery to paya visit to Garfleld's tomb. I bid them farewell at Euclid village. Following the ridge road leading along the shore of Lake Erie to Buffalo, I ride through a most beautiful farming country, passing through "Willoughbyand Mentor-Garfield's old home. Splendidly kept roads pass between avenuesof stately maples, that cast a grateful shade athwart the highway, bothsides of which are lined with magnificent farms, whose fields and meadowsfairly groan beneath their wealth of produce, whose fructiferous orchardsarc marvels of productiveness, and whose barns and stables would beveritable palaces to the sod-housed homesteaders on Nebraska's frontierprairies. Prominent among them stands the old Garfield homestead - a finefarm of one hundred and sixty-five acres, at present managed by Mrs. Garfield's brother. Smiling villages nestling amid stately groves, rearingwhite church-spires from out their green, bowery surroundings, dot thelow, broad, fertile shore-land to the left; the gleaming waters of LakeErie here and there glisten like burnished steel through the distantinterspaces, and away beyond stretches northward, like a vast mirror, to kiss the blue Canadian skies. Near Conneaut I whirl the dust of theBuckeye State from my tire and cress over into Pennsylvania, where, fromthe little hamlet of Springfield, the roads become good, then better, and finally best at Girard-the home of the veteran showman, Dan Rice, the beautifying works of whose generous hand are everywhere visible inhis native town. Splendid is the road and delightful the country comingeast from Girard; even the red brick school-houses are embowered amidleafy groves; and so it continues with ever-varying, ever-pleasing beautyto Erie, after which the highway becomes hardly so good. 

Twenty-four hours after entering Pennsylvania I make my exit across theboundary into the Empire State. The roads continue good, and afterdinner I reach Westfield, six miles from the famous Lake Chautauqua, which beautiful hill and forest embowered sheet of water is popularlybelieved by many of its numerous local admirers to be the highest navigablelake in the world. If so, however, Lake Tahoe in the Sierra NevadaMountains comes next, as it is about six thousand feet above the levelof the sea, and has three steamers plying on its waters. At Fredonia Iam shown through the celebrated watch-movement factory here, by thecaptain of the Fredonia Club, who accompanies me to Silver Creek, where we call on another enthusiastic wheelman-a physician who usesthe wheel in preference to a horse, in making professional callsthroughout the surround-in' country. Taking supper with the genial "Doc. , "they both accompany me to the s. Ummit of a steep hill leading up out ofthe creek bottom. No wheelman has ever yet rode up this hill, save themuscular and gritty captain of the Fredonia Club, though several haveattempted the feat. From the top my road ahead is plainly visible for miles, leading through the broad and smiling Cattaraugus Valley that is spreadout like a vast garden below, through which Cattaraugus Creek slowlywinds its tortuous way. Stopping over night at Angola I proceed toBuffalo next morning, catching the first glimpse of that important " seaportof the lakes, " where, fifteen miles across the bay, the wagon-road isalmost licked by the swashing waves; and entering the city over a " misfit"plank-road, off which I am almost upset by the most audaciouslyindifferent woman in the world. A market woman homeward bound withher empty truck-wagon, recognizes my road-rights to the extent of barelyroom to squeeze past between her wagon and the ditch; and holds her long, stiff buggy-whip so that it " swipes " me viciously across the face, knocksmy helmet off into the mud ditch, and well-nigh upsets mo into the same. The woman-a crimson-crested blonde - jogs serenely along without evendeigning to turn her head. Leaving the bicycle at "Isham's "-who volunteerssome slight repairs-I take a flying visit by rail to see Niagara Falls, returningthe same evening to enjoy the proffered hospitality of a genial member ofthe Buffalo Bicycle Club. Seated on the piazza of his residence, onDelaware Avenue, this evening, the symphonious voice of the club-whistleis cast adrift whenever the glowing orb of a cycle-lamp heaves in sightthrough the darkness, and several members of the club are thus roundedup and their hearts captured by the witchery of a smile-a " smile " inBuffalo, I hasten to explain, is no kin whatever to a Rocky Mountain "smile"- far be it from it. This club-wliistle of the Buffalo Bicycle Club happensto sing the same melodious song as the police - whistle at Washington, D. C. ; and the Buffalo cyclers who graced the national league - meet at theCapital with their presence took a folio of club music along. A smallbut frolicsome party of them on top of the Washington monument, "heaveda sigh " from their whistles, at a comrade passing along the streetbelow, when a corpulent policeman, naturally mistaking it for a signalfrom a brother "cop, " hastened to climb the five hundred feet or thereaboutsof ascent up the monument. When he arrived, puffing and perspiring, tothe summit, and discovered his mistake, the wheelmen say he made suchawful use of the Queen's English that the atmosphere had a blue, sulphuroustinge about it for some time after. Leaving Buffalo next morning I passthrough Batavia, where the wheelmen have a most aesthetic little club-room. Besides being jovial and whole-souled fellows, they are awfully sesthetic;and the sweetest little Japanese curios and bric-d-brac decorate thewalls and tables. Stopping over night at LeBoy, in company with thepresident and captain of the LeBoy Club, I visit the State fish-hatcheryat Mumford next morning, and ride on through the Genesee Valley, findingfair roads through the valley, though somewhat hilly and stony towardCanandaigua. Inquiring the best road to Geneva I am advised of thesuperiority of the one leading past the poor-house. Finding them somewhatintricate, and being too super-sensitive to stop people and ask them theroad to the poor-house, I deservedly get lost, and am wandering erraticallyeastward through the darkness, when I fortunately meet a wheelman in abuggy, who directs me to his mother's farm-house near by, with instructionsto that most excellent lady to accommodate me for the night. Nine o'clocknext morning I reach fair Geneva, so beautifully situated on Seneca'ssilvery lake, passing the State agricultural farm en route; continuingon up the Seneca Eiver, passing-through Waterloo and Seneca Falls toCayuga, and from thence to Auburn and Skaneateles, where I heave a sighat the thoughts of leaving the last - I cannot say the loveliest, for allare equally lovely - of that beautiful chain of lakes that transformsthis part of New York State into a vast and delightful summer resort. 

"Down a romantic Swiss glen, where scores of sylvan nooks and ripplingrills invite one to cast about for fairies and sprites, " is the worddescriptive of my route from Marcellus next morning. Once again, onnearing the Camillus outlet from the narrow vale, I hear the sound ofSunday bells, and after the church-bell-less Western wilds, it seems tome that their notes have visited me amid beautiful scenes, strangelyoften of late. Arriving at Camillus, I ask the name of the sparklinglittle stream that dances along this fairy glen like a child at play, absorbing the sun-rays and coquettishly reflecting them in the faces ofthe venerable oaks that bend over it like loving guardians protectingit from evil. My ears are prepared to hear a musical Indian name -"Laughing-Waters " at least; but, like a week's washing ruthlessly intrudingupon love's young dream, falls on my waiting ears the unpoetic misnomer, "Nine-Mile Creek. " Over good roads to Syracuse, and from thence my routeleads down the Erie Canal, alternately riding down the canal tow-path, the wagon-roads, and between the tracks of the New York Central Railway. On the former, the greatest drawback to peaceful cycling is the towing-muleand his unwarrantable animosity toward the bicycle, and the awful, unmentionable profanity engendered thereby in the utterances of theboatmen. Sometimes the burden of this sulphurous profanity is aimed atme, sometimes at the inoffensive bicycle, or both of us collectively, but oftener is it directed at the unspeakable mule, who is really theonly party to blame. A mule scares, not because he is really afraid, butbecause he feels skittishly inclined to turn back, or to make troublebetween his enemies - the boatmen, his task-master, and the cycler, anintruder on his exclusive domain, the Erie tow-path. A span of muleswill pretend to scare, whirl around, and jerk loose from the driver, andgo "scooting" back down the tow-path in a manner indicating that nothingless than a stone wall would stop them; but, exactly in the nick of timeto prevent the tow-line jerking them sidewise into the canal, they stop. Trust a mule for never losing his head when he runs away, as does hishot-headed relative, the horse; who never once allows surroundingcircumstances to occupy his thoughts to an extent detrimental to his ownself-preservative interests. The Erie Canal mule's first mission in lifeis to engender profanity and strife between boatmen and cyclists, andthe second is to work and chew hay, which brings him out about even withthe world all round. At Rome I enter the famous and beautiful MohawkValley, a place long looked forward to with much pleasurable anticipation, from having heard so often of its natural beauties and its interestinghistorical associations. "It's the garden spot of the world; andtravellers who have been all over Europe and everywhere, say there'snothing in the world to equal the quiet landscape beauty of the MohawkValley, " enthusiastically remarks an old gentelman in spectacles, whomI chance to encounter on the heights east of Herkimer. Of the firstassertion I have nothing to say, having passed through a dozen "gardenspots of the world " on this tour across America; but there is nogainsaying the fact that the Mohawk Valley, as viewed from this vantagespot, is wonderfully beautiful. I think it must have been on this spotthat the poet received inspiration to compose the beautiful song thatis sung alike in the quiet homes of the valley itself and in the trapper'sand hunter's tent on the far off Yellowstone - "Fair is the vale wherethe Mohawk gently glides, On its clear, shining way to the sea. " Thevalley ia one of the natural gateways of commerce, for, at Little Falls -where it contracts to a mere pass between the hills - one can almost throwa stone across six railway tracks, the Erie Canal and the Mohawk River. Spending an hour looking over the magnificent Capitol building at Albany, I cross the Hudson, and proceed to ride eastward between the two tracksof the Boston & Albany Railroad, finding the riding very fair. From theelevated road-bed I cast a longing, lingering look down the Hudson Valley, that stretches away southward like a heaven-born dream, and sigh at theimpossibility of going two ways at once. " There's $50 fine for ridinga bicycle along the B. & A. Railroad, " I am informed at Albany, but riskit to Schodack, where I make inquiries of a section foreman. "No; there'sno foine; but av yeez are run over an' git killed, it'll be useless foryeez to inther suit agin the company for damages, " is the reassuringreply; and the unpleasant visions of bankrupting fines dissolve in asmile at this characteristic Milesian explanation. Crossing the Massachusettsboundary at the village of State Line, I find the roads excellent; and, thinking that the highways of the " Old Bay State " will be good enoughanywhere, I grow careless about the minute directions given me by Albanywheelmen, and, ere long, am laboriously toiling over the heavy roads andsteep grades of the Berkshire Hills, endeavoring to get what consolationI can, in return for unridable roads, out of the charming scenery, andthe many interesting features of the Berkshire-Hill country. It is atOtis, in the midst of these hills, that I first become acquainted withthe peculiar New England dialect in its native home. The widely heraldedintellectual superiority of the Massachusetts fair ones asserts itselfeven in the wildest parts of these wild hills; for at small farms - that, in most States, would be characterized by bare-footed, brown-facedhousewives - I encounter spectacled ladies whose fair faces reflect theencyclopaedia of knowledge within, and whose wise looks naturally fillme with awe. At Westfield I learn that Karl Kron, the author and publisherof the American roadbook, " Ten Thousand Miles on a Bicycle" - not to beoutdone by my exploit of floating the bicycle across the Humboldt - undertookthe perilous feat of swimming the Potomac with his bicycle suspended athis waist, and had to be fished up from the bottom with a boat-hook. Since then, however, I have seen the gentleman himself, who assures methat the whole story is a canard. Over good roads to Springfield - and onthrough to Palmer; from thence riding the whole distance to Worcesterbetween the tracks of the railway, in preference to the variable countryroads. 

On to Boston next morning, now only forty miles away, I pass venerableweather-worn mile-stones, set up in old colonial days, when the GreatWest, now trailed across with the rubber hoof-marks of "the popular steedof today, " was a pathless wilderness, and on the maps a blank. Strikingthe famous "sand-papered roads " at Framingham - which, by the by, oughtto be pumice-stoned a little to make them as good for cycling as stretchesof gravelled road near Springfield, Sandwich, and Piano, Ill. ; La Porte, and South Bend, Ind. ; Mentor, and Willoughby, O. ; Girard, Penn. ; severalplaces on the ridge road between Erie and Buffalo, and the alkali flatsof the Rocky Mountain territories. Soon the blue intellectual hazehovering over " the Hub " heaves in sight, and, at two o'clock in theafternoon of August 4th, I roll into Boston, and whisper to the wildwaves of the sounding Atlantic what the sad sea-waves of the Pacificwere saying when I left there, just one hundred and three and a halfdays ago, having wheeled about 3, 700 miles to deliver the message. Passingthe winter of 1884-85 in New York, I became acquainted with the OutingMagazine, contributed to it sketches of my tour across America, and inthe Spring of 1885 continued around the world as its special correspondent;embarking April 9th from New York, for Liverpool, aboard the City ofChicago. 

CHAPTER V. 

FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 

At one P. M. , on that day, the ponderous but shapely hull of the City ofChicago, with its living and lively freight, moves from the dock asthough it, too, were endowed with mind as well with matter; the crowds thata minute ago disappeared down the gangplank are now congregated on theouter end of the pier, a compact mass of waving handkerchiefs, andanxious-faced people shouting out signs of recognition to friends aboardthe departing steamer. 

>From beginning to end of the voyage across the Atlantic the weather isdelightful; and the passengers - well, half the cabin-passengers are membersof Henry Irving's Lyceum Company en route home after their secondsuccessful tour in America; and old voyagers abroad who have crossed theAtlantic scores of times pronounce it altogether the most enjoyable tripthey ever experienced. The third day out we encountered a lonesome-lookingiceberg - an object that the captain seemed to think would be betterappreciated, and possibly more affectionately remembered, if viewed atthe respectful distance of about four miles. It proves a cold, unsympatheticberg, yet extremely entertaining in its own way, since it accommodatesus by neutralizing pretty much all the surplus caloric in the atmospherearound for hours after it has disappeared below the horizon of our vision. I am particularly fortunate in finding among my fellow-passengers Mr. Harry B. French, the traveller and author, from whom I obtain muchvaluable information, particularly of China. Mr. French has travelledsome distance through the Flowery Kingdom himself, and thoughtfullyforewarns me to anticipate a particularly lively and interesting timein invading that country with a vehicle so strange and incomprehensibleto the Celestial mind as a bicycle. This experienced gentleman informsme, among other interesting things, that if five hundred chatteringCelestials batter down the door and swarm unannounced at midnight intothe apartment where I am endeavoring to get the first wink of sleepobtained for a whole week, instead of following the natural inclinationsof an AngloSaxon to energetically defend his rights with a stuffed club, I shall display Solomon-like wisdom by quietly submitting to the invasion, and deferentially bowing to Chinese inquisitiveness. If, on an occasionof this nature, one stationed himself behind the door, and, as a sortof preliminary warning to the others, greeted the first interloper withthe business end of a boot-jack, he would be morally certain of a livelyone-sided misunderstanding that might end disastrously to himself;whereas, by meekly submitting to a critical and exhaustive examinationby the assembled company, he might even become the recipient of an apologyfor having had to batter down the door in order to satisfy their curiosity. One needs more discretion than valor in dealing with the Chinese. Atnoon on the 19th we reach Liverpool, where I find a letter awaiting mefrom A. J. Wilson (Faed), inviting me to call on him at PowerscroftHouse, London, and offering to tandem me through the intricate mazes ofthe West End; likewise asking whether it would be agreeable to have him, with others, accompany me from London down to the South coast - a programmeto which, it is needless to say, I entertain no objections. As the custom-house officer wrenches a board off the broad, flat box containing myAmerican bicycle, several fellow-passengers, prompted by their curiosityto obtain a peep at the machine which they have learned is to carry mearound the world, gather about; and one sympathetic lady, as she catchesa glimpse of the bright nickeled forks, exclaims, "Oh, what a shamethat they should be allowed to wrench the planks off. They might injureit;" but a small tip thoroughly convinces the individual prying off theboard that, by removing one section and taking a conscientious squintin the direction of the closed end, his duty to the British governmentwould be performed as faithfully as though everything were laid bare;and the kind-hearted lady's apprehensions of possible injury are thushappily allayed. In two hours after landing, the bicycle is safely stowedaway in the underground store-rooms of the Liverpool & NorthwesternRailway Company, and in two hours more I am wheeling rapidly towardLondon, through neatly cultivated fields, and meadows and parks of thatintense greenness met with nowhere save in the British Isles, and whichcauses a couple of native Americans, riding in the same compartment, andwho are visiting England for the first time, to express their admirationof it all in the unmeasured language of the genuine Yankee when trulyastonished and delighted. Arriving in London I lose no time in seekingout Mr. Bolton, a well-known wheelman, who has toured on the continentprobably as extensively as any other English cycler, and to whom I beara letter of introduction. Together, on Monday afternoon, we ruthlesslyinvade the sanctums of the leading cycling papers in London. Mr. Boltonis also able to give me several useful hints concerning wheeling throughFrance and Germany. Then comes the application for a passport, and theinevitable unpleasantness of being suspected by every policeman anddetective about the government buildings of being a wild-eyed dynamiterrecently arrived from America with the fell purpose of blowing up theplace. On Tuesday I make a formal descent on the Chinese Embassy, toseek information regarding the possibility of making a serpentine trailthrough the Flowery Kingdom via Upper Burmah to Hong-Kong or Shanghai. Here I learn from Dr. McCarty, the interpreter at the Embassy, as fromMr. French, that, putting it as mildly as possible, I must expect a wildtime generally in getting through the interior of China with a bicycle. The Doctor feels certain that I may reasonably anticipate the pleasureof making my way through a howling wilderness of hooting Celestials fromone end of the country to the other. The great danger, he thinks, willbe not so much the well-known aversion of the Chinese to having an"outer barbarian" penetrate the sacred interior of their country, as theenormous crowds that would almost constantly surround me out of curiosityat both rider and wheel, and the moral certainty of a foreigner unwittinglydoing something to offend the Chinamen's peculiar and deep-rooted notionsof propriety. This, it is easily seen, would be a peculiarly ticklishthing to do when surrounded by surging masses of dangling pig-tails andcerulean blouses, the wearers of which are from the start predisposedto make things as unpleasant as possible. My own experience alone, however, will prove the kind of reception I am likely to meet with amongthem; and if they will only considerately refrain from impaling me on abamboo, after a barbarous and highly ingenious custom of theirs, I littlereck what other unpleasantries they have in store. After one remains inthe world long enough to find it out, he usually becomes less fastidiousabout the future of things in general, than when in the hopeful days ofboyhood every prospect ahead was fringed with the golden expectationsof a budding and inexperienced imagery; nevertheless, a thoughtful, meditative person, who realizes the necessity of drawing the linesomewhere, would naturally draw it at impalation. Not being consciousof any presentiment savoring of impalation, however, the only request Imake of the Chinese, at present, is to place no insurmountable obstacleagainst my pursuing the even-or uneven, as the case may be-tenor of myway through their country. China, though, is several revolutions of myfifty-inch wheel away to the eastward, at this present time of writing, and speculations in regard to it are rather premature. 

Soon after reaching London I have the pleasure of meeting "Faed, " agentleman who carries his cycling enthusiasm almost where some peopleare said to carry their hearts-on his sleeve; so that a very shortacquaintance only is necessary to convince one of being in the companyof a person whose interest in whirling wheels is of no ordinary nature. When I present myself at Powerscroft House, Faed is busily wanderingaround among the curves and angles of no less than three tricycles, apparently endeavoring to encompass the complicated mechanism of allthree in one grand comprehensive effort of the mind, and the additionof as many tricycle crates standing around makes the premises so suggestiveof a flourishing tricycle agency that an old gentleman, happening topass by at the moment, is really quite excusable in stopping and inquiringthe prices, with a view to purchasing one for himself. Our tandem ridethrough the West End has to be indefinitely postponed, on account of mytime being limited, and our inability to procure readily a suitablemachine; and Mr. Wilson's bump of discretion would not permit him tothink of allowing me to attempt the feat of manoeuvring a tricycle myselfamong the bewildering traffic of the metropolis, and risk bringing my"wheel around the world" to an inglorious conclusion before being fairlybegun. While walking down Parliament Street my attention is called to avenerable-looking gentleman wheeling briskly along among the throngsof vehicles of every description, and I am informed that the bold tricycleris none other than Major Knox Holmes, a vigorous youth of some seventy-eightsummers, who has recently accomplished the feat of riding one hundredand fourteen miles in ten hours; for a person nearly eighty years of agethis is really quite a promising performance, and there is small doubtbut that when the gallant Major gets a little older - say when he becomesa centenarian - he will develop into a veritable prodigy on the cinder-path!Having obtained my passport, and got it vised for the Sultan's dominionsat the Turkish consulate, and placed in Faed's possession a bundle ofmaps, which he generously volunteers to forward, to me, as I requirethem in the various countries it is proposed to traverse, I return onApril 30th to Liverpool, from which point the formal start on the wheelacross England is to be made. Four o'clock in the afternoon of May 2dis the time announced, and Edge Hill Church is the appointed place, whereMr. Lawrence, Fletcher, of the Anfield Bicycle Club, and a number ofother Liverpool wheelmen, have volunteered to meet and accompany me somedistance out of the city. Several of the Liverpool daily papers havemade mention of the affair. Accordingly, upon arriving at the appointedplace and time, I find a crowd of several hundred people gathered tosatisfy their curiosity as to what sort of a looking individual it iswho has crossed America awheel, and furthermore proposes to accomplishthe greater feat of the circumlocution of the globe. A small sea of hatsis enthusiastically waved aloft; a ripple of applause escapes from fivehundred English throats as I mount my glistening bicycle; and, with theassistance of a few policemen, the twenty-five Liverpool cyclers whohave assembled to accompany me out, extricate themselves from the crowd, mount and fall into line two abreast; and merrily we wheel away downEdge Lane and out of Liverpool. 

English weather at this season is notoriously capricious, and the presentyear it is unusually so, and ere the start is fairly made we are pedalingalong through quite a pelting shower, which, however, fails to make muchimpression on the roads beyond causing the flinging of more or less mud. The majority of my escort are members of the Anfield Club, who have theenviable reputation of being among the hardest road-riders in England, several members having accomplished over two hundred miles within thetwenty-four hours; and I am informed that Mr. Fletcher is soon to undertakethe task of beating the tricycle record over that already well-contestedroute, from John O'Groat's to Land's End. Sixteen miles out I becomethe happy recipient of hearty well-wishes innumerable, with the accompanyinghand-shaking, and my escort turn back toward home and Liverpool - all savefour, who wheel on to Warrington and remain overnight, with the avowedintention of accompanying me twenty-five miles farther to-morrow morning. Our Sunday morning experience begins with a shower of rain, which, however, augurs well for the remainder of the day; and, save for a gentlehead wind, no reproachful remarks are heard about that much-criticisedindividual, the clerk of the weather; especially as our road leads througha country prolific of everything charming to one's sense of the beautiful. Moreover, we are this morning bowling along the self-same highway thatin days of yore was among the favorite promenades of a distinguished andenterprising individual known to every British juvenile as Dick Turpin - aperson who won imperishable renown, and the undying affection of thesmall Briton of to-day, by making it unsafe along here for stage-coachesand travellers indiscreet enough to carry valuables about with them. 

"Think I'll get such roads as this all through England. " I ask of myescort as we wheel joyously southward along smooth, macadamized highwaysthat would make the "sand-papered roads" around Boston seem almostunfit for cycling in comparison, and that lead through picturesquevillages and noble parks; occasionally catching a glimpse of a splendidold manor among venerable trees, that makes one unconsciously beginhumming:- "The ancient homes of England, How beautiful they stand Amidstthe tall ancestral trees O'er all the pleasant land. " "Oh, you'll getmuch better roads than this in the southern counties, " is the reply;though, fresh from American roads, one can scarce see what shape theimprovements can possibly take. Out of Lancashire into Cheshire we wheel, and my escort, after wishing me all manner of good fortune in heartyLancashire style, wheel about and hie themselves back toward the rumbleand roar of the world's greatest sea-port, leaving me to pedal pleasantlysouthward along the green lanes and amid the quiet rural scenery ofStaffordshire to Stone, where I remain Sunday night. The country isfavored with another drenching down-pour of rain during the night, andmoisture relentlessly descends at short, unreliable intervals on Mondaymorning, as I proceed toward Birmingham. Notwithstanding the superabundantmoisture the morning ride is a most enjoyable occasion, requiring but adash of sunshine to make everything perfect. The mystic voice of thecuckoo is heard from many an emerald copse around; songsters that inhabitonly the green hedges and woods of "Merrie England" are carolling theirmorning vespers in all directions; skylarks are soaring, soaring skyward, warbling their unceasing paeans of praise as they gradually ascend intocloudland's shadowy realms; and occasionally I bowl along beneath anarchway of spreading beeches that are colonized by crowds of noisy rooksincessantly "cawing" their approval or disapproval of things in general. Surely England, with its wellnigh perfect roads, the wonderful greennessof its vegetation, and its roadsters that meet and regard their steel-ribbedrivals with supreme indifference, is the natural paradise of 'cyclers. There is no annoying dismounting for frightened horses on these happyhighways, for the English horse, though spirited and brim-ful of fire, has long since accepted the inevitable, and either has made friends withthe wheelman and his swift-winged steed, or, what is equally agreeable, maintain a a haughty reserve. Pushing along leisurely, between showers, into Warwickshire, I reach Birmingham about three o'clock, and, afterspending an hour or so looking over some tricycle works, and calling fora leather writing-case they are making especially for my tour, I wheelon to Coventry, having the company, of Mr. Priest, Jr. , of the tricycleworks, as far as Stonehouse. Between Birmingham and Coventry the recentrainfall has evidently been less, and I mentally note this fifteen-milestretch of road as the finest traversed since leaving Liverpool, bothfor width and smoothness of surface, it being a veritable boulevard. Arriving at Coventry I call on "Brother Sturmey, " a gentleman well andfavorably known to readers of 'cycling literature everywhere; and, as Ifeel considerably like deserving reasonably gentle treatment afterperseveringly pressing forward sixty miles in spite of the rain, I requesthim to steer me into the Cyclists' Touring Club Hotel - an office whichhe smilingly performs, and thoughtfully admonishes the proprietor tohandle me as tenderly as possible. I am piloted around to take a hurriedglance at Coventry, visiting, among other objects of interest, the StarleyMemorial. This memorial is interesting to 'cyclers from having beenerected by public subscription in recognition of the great interest Mr. Starley took in the 'cycle industry, he having been, in fact, the fatherof the interest in Coventry, and, consequently, the direct author of thecity's present prosperity. The mind of the British small boy along myroute has been taxed to its utmost to account for my white militaryhelmet, and various and interesting are the passing remarks heard inconsequence. The most general impression seems to be that I am directfrom the Soudan, some youthful Conservatives blandly intimating TheStarley Memorial, Coventry, that I am the advance-guard of a generalscuttle of the army out of Egypt, and that presently whole regiments ofwhite-helmeted wheelmen will come whirling along the roads onnickel-plated steeds, some even going so far as to do me the honor ofcalling me General Wolseley; while others - rising young Liberals, probably - recklessly call me General Gordon, intimating by this that thehero of Khartoum was not killed, after all, and is proving it by sweepingthrough England on a bicycle, wearing a white helmet to prove his identity!

A pleasant ride along a splendid road, shaded for miles with rows ofspreading elms, brings me to the charming old village of Dunchurch, whereeverything seems moss-grown and venerable with age. A squatty, castle-like church-tower, that has stood the brunt of manycenturies, frowns down upon a cluster of picturesque, thatchedcottages of primitive architecture, and ivy-clad from top to bottom;while, to make the picture complete, there remain even the old woodenstocks, through the holes of which the feet of boozy unfortunates werewont to be unceremoniously thrust in the good old times of rude simplicity;in fact, the only really unprimitive building about the place appearsto be a newly erected Methodist chapel. It couldn't be - no, of course itcouldn't be possible, that there is any connecting link between theAmerican peculiarity of elevating the feet on the window-sill or thedrum of the heating-stove and this old-time custom of elevating the feetof those of our ancestors possessed of boozy, hilarious proclivities!At Weedon Barracks I make a short halt to watch the soldiers go throughthe bayonet exercises, and suffer myself to be persuaded into quaffinga mug of delicious, creamy stout at the canteen with a genial old sergeant, a bronzed veteran who has seen active service in several of the toughexpeditions that England seems ever prone to undertake in variousuncivilized quarters of the world; after which I wheel away over oldRoman military roads, through Northamptonshire and Buckinghamshire, reaching Fenny Stratford just in time to find shelter against themachinations of the "weather-clerk", who, having withheld rain nearly allthe afternoon, begins dispensing it again in the gloaming. It rainsuninterruptedly all night; but, although my route for some miles is nowdown cross-country lanes, the rain has only made them rather disagreeable, without rendering them in any respect unridable; and although I am amongthe slopes of the Chiltern Hills, scarcely a dismount is necessary duringthe forenoon. Spending the night at Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire, I pullout toward London on Thursday morning, and near Watford am highly gratifiedat meeting Faed and the captain of the North London Tricycle Club, whohave come out on their tricycles from London to meet and escort me intothe metropolis. At Faed's suggestion I decide to remain over in Londonuntil Saturday to be present at the annual tricycle meet on Barnes Common, and together we wheel down the Edgeware Road, Park Road, among thefashionable turnouts of Piccadilly, past Knightsbridge and Brompton tothe "Inventories" Exhibition, where we spend a most enjoyable afternooninspecting the thousand and one material evidences of inventive geniusfrom the several countries represented. 

Five hundred and twelve 'cyclers, including forty-one tandem tricyclesand fifty ladies, ride in procession at the Barnes Common meet, makingquite an imposing array as they wheel two abreast between rows ofenthusiastic spectators. Here, among a host of other wheeling celebrities, I am introduced to Major Knox Holmes, before mentioned as being a gentlemanof extraordinary powers of endurance, considering his advanced age. Aftertea a number of tricyclers accompany me down as far as Croydon, whichplace we enter to the pattering music of a drenching rain-storm, experiencing the accompanying pleasure of a wet skin, etc. The threateningaspect of the weather on the following morning causes part of our companyto hesitate about venturing any farther from London; but Faed and threecompanions wheel with me toward Brighton through a gentle morning shower, which soon clears away, however, and, before long, the combination ofthe splendid Sussex roads, fine breezy weather, and lovely scenery, amplyrepays us for the discomforts of yester-eve. Fourteen miles from Brightonwe are met by eight members of the Kempton Rangers Bicycle Club, whohave sallied forth thus far northward to escort us into town; havingdone which, they deliver us over to Mr. C---, of the Brighton TricycleClub, and brother-in-law to the mayor of the city. It is two in theafternoon. This gentleman straightway ingratiates himself into our unitedaffections, and wins our eternal gratitude, by giving us a regularwheelman's dinner, after which he places us under still further obligationsby showing us as many of the lions of Brighton as are accessible onSunday, chief among which is the famous Brighton Aquarium, where, by hisinfluence, he kindly has the diving-birds and seals fed before theirusual hour, for our especial delectation-a proceeding which naturallycauses the barometer of our respective self-esteems to rise severalnotches higher than usual, and doubtless gives equal satisfaction to theseals and diving-birds. We linger at the aquarium until near sun-down, and it is fifteen miles by what is considered the smoothest road toNewhaven. Mr. C---- declares his intention of donning his riding-suitand, by taking a shorter, though supposably rougher, road, reach Newhavenas soon as we. As we halt at Lewes for tea, and ride leisurely, likewisesubmitting to being photographed en route, he actually arrives thereahead of us. It is Sunday evening, May 10th, and my ride through "MerrieEngland " is at an end. Among other agreeable things to be ever rememberedin connection with it is the fact that it is the first three hundredmiles of road I ever remember riding over without scoring a header - acircumstance that impresses itself none the less favorably perhaps whenviewed in connection with the solidity of the average English road. Itis not a very serious misadventure to take a flying header into a bedof loose sand on an American country road; but the prospect of rootingup a flint-stone with one's nose, or knocking a curb-stone loose withone's bump of cautiousness, is an entirely different affair; consequently, the universal smoothness of the surface of the English highways isappreciated at its full value by at least one wheelman whose experienceof roads is nothing if not varied. Comfortable quarters are assigned meon board the Channel steamer, and a few minutes after bidding friendsand England farewell, at Newhaven, at 11. 30 P. M. , I am gently rockedinto unconsciousness by the motion of the vessel, and remain happily andrestfully oblivious to my surroundings until awakened next morning atDieppe, where I find myself, in a few minutes, on a foreign shore. Allthe way from San Francisco to Newhaven. There is a consciousness of beingpractically in one country and among one people-people who, thoughacknowledging separate governments, are bound so firmly together by theties of common instincts and interests, and the mystic brotherhood of acommon language and a common civilization, that nothing of a seriousnature can ever come between them. But now I am verily among strangers, and the first thing talked of is to make me pay duty on the bicycle. 

The captain of the vessel, into whose hands Mr. C---- assigned me atNewhaven, protests on my behalf, and I likewise enter a gentle demurrer;but the custom-house officer declares that a duty will have to beforthcoming, saying that the amount will be returned again when I passover the German frontier. The captain finally advises the payment of theduty and the acceptance of a receipt for the amount, and takes his leave. Not feeling quite satisfied as yet about paying the duty, I take a shortstroll about Dieppe, leaving my wheel at tho custom-house and when Ishortly return, prepared to pay the assessment, whatever it may be, theofficer who, but thirty minutes since, declared emphatically in favorof a duty, now answers, with all the politeness imaginable: "Monsieuris at liberty to take the velocipede and go whithersoever he will. " Itis a fairly prompt initiation into the impulsiveness of the Frenchcharacter. They don't accept bicycles as baggage, though, on the Channelsteamers, and six shillings freight, over and above passage-money, hasto be yielded up. 

Although upon a foreign shore, I am not yet, it seems, to be left entirelyalone to the tender mercies of my own lamentable inability to speakFrench. Fortunately there lives at Dieppe a gentleman named Mr. Parkinson, who, besides being an Englishman to the backbone, is quite an enthusiasticwheelman, and, among other things, considers it his solemn duty to takecharge of visiting 'cyclers from England and America and see them safelylaunched along the magnificent roadways of Normandy, headed fairly towardtheir destination. Faed has thoughtfully notified Mr. Parkinson of myapproach, and he is watching for my coming - as tenderly as though I werea returning prodigal and he charged with my welcoming home. Close underthe frowning battlements of Dieppe Castle - a once wellnigh impregnablefortress that was some time in possession of the English - romanticallynestles Mr. Parldnson's studio, and that genial gentleman promptlyproposes accompanying me some distance into the country. On our waythrough Dieppe I notice blue-bloused peasants guiding small flocks ofgoats through the streets, calling them along with a peculiar, tunefulinstrument that sounds somewhat similar to a bagpipe. I learn that theyare Normandy peasants, who keep their flocks around town all summer, goat's milk being considered beneficial for infants and invalids. Theylead the goats from house to house, and milk whatever quantity theircustomers want at their own door - a custom that we can readily understandwill never become widely popular among AngloSaxon milkmen, since itleaves no possible chance for pump-handle combinations and correspondingprofits. The morning is glorious with sunshine and the carols of featheredsongsters as together we speed away down the beautiful Arques Valley, over roads that are simply perfect for wheeling; and, upon arriving atthe picturesque ruins of the Chateau d'Arques, we halt and take a casualpeep at the crumbling walls of this of the famous fortress, which thetrailing ivy of Normandy now partially covers with a dark-green mantleof charity, as though its purpose and its mission were to hide its fallengrandeur from the rude gaze of the passing stranger. All along the roadswe meet happy-looking peasants driving into Dieppe market with produce. They are driving Normandy horses - and that means fine, large, spiritedanimals - which, being unfamiliar with bicycles, almost invariably takeexception to ours, prancing about after the usual manner of high-strungsteeds. Unlike his English relative, the Norman horse looks not supinelyupon the whirling wheel, but arrays himself almost unanimously againstus, and umially in the most uncompromising manner, similar to the phantom-eyed roadster of the United States agriculturist. The similarity betweenthe turnouts of these two countries I am forced to admit, however, terminates abruptly with the horse itself, and does not by any meansextend to the driver; for, while the Normandy horse capers about andthreatens to upset the vehicle into the ditch, the Frenchman's face iswreathed in apologetic smiles; and, while he frantically endeavors tokeep the refractory horse under control, he delivers himself of a wholedictionary of apologies to the wheelman for the animal's foolish conduct, touches his cap with an air of profound deference upon noticing that wehave considerately slowed up, and invariably utters his Bon jour, monsieur, as we wheel past, in a voice that plainly indicates his acknowledgmentof the wheelman's - or anybody else's - right to half the roadway. A fewdays ago I called the English roads perfect, and England the paradiseof 'cyclers; and so it is; but the Normandy roads are even superior, andthe scenery of the Arques Valley is truly lovely. There is not a loosestone, a rut, or depression anywhere on these roads, and it is littleexaggeration to call them veritable billiard-tables for smoothness ofsurface. As one bowls smoothly along over them he is constantly wonderinghow they can possibly keep them in such condition. Were these fine roadsin America one would never be out of sight of whirling wheels. A luncheonof Normandy cheese and cider at Cleres, and then onward to Bouen is theword. At every cross-roads is erected an iron guide-post, containingdirections to several of the nearest towns, telling the distances inkilometres and yards; and small stone pillars are set up alongside theroad, marking every hundred yards. Arriving at Rouen at four o'clock, Mr. Parkiuson shows me the famous old Rouen Cathedral, the Palace ofJustice, and such examples of old mediaeval Rouen as I care to visit, and, after inviting me to remain and take dinner with him by the murmuringwaters of the historic Seine, he bids me bon voyage, turns my headsouthward, and leaves me at last a stranger among strangers, to "cornprendreFranyais" unassisted. Some wiseacre has placed it on record that toomuch of a good thing is worse than none at all; however that may be, from having concluded that the friendly iron guide-posts would be foundon every corner where necessary, pointing out the way with infallibletruthfulness, and being doubtless influenced by the superior levelnessof the road leading down the valley of the Seine in comparison with theone leading over the bluffs, I wander toward eventide into Elbeuf, insteadof Pont de l' Arques, as I had intended; but it matters little, and Iam content to make the best of my surroundings. Wheeling along thecrooked, paved streets of Elbeuf, I enter a small hotel, and, after thecustomary exchange of civilities, I arch my eyebrows at an intelligent-looking madaine, and inquire, " Comprendre Anglais. " "Non, " repliesthe lady, looking puzzled, while I proceed to ventilate my pantomimicpowers to try and make my wants understood. After fifteen minutes ofdespairing effort, mademoiselle, the daughter, is despatched to the otherside of the town, and presently returns with a be whiskered Frenchman, who, in very much broken English, accompanying his words with wondrousgesticulations, gives me to understand that he is the only person in allElbeuf capable of speaking the English language, and begs me to unburdenmyself to him without reserve. He proves himself useful and obliging, kindly interesting himself in obtaining me comfortable accommodation atreasonable rates. This Elbeuf hotel, though, is anything but an elegantestablishment, and le proprietaire, though seemingly intelligent enough, brings me out a bottle of the inevitable vin ordinaire (common red wine)at breakfast-time, instead of the coffee for which my opportune interpretersaid he had given the order yester-eve. If a Frenchman only sits downto a bite of bread and cheese he usually consumes a pint bottle of vinordinaire with it. The loaves of bread here are rolls three and fourfeet long, and frequently one of these is laid across - or rather along, for it is oftentimes longer than the table is wide - the table for you tohack away at during your meal, according to your bread-eating capacityor inclination. 

Monsieur, the accomplished, come down to see his Anglais friend andprotege next morning, a few minutes after his Anglais friend and protege, has started off toward a distant street called Rue Poussen, which legarcon had unwittingly directed him to when he inquired the way to thebureau de poste; the natural result, I suppose, of the difference betweenElbeuf pronunciation and mine. Discovering my mistake upon arriving atthe Rue Poussen, I am more fortunate in my attack upon the interpretingabilities of a passing citizen, who sends an Elbeuf gamin to guide meto the post-office. 

Post office clerks are proverbially intelligent people in any country, consequently it doesn't take me long to transact my business at thebureau de poste; but now - shades of Caesar! - I have thoughtlesslyneglected to take down either the name of the hotel or the street inwhich it is located, and for the next half-hour go wandering about ashelplessly as the "babes in the wood" Once, twice I fancy recognizingthe location; but the ordinary Elbeuf house is not easily recognizedfrom its neighbors, and I am standing looking around me in thebewildered attitude of one uncertain of his bearings, when, lo! thelandlady, who has doubtless been wondering whatever has becomeof me, appears at the door of a building which I should certainly neverhave recognized as my hotel, besom in hand, and her pleasant, "Oui, monsieur, " sounds cheery and welcome enough, under the circumstances, as one may readily suppose. 

Fine roads continue, and between Gaillon and Vernon one can see thesplendid highway, smooth, straight, and broad, stretching ahead for milesbetween rows of stately poplars, forming magnificent avenues that addnot a little to the natural loveliness of the country. Noble chateausappear here and there, oftentimes situated upon the bluffs of the Seine, and forming the background to a long avenue of chestnuts, maples, orpoplars, running at right angles to the main road and principal avenue. The well-known thriftincss of the French peasantry is noticeable on everyhand, and particularly away off to the left yonder, where their small, well-cultivated farms make the sloping bluffs resemble huge log-cabinquilts in the distance. Another glaring and unmistakable evidence of theNormandy peasants' thriftiness is the remarkable number of patches theymanage to distribute over the surface of their pantaloons, every peasanthereabouts averaging twenty patches, more or less, of all shapes andsizes. When the British or United States Governments impose any additionaltaxation on the people, the people gruinblingly declare they won't putup with it, and then go ahead and pay it; but when the Chamber of Deputiesat Paris turns on the financial thumb-screw a little tighter, the Frenchpeasant simply puts yet another patch on the seat of his pantaloons, andsmilingly hands over the difference between the patch and the new pairhe intended to purchase!

Huge cavalry barracks mark the entrance to Vernon, and, as I watch withinterest the manoauvring of the troops going through their morning drill, I cannot help thinking that with such splendid loads as France possessesshe might take many a less practical measure for home defence than tomount a few regiments of light infantry on bicycles; infantry travellingtoward the front at the late of seventy-five or a hundred miles a daywould be something of an improvement, one would naturally think. Everyfew miles my road leads through the long, straggling street of a village, every building in which is of solid stone, and looks at least a thousandyears old; while at many cross-roads among the fields, and in all mannerof unexpected nooks and corners of the villages, crucifixes are erectedto accommodate the devotionally inclined. Most of the streets of theseinterior villages are paved with square stones which the wear and tearof centuries have generally rendered too rough for the bicycle; butoccasionally one is ridable, and the astonishment of the inhabitants asI wheel leisurely through, whistling the solemn strains of "Roll, Jordan, roll, " is really quite amusing. Every village of any size boasts a churchthat, for fineness of architecture and apparent costliness of construction, looks out of all proportion to the straggling street of shapelessstructures that it overtops. Everything here seems built as thoughintended to last forever, it being no unusual sight to see a ridiculouslysmall piece of ground surrounded by a stone wall built as though toresist a bombardment; an enclosure that must have cost more to erectthan fifty crops off the enclosed space could repay. The important townof Mantes is reached early in the evening, and a good inn found for thenight. 

The market-women are arraying their varied wares all along the mainstreet of Mantes as I wheel down toward the banks of the Seine thismorning. I stop to procure a draught of new milk, and, while drinkingit, point to sundry long rows of light, flaky-looking cakes strung onstrings, and motion that I am desirous of sampling a few at currentrates; but the good dame smiles and shakes her head vigorously, as wellenough she might, for I learn afterward that the cakes are nothing lessthan dried yeast-cakes, a breakfast off which would probably have producedspontaneous combustion. Getting on to the wrong road out of Mantes, Ifind myself at the river's edge down among the Seine watermen. I am shownthe right way, but from Mantes to Paris they are not Normandy roads;from Mantes southward they gradually deteriorate until they are littleor no better than the "sand-papered roads of Boston. " Having determinedto taboo vin ordinaire altogether I astonish the restaurateur of a villagewhere I take lunch by motioning away the bottle of red wine and callingfor " de I'eau, " and the glances cast in my direction by the othercustomers indicate plainly enough that they consider the proceeding assomething quite extraordinary. Rolling through Saint Germain, ChalonPavey, and Nanterre, the magnificent Arc de Triomphe looms up in thedistance ahead, and at about two o'clock, Wednesday, May 13th, I wheelinto the gay capital through the Porte Maillott. Asphalt pavement nowtakes the place of macadam, and but a short distance inside the citylimits I notice the 'cycle depot of Renard Ferres. Knowing instinctivelythat the fraternal feelings engendered by the magic wheel reaches towherever a wheelman lives, I hesitate not to dismount and present mycard. Yes, Jean Glinka, apparently an employe there, comprehends Anglais;they have all heard of my tour, and wish me bon voyage, and Jean and hisbicycle is forthwith produced and delegated to accompany me into theinterior of the city and find me a suitable hotel. The streets of Paris, like the streets of other large cities, are paved with various compositions, and they have just been sprinkled. French-like, the luckless Jean isdesirous of displaying his accomplishments on the wheel to a visitor sodistingue; he circles around on the slippery pavement in a manner mostunnecessary, and in so doing upsets himself while crossing a car-track, rips his pantaloons, and injures his wheel. At the Hotel du Louvre theywon't accept bicycles, having no place to put them; but a short distancefrom there we find a less pretentious establishment, where, after requiringme to fill up a formidable-looking blank, stating my name, residence, age, occupation, birthplace, the last place I lodged at, etc. , theyfinally assign me quarters. From Paul Devilliers, to whom I bring anintroduction, I learn that by waiting here till Friday evening, andrepairing to the rooms of the Societe Velocipedique Metropolitaine, thepresident of that club can give me the best bicycle route between Parisand Vienna; accordingly I domicile myself at the hotel for a couple ofdays. Many of the lions of Paris are within easy distance of my hotel. The reader, however, probably knows more about the sights of Paris thanone can possibly find out in two days; therefore I refrain from anyattempt at describing them; but my hotel is worthy of remark. 

Among other agreeable and sensible arrangements at the Hotel uu Loiret, there is no such thing as opening one's room-door from the outside savewith the key; and unless one thoroughly understands this handy peculiarity, and has his wits about him continually, he is morally certain, sometimewhen he is leaving his room, absent-mindedly to shut the door and leavethe key inside. This is, of course, among the first things that happento me, and it costs me half a franc and three hours of wretchednessbefore I see the interior of my room again. The hotel keeps a rudeskeleton-key on hand, presumably for possible emergencies of this nature;but in manipulating this uncouth instrument le portier actually locksthe door, and as the skeleton-key is expected to manage the catch only, and not the lock, this, of course, makes matters infinitely worse. Thekeys of every room in the house are next brought into requisition andtried in succession, but not a key among them all is a duplicate of mine. What is to be done. Le portier looks as dejected as though Paris wasabout to be bombarded, as he goes down and breaks the dreadful news tole proprietaire. Up comes le proprietaire - avoirdupois three hundredpounds - sighing like an exhaust-pipe at every step. For fifteen unhappyminutes the skeleton-key is wriggled and twisted about again in the key-hole, and the fat proprietaire rubs his bald head impatiently, but allto no purpose. Each returns to his respective avocation. Impatient toget at my writing materials, I look up at the iron bars across the fifth-story windows above, and motion that if they will procure a rope I willdescend from thence and enter the window. They one and all point outinto the street; and, thinking they have sent for something or somebody, I sit down and wait with Job-like patience for something to turn up. Nothing, however, turns up, and at the expiration of an hour I naturallybegin to feel neglected and impatient, and again suggest the rope; when, at a motion from le proprietaire, le portier pilots me around a neighboringcorner to a locksmith's establishment, where, voluntarily acting the partof interpreter, he engages on my behalf, for half a franc, a man to comewith a bunch of at least a hundred skeleton-keys of all possible shapesto attack the refractory key-hole. After trying nearly all the keys, anddisburdening himself of whole volumes of impulsive French ejaculations, this man likewise gives it up in despair; but, now everything else hasbeen tried and failed, the countenance of la portier suddenly lights up, and he slips quietly around to an adjoining room, and enters mine insideof two minutes by simply lifting a small hook out of a staple with hisknife-blade. There appears to be a slight coolness, as it were, betweenle proprietaire and me after this incident, probably owing to theintellectual standard of each becoming somewhat lowered in the other'sestimation in consequence of it. Le proprietaire, doubtless, thinks aman capable of leaving the key inside of the door must be the worst typeof an ignoramus; and certainly my opinion of him for leaving such adiabolical arrangement unchanged in the latter half of the nineteenthcentury is not far removed from the same. 

Visiting the headquarters of the Societe Velocipedique Mctropolitaineon Friday evening, I obtain from the president the desired directionsregarding the route, and am all prepared to continue eastward in themorning. Wheeling down the famous Champs Elysees at eleven at night, when the concert gardens are in full blast and everything in a blaze, of glory, with myriads of electric lights festooned and in long brilliantrows among the trees, is something to be remembered for a lifetime. Before breakfast I leave the city by the Porte Daumesiul, and wheelthrough the environments toward Vincennes and Jonville, pedalling, tothe sound of martial music, for miles beyond the Porte. The roads forthirty miles east of Paris are not Normandy roads, but the country formost of the distance is fairly level, and for mile after mile, and leaguebeyond league, the road is beneath avenues of plane and poplar, which, crossing the plain in every direction like emerald walls of nature's ownbuilding, here embellish and beautify an otherwise rather monotonousstretch of country. The villages are little different from the villagesof Normandy, but the churches have not the architectural beauty of theNormandy churches, being for the most part massive structures withoutany pretence to artistic embellishment in their construction. Monkish-lookingpriests are a characteristic feature of these villages, and when, onpassing down the narrow, crooked streets of Fontenay, I wheel beneath amassive stone archway, and looking around, observe cowled priests andeverything about the place seemingly in keeping with it, one can readilyimagine himself transported back to medieval times. One of these littleinterior French villages is the most unpromising looking place imaginablefor a hungry person to ride into; often one may ride the whole lengthof the village expectantly looking around for some visible evidence ofwherewith to cheer the inner man, and all that greets the hungry visionis a couple of four-foot sticks of bread in one dust-begrimed window, and a few mournful-looking crucifixes and Roman Catholic paraphernaliain another. Neither are the peasants hereabouts to be compared with theNormandy peasantry in personal appearance. True, they have as many patcheson their pantaloons, but they don't seem to have acquired the art ofattaching them in a manner to produce the same picturesque effect asdoes the peasant of Normandy; the original garment is almost invariablya shapeless corduroy, of a bagginess and an o'er-ampleness most unbeautifulto behold. 

The well-known axiom about fair paths leading astray holds good with thehigh-ways and by-ways of France, as elsewhere, and soon after leavingthe ancient town of Provins, I am tempted by a splendid road, followingthe windings of a murmuring brook, that appears to be going in mydirection, in consequence of which I soon find myself among cross-countryby-ways, and among peasant proprietors who apparently know little of theworld beyond their native Tillages. Four o'clock finds me wheeling througha hilly vineyard district toward Villenauxe, a town several kilometresoff my proper route, from whence a dozen kilometres over a very goodroad brings me to Sezanne, where the Hotel de France affords excellentaccommodation. After the table d'hote the clanging bells of the oldchurch hard by announce services of some kind, and having a naturalpenchant when in strange places from wandering whithersoever inclinationleads, in anticipation of the ever possible item of interest, I meanderinto the church and take a seat. There appears to be nothing extraordinaryabout the service, the only unfamiliar feature to me being a man wearinga uniform similar to the gendarmerie of Paris: cockade, sash, sword, andeverything complete; in addition to which he carries a large cane and along brazen-headed staff resembling the boarding-pike of the last century. It has rained heavily during the night, but the roads around here arecomposed mainly of gravel, and are rather improved than otherwise by therain; and from Sezanne, through Champenoise and on to Vitry le Francois, a distance of about sixty-five kilometres, is one of the most enjoyablestretches of road imaginable. The contour of the country somewhat resemblesthe swelling prairies of Western Iowa, and the roads are as perfect formost of the distance as an asphalt boulevard. The hills are gradualacclivities, and, owing to the good roads, are mostly ridable, while -the declivities make the finest coasting imaginable; the exhilarationof gliding down them in the morning air, fresh after the rain, can becompared only to Canadian tobogganing. Ahead of you stretches a gradualdownward slope, perhaps two kilometres long. Knowing full well that fromtop to bottom there exists not a loose stone or a dangerous spot, yougive the ever-ready steel-horse the rein; faster and faster whirl theglistening wheels until objects "by the road-side become indistinctphantoms as they glide instantaneously by, and to strike a hole orobstruction is to be transformed into a human sky-rocket, and, later on, into a new arrival in another world. A wild yell of warning at a blue-bloused peasant in the road ahead, shrill screams of dismay from severalfemales at a cluster of cottages, greet the ear as you sweep past likea whirlwind, and the next moment reach the bottom at a rate of speedthat would make the engineer of the Flying Dutchman green with envy. Sometimes, for the sake of variety, when gliding noiselessly along onthe ordinary level, I wheel unobserved close up behind an unsuspectingpeasant walking on ahead, without calling out, and when he becomesconscious of my presence and looks around and sees the strange vehiclein such close proximity it is well worth the price of a new hat to seethe lively manner in which he hops out of the way, and the next momentbecomes fairly rooted to the ground with astonishment; for bicycles andbicycle riders are less familiar objects to the French peasant, outsideof the neighborhood of a few large cities, than one would naturallysuppose. 

Vitry le Frangois is a charming old town in the beautiful valley of theMarne; in the middle ages it was a strongly fortified city; the moatsand earth-works are still perfect. The only entrance to the town, evennow, is over the old draw-bridges, the massive gates, iron wheels, chains, etc. , still being intact, so that the gates can yet be drawn up andentrance denied to foes, as of yore; but the moats are now utilized forthe boats of the Marne and Rhine Canal, and it is presumable that theold draw-bridges are nowadays always left open. To-day is Sunday - andSunday in France is equivalent to a holiday - consequently Vitry le Frangois, being quite an important town, and one of the business centres of theprosperous and populous Marne Valley, presents all the appearance ofcircus-day in an American agricultural community. Several booths areerected in the market square, the proprietors and attaches of twoperegrinating theatres, several peep-shows, and a dozen various gamesof chance, are vying with each other in the noisiness of their demonstrationsto attract the attention and small change of the crowd to their respectiveenterprises. Like every other highway in this part of France the Marneand Bhine Canal is fringed with an avenue of poplars, that from neighboringelevations can be seen winding along the beautiful valley for miles, presenting a most pleasing effect. 

East of Vitry le Francois the roads deteriorate, and from thence to Bar-le they are inferior to any hitherto encountered in France; nevertheless, from the American standpoint they are very good roads, and when, at fiveo'clock, I wheel into Bar-le-Duc and come to sum up the aggregate of theday's journey I find that, without any undue exertion, I have coveredvery nearly one hundred and sixty kilometres, or about one hundred Englishmiles, since 8. 30 A. M. , notwithstanding a good hour's halt at Vitry leFrancois for dinner. Bar-le-Duc appears to be quite an important businesscentre, pleasantly situated in the valley of the Ornain River, a tributaryof the Marne; and the stream, in its narrow, fertile valley, winds aroundamong hills from whose sloping sides, every autumn, fairly ooze thecelebrated red wines of the Meuse and Moselle regions. The valley hasbeen favored with a tremendous downpour of rain and hail during thenight, and the partial formation of the road leading along the levelvalley eastward being a light-colored, slippery clay, I find it anythingbut agreeable wheeling this morning; moreover, the Ornain Valley roadis not so perfectly kept as it might be. As in every considerable townin France, so also in Bar-le-Duc, the military element comes conspicuouslyto the fore. Eleven kilometres of slipping and sliding through the greasyclay brings me to the little village of Tronville, where I halt toinvestigate the prospect of obtaining something to eat. As usual, theprospect, from the street, is most unpromising, the only outward evidencebeing a few glass jars of odds and ends of candy in one small window. Entering this establishment, the only thing the woman can produce besidescandy and raisins is a box of brown, wafer-like biscuits, the unsubstantialappearance of which is, to say the least, most unsatisfactory to a personwho has pedalled his breakfastless way through eleven kilometres ofslippery clay. Uncertain of their composition, and remembering my unhappymistake at Mantes in desiring to breakfast off yeast-cakes, I take theprecaution of sampling one, and in the absence of anything more substantialconclude to purchase a few, and so motion to the woman to hand me thebox in order that I can show her how many I want. But the o'er-carefulFrenchwoman, mistaking my meaning, and fearful that I only want to sampleyet another one, probably feeling uncertain of whether I might not wishto taste a whole handful this time, instead of handing it over moves itout of my reach altogether, meanwhile looking quite angry, and not alittle mystified at her mysterious, pantomimic customer. A half-francis produced, and, after taking the precaution of putting it away inadvance, the cautious female weighs me out the current quantity of herware; and I notice that, after giving lumping weight, she throws in afew extra, presumably to counterbalance what, upon sober second thought, she perceives to have been an unjust suspicion. While I am extractingwhat satisfaction my feathery purchase contains, it begins to rain andhail furiously, and so continues with little interruption all the forenoon, compelling me, much against my inclination, to search out in Tronville, if possible, some accommodation till to-morrow morning. The village isa shapeless cluster of stone houses and stables, the most prominentfeature of the streets being huge heaps of manure and grape-vine prunings;but I manage to obtain the necessary shelter, and such other accommodationsas might be expected in an out-of-the-way village, unfrequented byvisitors from one year's end to another. The following morning is stillrainy, and the clayey roads of the Ornain Valley are anything but invitingwheeling; but a longer stay in Tronville is not to be thought of, for, among other pleasantries of the place here, the chief table delicacyappears to be boiled escargots, a large, ungainly snail procured fromthe neighboring hills. Whilst fond of table delicacies, I emphaticallydraw the line at escargots. Pulling out toward Toul I find the roads, as expected, barely ridable; but the vineyard-environed little valley, lovely in its tears, wrings from one praise in spite of muddy roads andlowering weather. En route down the valley I meet a battery of artillerytravelling from Toul to Bar-le Duc or some other point to the westward;and if there is any honor in throwing a battery of French artillery intoconfusion, and wellnigh routing them, then the bicycle and I are fairlyentitled to it. 

As I ride carelessly toward them, the leading horses suddenly wheelaround and begin plunging about the road. The officers' horses, and, infact, the horses of the whole company, catch the infection, and thereis a plunging and a general confusion all along the line, seeing whichI, of course, dismount and retire - but not discomfited - from the fielduntil they have passed. These French horses are certainly not more thanhalf-trained. I passed a battery of English artillery on the road leadingout of Coventry, and had I wheeled along under the horses' noses therewould have been no confusion whatever. 

On the divide between the Ornain and Moselle Valleys the roads arehillier, but somewhat less muddy. The weather continues showery andunsettled, and a short distance beyond Void I find myself once againwandering off along the wrong road. The peasantry hereabout seem to haveretained a lively recollection of the Prussians, my helmet appearing tohave the effect of jogging their memory, and frequently, when stoppingto inquire about the roads, the first word in response will be the pointedquery, "Prussian. " By following the directions given by three differentpeasants, I wander along the muddy by-roads among the vineyards for twowet, unhappy hours ere I finally strike the main road to Toul again. After floundering along the wellnigh unimproved by-ways for two hoursone thoroughly appreciates how much he is indebted to the militarynecessities of the French Government for the splendid highways of France, especially among these hills and valleys, where natural roadways wouldbe anything but good. Following down the Moselle Valley, I arrive at theimportant city of Nancy in the eventide, and am fortunate, I suppose, in discovering a hotel where a certain, or, more properly speaking, anuncertain, quantity and quality of English are spoken. Nancy is reputedto be one of the loveliest towns in France. But I merely remained in itover night, and long enough next morning to exchange for some Germanmoney, as I cross over the frontier to-day. 

Luneville is a town I pass through, some distance nearer the border, andthe military display here made is perfectly overshadowing. Even thescarecrows in the fields are military figures, with wooden swordsthreateningly waving about in their hands with every motion of the wind, and the most frequent sound heard along the route is the sharp bang!bang! of muskets, where companies of soldiers are target-practising inthe woods. There seems to be a bellicose element in the very atmosphere;for every dog in every village I ride through verily takes after me, andI run clean over one bumptious cur, which, miscalculating the speed atwhich I am coming, fails to get himself out of the way in time. It isthe narrowest escape from a header I have had since starting fromLiverpool; although both man and dog were more scared than hurt. Sixty-fivekilometres from Nancy, and I take lunch at the frontier town of Blamont. The road becomes more hilly, and a short distance out of Blamont, behold, it is as though a chalk-line were made across the roadway, on the westside of which it had been swept with scrupulous care, and on the eastside not swept at all; and when, upon passing the next roadman, I noticethat he bears not upon his cap the brass stencil-plate bearing theinscription, " Cantonnier, " I know that I have passed over the frontierinto the territory of Kaiser Wilhelm. 

My journey through fair Prance has been most interesting, and perhapsinstructive, though I am afraid that the lessons I have taken in Frenchpoliteness are altogether too superficial to be lasting. The "Bonjour, monsieur, " and "Bon voyage, " of France, may not mean any more than the"If I don't see you again, why, hello. " of America, but it certainlysounds more musical and pleasant. It is at the table d'hote, however, that I have felt myself to have invariably shone superior to the natives;for, lo! the Frenchman eats soup from the end of his spoon. True, it ismore convenient to eat soup from the prow of a spoon than from thelarboard; nevertheless, it is when eating soup that I instinctively feelmy superiority. The French peasants, almost without exception, concludethat the bright-nickelled surface of the bicycle is silver, and presumablyconsider its rider nothing less than a millionnaire in consequence; butit is when I show them the length of time the rear wheel or a pedal willspin round that they manifest their greatest surprise. The crowning gloryof French landscape is the magnificent avenues of poplars that traversethe country in every direction, winding with the roads, the railways, and canals along the valleys, and marshalled like sentinels along thebrows of the distant hills; without them French scenery would lose halfits charm. 

CHAPTER VI. 

GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 

Notwithstanding Alsace was French territory only fourteen years ago(1871) there is a noticeable difference in the inhabitants, to me themost acceptable being their great linguistic superiority over the peopleon the French side of the border. I linger in Saarburg only about thirtyminutes, yet am addressed twice by natives in my own tongue; and atPfalzburg, a smaller town, where I remain over night, I find the samecharacteristic. Ere I penetrate thirty kilometres into German territory, however, I have to record what was never encountered in France; aninsolent teamster, who, having his horses strung across a narrow road-way in the suburbs of Saarburg, refuses to turn his leaders' heads toenable me to ride past, thus compelling me to dismount. Soldiers drilling, soldiers at target practice, and soldiers in companies marching aboutin every direction, greet my eyes upon approaching Pfalzburg; and althoughthere appears to be less beating of drums and blare of trumpets than inFrench garrison towns, one seldom turns a street corner without hearingthe measured tramp of a military company receding or approaching. TheseGerman troops appear to march briskly and in a business-like manner incomparison with the French, who always seem to carry themselves with atired and dejected deportment; but the over-ample and rather slouchy-lookingpantaloons of the French are probably answerable, in part, for thisimpression. One cannot watch these sturdy-looking German soldiers withouta conviction that for the stern purposes of war they are inferior onlyto the soldiers of our own country. At the little gasthaus at Pfalzburgthe people appear to understand and anticipate an Englishman's gastronomicpeculiarities, for the first time since leaving England I am confrontedat the supper-table with excellent steak and tea. 

It is raining next morning as I wheel over the rolling hills towardSaverne, a city nestling pleasantly in a little valley beyond those darkwooded heights ahead that form the eastern boundary of the valley of theRhine. The road is good but hilly, and for several kilometres, beforereaching Saverne, winds its way among the pine forests tortuously andsteeply down from the elevated divide. The valley, dotted here and therewith pleasant villages, is spread out like a marvellously beautifulpicture, the ruins of several old castles on neighboring hill-tops addinga charm, as well as a dash of romance. 

The rain pours down in torrents as I wheel into Saverne. I pause longenough to patronize a barber shop; also to procure an additional smallwrench. Taking my nickelled monkey-wrench into a likely-looking hardwarestore, I ask the proprietor if he has anything similar. He examines itwith lively interest, for, in comparison with the clumsy tools comprisinghis stock-in-trade, the wrench is as a watch-spring to an old horse-shoe. I purchase a rude tool that might have been fashioned on the anvil of avillage blacksmith. From Saverne my road leads over another divide anddown into the glorious valley of the Rhine, for a short distance througha narrow defile that reminds me somewhat of a canon in the Sierra Nevadafoot-hills; but a fine, broad road, spread with a coating of surface-mudonly by this morning's rain, prevents the comparison from assumingdefinite shape for a cycler. Extensive and beautifully terraced vineyardsmark the eastern exit. The road-beds of this country are hard enough foranything; but a certain proportion of clay in their composition makes aslippery coating in rainy weather. I enter the village of Marienheim andobserve the first stork's nest, built on top of a chimney, that I haveyet seen in Europe, though I saw plenty of them afterward. The parentstork is perched solemnly over her youthful brood, which one wouldnaturally think would get smoke-dried. A short distance from MarlenheimI descry in the hazy distance the famous spire of Strasburg cathedrallooming conspicuously above everything else in all the broad valley; andat 1. 30 P. M. I wheel through the massive arched gateway forming part ofthe city's fortifications, and down the broad but roughly paved streets, the most mud-be-spattered object in all Strasburg. The fortificationssurrounding the city are evidently intended strictly for business, andnot merely for outward display. The railway station is one of the finestin Europe, and among other conspicuous improvements one notices steamtram-cars. While trundling through the city I am imperatively orderedoff the sidewalk by the policeman; and when stopping to inquire of arespectable-looking Strasburger for the Appeuweir road, up steps anindividual with one eye and a cast off military cap three sizes toosmall. After querying, " Appenweir. Englander?" he wheels "about face"with military precision doubtless thus impelled by the magic influenceof his headgear - and beckons me to follow. Not knowing what better courseto pursue I obey, and after threading the mazes of a dozen streets, composed of buildings ranging in architecture from the much gabled andnot unpicturesque structures of mediaeval times to the modern brown-stonefront, he pilots me outside the fortifications again, points up theAppenweir road, and after the never neglected formality of touching hiscap and extending his palm, returns city-ward. 

Crossing the Rhine over a pontoon bridge, I ride along level and, happily, rather less muddy roads, through pleasant suburban villages, near oneof which I meet a company of soldiers in undress uniform, strung outcarelessly along the road, as though returning from a tramp into thecountry. As I approach them, pedalling laboriously against a stiff headwind, both myself and the bicycle fairly yellow with clay, both officersand soldiers begin to laugh in a good-natured, bantering sort of manner, and a round dozen of them sing out in chorus "Ah! ah! der Englander. "and as I reply, "Yah! yah. " in response, and smile as I wheel pastthem, the laughing and banter go all along the line. The sight of an"Englander" on one of his rambling expeditions of adventure furnishesmuch amusement to the average German, who, while he cannot help admiringthe spirit of enterprise that impels him, fails to comprehend where theenjoyment can possibly come in. The average German would much ratherloll around, sipping wine or beer, and smoking cigarettes, than impel abicycle across a continent. A few miles eastward of the Rhine anothergrim fortress frowns upon peaceful village and broad, green meads, andoff yonder to the right is yet another; sure enough, this Franco-Germanfrontier is one vast military camp, with forts, and soldiers, and munitionsof war everywhere. When I crossed the Rhine I left Lower Alsace, and amnow penetrating the middle Rhine region, where villages are picturesqueclusters of gabled cottages - a contrast to the shapeless and ancient-lookingstone structures of the French villages. The difference also extends tothe inhabitants; the peasant women of France, in either real or affectedmodesty, would usually pretend not to notice anything extraordinary asI wheeled past, but upon looking back they would almost invariably beseen standing and gazing after my receding figure with unmistakableinterest; but the women of these Rhine villages burst out into merrypeals of laughter. 

Rolling over fair roads into the village of Oberkirch, I conclude toremain for the night, and the first thing undertaken is to disburden thebicycle of its covering of clay. The awkward-looking hostler comes aroundseveral times and eyes the proceedings with glances of genuine disapproval, doubtless thinking I am cleaning it myself instead of letting him swabit with a besom with the single purpose in view of dodging the inevitabletip. The proprietor can speak a few words of English. He puts his baldhead out of the window above, and asks: "Pe you Herr Shtevens ?" "Yah, yah, " I reply. 

" Do you go mit der veld around ?" "Yah; I goes around mit the world. "

"I shoust read about you mit der noospaper. " " Ah, indeed! what newspaper?"

"Die Frankfurter Zeitung. You go around mit der veld. " The landlord looksdelighted to have for a guest the man who goes "mit der veld around, "and spreads the news. During the evening several people of importanceand position drop in to take a curious peep at me and my wheel. 

A dampness about the knees, superinduced by wheeling in rubber leggings, causes me to seek the privilege of the kitchen fire upon arrival. Afterlistening to the incessant chatter of the cook for a few moments, Isuddenly dispense with all pantomime, and ask in purest English theprivilege of drying my clothing in peace and tranquillity by the kitchenfire. The poor woman hurries out, and soon returns with her highlyaccomplished master, who, comprehending the situation, forthwith tendersme the loan of his Sunday pantaloons for the evening; which offer Igladly accept, notwithstanding the wide disproportion in their size andmine, the landlord being, horizontally, a very large person. Oberkirchis a pretty village at the entrance to the narrow and charming valleyof the River Bench, up which my route leads, into the fir-clad heightsof the Black Forest. A few miles farther up the valley I wheel througha small village that nestles amid surroundings the loveliest I have yetseen. Dark, frowning firs intermingled with the lighter green of othervegetation crown the surrounding spurs of the Knibis Mountains; vineyards, small fields of waving rye, and green meadow cover the lower slopes withvariegated beauty, at the foot of which huddles the cluster of prettycottages amid scattered orchards of blossoming fruit-trees. The cheerylute of the herders on the mountains, the carol of birds, and the merrymusic of dashing mountain-streams fill the fresh morning air with melody. All through this country there are apple-trees, pear-trees, cherry-treesIn the fruit season one can scarce open his mouth out-doors withouthaving the goddess Pomona pop in some delicious morsel. The poplaravenues of France have disappeared, but the road is frequently shadedfor miles with fruit-trees. I never before saw a spot so lovely-certainlynot in combination with a wellnigh perfect road for wheeling. On throughOppenau and Petersthal my way leads - this latter a place of growingimportance as a summer resort, several commodious hotels with swimming-baths, mineral waters, etc. , being already prepared to receive the anticipatedinflux of health and pleasure-seeking guests this coming summer - and thenup, up, up among the dark pines leading over the Black Forest Mountains. Mile after mile of steep incline has now been trundled, following theBench River to its source. Ere long the road I have lately traversed isvisible far below, winding and twisting up the mountain-slopes. Groupsof swarthy peasant women are carrying on their heads baskets of pinecones to the villages below. At a distance the sight of their bright reddresses among the sombre green of the pines is suggestive of the fairieswith which legend has peopled the Black Forest. 

The summit is reached at last, and two boundary posts apprise the travellerthat on this wooded ridge he passes from Baden into Wurtemberg. Thedescent for miles is agreeably smooth and gradual; the mountain air blowscool and refreshing, with an odor of the pines; the scenery is BlackForest scenery, and what more could be possibly desired than this happycombination of circumstances. Reaching Freudenstadt about noon, themountain-climbing, the bracing air, and the pine fragrance cause me togive the good people at the gasthaus an impressive lesson in the effectof cycling on the human appetite. At every town and village I pass throughin Wurtemberg the whole juvenile population collects around me in anincredibly short time. The natural impulse of the German small boy appearsto be to start running after me, shouting and laughing immoderately, andwhen passing through some of the larger villages, it is no exaggerationto say that I have had two hundred small Germans, noisy and demonstrative, clattering along behind in their heavy wooden shoes. 

Wurtemburg, by this route at least, is a decidedly hilly country, andthe roads are far inferior to those of both England and France. Therewill be, perhaps, three kilometres of trundling up through wooded heightsleading out of a small valley, then, after several kilometres overundulating, stony upland roads, a long and not always smooth descentinto another small valley, this programme, several times repeated, constituting the journey of the clay. The small villages of the peasantryare frequently on the uplands, but the larger towns are invariably inthe valleys, sheltered by wooded heights, perched among the crags of themost inaccessible of which are frequently seen the ruins of an old castle. Scores of little boys of eight or ten are breaking stones by the road-side, at which I somewhat marvel, since there is a compulsory school law inGermany; but perhaps to-day is a holiday; or maybe, after school hours, it is customary for these unhappy youngsters to repair to the road-sidesand blister their hands with cracking flints. "Hungry as a buzz-saw" Iroll into the sleepy old town of Rothenburg at six o'clock, and, repairingto the principal hotel, order supper. Several flunkeys of differentdegrees of usefulness come in and bow obsequiously from time to time, as I sit around, expecting supper to appear every minute. At seven o'clockthe waiter comes in, bows profoundly, and lays the table-cloth; at 7. 15he appears again, this time with a plate, knife, and fork, doing morebowing and scraping as he lays them on the table. Another half-hour rollsby, when, doubtless observing my growing impatience as he happens in atintervals to close a shutter or re-regulate the gas, he produces a smallillustrated paper, and, bowing profoundly; lays it before me. I feelvery much like making him swallow it, but resigning myself to what appearsto be inevitable fate, I wait and wait, and at precisely 8. 15 he producesa plate of soup; at 8. 30 the kalbscotolet is brought on, and at 8. 45 asmall plate of mixed biscuits. During the meal I call for another pieceof bread, and behold there is a hurrying to and fro, and a resoundingof feet scurrying along the stone corridors of the rambling old building, and ten minutes later I receive a small roll. At the opposite end of thelong table upon which I am writing some half-dozen ancient and honorableRothenburgers are having what they doubtless consider a "howling time. "Confronting each is a huge tankard of foaming lager, and the one doubtlessenjoying himself the most and making the greatest success of excitingthe envy and admiration of those around him is a certain ponderousindividual who sits from hour to hour in a half comatose condition, barely keeping a large porcelain pipe from going out, and at fifteen-minuteintervals taking a telling pull at the lager. Were it not for an occasionalblink of the eyelids and the periodical visitation of the tankard to hislips, it would be difficult to tell whether he were awake or sleeping, the act of smoking being barely perceptible to the naked eye. 

In the morning I am quite naturally afraid to order anything to eat herefor fear of having to wait until mid-day, or thereabouts, before gettingit; so, after being the unappreciative recipient of several more bows, more deferential and profound if anything than the bows of yesterdayeve, I wheel twelve kilometres to Tubingen for breakfast. It showersoccasionally during the forenoon, and after about thirty-five kilometresof hilly country it begins to descend in torrents, compelling me tofollow the example of several peasants in seeking the shelter of a thickpine copse. We are soon driven out of it, however, and donning my gossamerrubber suit, I push on to Alberbergen, where I indulge in rye bread andmilk, and otherwise while away the hours until three o'clock, when, therain ceasing, I pull out through the mud for Blaubeuren. Down thebeautiful valley of one of the Danube's tributaries I ride on Sundaymorning, pedalling to the music of Blaubeuren's church-bells. Afterwaiting until ten o'clock, partly to allow the roads to dry a little, Iconclude to wait no longer, and so pull out toward the important andquite beautiful city of Ulm. The character of the country now changes, and with it likewise the characteristics of the people, who verily seemto have stamped upon their features the peculiarities of the region theyinhabit. My road eastward of Blaubeuren follows down a narrow, windingvalley, beside the rippling head-waters of the Danube, and eighteenkilometres of variable road brings me to the strongly fortified city ofUlm, the place I should have reached yesterday, except for the inclemencyof the weather, and where I cross from Wurtemberg into Bavaria. On theuninviting uplands of Central Wurtemberg one looks in vain among thepeasant women for a prepossessing countenance or a graceful figure, butalong the smiling valleys of Bavaria, the women, though usually withfigures disproportionately broad, nevertheless carry themselves with acertain gracefulness; and, while far from the American or English ideaof beautiful, are several degrees more so than their relatives of thepart of Wilrtemberg I have traversed. I stop but a few minutes at Ulm, to test a mug of its lager and inquire the details of the road to Augsburg, yet during that short time I find myself an object of no little curiosityto the citizens, for the fame of my undertaking has pervaded Ulm. 

The roads of Bavaria possess the one solitary merit of hardness, otherwisethey would be simply abominable, the Bavarian idea of road-making evidentlybeing to spread unlimited quantities of loose stones over the surface. For miles a wheelman is compelled to follow along narrow, wheel-worntracks, incessantly dodging loose stones, or otherwise to pedal his waycautiously along the edges of the roadway. I am now wheeling through thegreatest beer-drinking, sausage-consuming country in the world; hop-gardens are a prominent feature of the landscape, and long links ofsausages are dangling in nearly every window. The quantities of theseviands I see consumed to-day are something astonishing, though thecelebration of the Whitsuntide holidays is probably augmentative of theamount. 

The strains of instrumental music come floating over the level bottomof the Lech valley as, toward eventide, I approach the beautiful environsof Augsburg, and ride past several beer-gardens, where merry crowds ofAugsburgers are congregated, quaffing foaming lager, eating sausages, and drinking inspiration from the music of military bands. "Where is theheadquarters of the Augsburg Velocipede Club?" I inquire of a promising-lookingyouth as, after covering one hundred and twenty kilometres since teno'clock, I wheel into the city. The club's headquarters are at a prominentcafe and beer-garden in the south-eastern suburbs, and repairing thitherI find an accommodating individual who can speak English, and who willinglyaccepts the office of interpreter between me and the proprietor of thegarden. Seated amid hundreds of soldiers, Augsburg civilians, and peasantsfrom the surrounding country, and with them extracting genuine enjoymentfrom a tankard of foaming Augsburg lager, I am informed that most of themembers of the club are celebrating the Whitsuntide holidays by touringabout the surrounding country, but that I am very welcome to Augsburg, and I am conducted to the Hotel Mohrenkopf (Moor's Head Hotel), andinvited to consider myself the guest of the club as long as I care toremain in Augsburg-the Bavarians are nothing if not practical. 

Mr. Josef Kling, the president of the club, accompanies me as far outas Friedburg on Monday morning; it is the last day of the holidays, andthe Bavarians are apparently bent on making the most of it. The suburbanbeer-gardens are already filled with people, and for some distance outof the city the roads are thronged with holiday-making Augsburgersrepairing to various pleasure resorts in the neighboring country, andthe peasantry streaming cityward from the villages, their faces beamingin anticipation of unlimited quantities of beer. About every tenth personamong the outgoing Augsburgers is carrying an accordion; some playingmerrily as they walk along, others preferring to carry theirs in blissfulmeditation on the good time in store immediately ahead, while a thoughtfulmajority have large umbrellas strapped to their backs. Music and songare heard on every hand, and as we wheel along together in silence, enforced by an ignorance of each other's language, whichever way onelooks, people in holiday attire and holiday faces are moving hither andthither. 

Some of the peasants are fearfully and wonderfully attired: the men wearhigh top-boots, polished from the sole to the uppermost hair's breadthof leather; black, broad-brimmed felt hats, frequently with a peacock'sfeather a yard long stuck through the band, the stem protruding forward, and the end of the feather behind; and their coats and waistcoats areadorned with long rows of large, ancestral buttons. I am now in theSwabian district, and these buttons that form so conspicuous a part ofthe holiday attire are made of silver coins, and not infrequently havebeen handed down from generation to generation for several centuries, they being, in fact, family heirlooms. The costumes of the Swabish peasantwomen are picturesque in the extreme: their finest dresses and thatwondrous head-gear of brass, silver, or gold - the SchwabischeBauernfrauenhaube (Swabish farmer-woman hat) - being, like the buttonsof the men, family heirlooms. Some of these wonderful ancestral dresses, I am told, contain no less than one hundred and fifty yards of heavymaterial, gathered and closely pleated in innumerable perpendicular folds, frequently over a foot thick, making the form therein incased appearridiculously broad and squatty. The waistbands of the dresses are up in theregion of the shoulder-blades; the upper portion of the sleeves are likewisepadded out to fearful proportions. 

The day is most lovely, the fields are deserted, and the roads andvillages are alive with holiday-making peasants. In every village a tallpole is erected, and decorated from top to bottom with small flags andevergreen wreaths. The little stone churches and the adjoining cemeteriesare filled with worshippers chanting in solemn chorus; not so preoccupiedwith their devotional exercises and spiritual meditations, however, asto prevent their calling one another's attention to me as I wheel past, craning their necks to obtain a better view, and, in one instance, ano'er-inquisitive worshipper even beckons for me to stop - this person bothchanting and beckoning vigorously at the same time. 

Now my road leads through forests of dark firs; and here I overtake aprocession of some fifty peasants, the men and women alternately chantingin weird harmony as they trudge along the road. The men are bareheaded, carrying their hats in hand. Many of the women are barefooted, and thepedal extremities of others are incased in stockings of marvellouspattern; not any are wearing shoes. All the colors of the rainbow arerepresented in their respective costumes, and each carries a largeumbrella strapped at his back; they are trudging along at quite a briskpace, and altogether there is something weird and fascinating about thewhole scene: the chanting and the surroundings. The variegated costumesof the women are the only bright objects amid the gloominess of the darkgreen pines. As I finally pass ahead, the unmistakable expressions ofinterest on the faces of the men, and the even rows of ivories displayedby the women, betray a diverted attention. 

Near noon I arrive at the antiquated town of Dachau, and upon repairingto the gasthaus, an individual in a last week's paper collar, and withgeneral appearance in keeping, comes forward and addresses me in quiteexcellent English, and during the dinner hour answers several questionsconcerning the country and the natives so intelligently that, upondeparting, I ungrudgingly offer him the small tip customary on suchoccasions in Germany. "No, Whitsuntide in Bavaria. I thank you, verymuchly, " he replies, smiling, and shaking his head. "I am not an employeof the hotel, as you doubtless think; I am a student of modern languagesat the Munich University, visiting Dauhau for the day. " Several soldiersplaying billiards in the room grin broadly in recognition of the ludicrousnesssituation; and I must confess that for the moment I feel like asking one ofthem to draw his sword and charitably prod me out of the room. The unhappymemory of having, in my ignorance, tendered a small tip to a student of theMunich University will cling around me forever. Nevertheless, I feel that afterall there are extenuating circumstances - he ought to change his paper collaroccasionally. 

An hour after noon I am industriously dodging loose flints on the levelroad leading across the Isar River Valley toward Munich; the TyroleseAlps loom up, shadowy and indistinct, in the distance to the southward, their snowy peaks recalling memories of the Rockies through which I waswheeling exactly a year ago. While wending my way along the streetstoward the central portion of the Bavarian capital the familiar sign, "American Cigar Store, " looking like a ray of light penetrating throughthe gloom and mystery of the multitudinous unreadable signs that surroundit, greets my vision, and I immediately wend my footsteps thitherward. I discover in the proprietor, Mr. Walsch, a native of Munich, who, afterresiding in America for several years, has returned to dream away decliningyears amid the smoke of good cigars and the quaffing of the deliciousamber beer that the brewers of Munich alone know how to brew. Then whoshould happen in but Mr. Charles Buscher, a thorough-going American;from Chicago, who is studying art here at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, and who straightway volunteers to show me Munich. 

Nine o'clock next morning finds me under the pilotage of Mr. Buscher, wandering through the splendid art galleries. We next visit the RoyalAcademy of Fine Arts, a magnificent building, being erected at a costof 7, 000, 000 marks. 

We repair at eleven o'clock to the royal residence, making a note by theway of a trifling mark of King Ludwig's well-known eccentricity. Oppositethe palace is an old church, with two of its four clocks facing theKing's apartments. The hands of these clocks are, according to myinformant, made of gold. Some time since the King announced that thesight of these golden hands hurt his eyesight, and ordered them paintedblack. It was done, and they are black to-day. Among the most interestingobjects in the palace are the room and bed in which Napoleon I. Sleptin 1809, which has since been occupied by no other person; the "richbed, " a gorgeous affair of pink and scarlet satin-work, on which fortywomen wove, with gold thread, daily, for ten years, until 1, 600, 000 markswere expended. 

At one of the entrances to the royal residence, and secured with ironbars, is a large bowlder weighing three hundred and sixty-three pounds;in the wall above it are driven three spikes, the highest spike beingtwelve feet from the ground; and Bavarian historians have recorded thatEarl Christoph, a famous giant, tossed this bowlder up to the markindicated by the highest spike, with his foot. 

After this I am kindly warned by both Messrs. Buscher and Walsch not tothink of leaving the city without visiting the Konigliche Hofbrauhaus(Royal Court Brewery) the most famous place of its kind in all Europe. For centuries Munich has been famous for the excellent quality of itsbeer, and somewhere about four centuries ago the king founded this famousbrewery for the charitable purpose of enabling his poorer subjects toquench their thirst with the best quality of beer, at prices within theirmeans, and from generation to generation it has remained a favoriteresort in Munich for lovers of good beer. In spite of its remaining, asof yore, a place of rude benches beneath equally rude, open sheds, withcobwebs festooning the rafters and a general air of dilapidation aboutit; in spite of the innovation of dozens of modern beer-gardens withwaving palms, electric lights, military music, and all modern improvements, the Konigliche Hofbrauhaus is daily and nightly thronged with thirstyvisitors, who for the trifling sum of twenty-two pfennigs (about fivecents) obtain a quart tankard of the most celebrated brew in all Bavaria. 

"Munich is the greatest art-centre of the world, the true hub of theartistic universe, " Mr. Buscher enthusiastically assures me as we wandertogether through the sleepy old streets, and he points out a bright bitof old frescoing, which is already partly obliterated by the elements, and compares it with the work of recent years; calls my attention to apiece of statuary, and anon pilots me down into a restaurant and beerhall in some ancient, underground vaults and bids me examine thearchitecture and the frescoing. The very custom-house of Munich is aglorious old church, that would be carefully preserved as a relic of nosmall interest and importance in cities less abundantly blessed withantiquities, but which is here piled with the cases and boxes and bagsof commerce. One other conspicuous feature of Munich life must not beover-looked ere I leave it, viz. , the hackmen. Unlike their Transatlanticbrethren, they appear supremely indifferent about whether they pick upany fares or not. Whenever one comes to a hack-stand it is a pretty surething to bet that nine drivers out of every ten are taking a quiet snooze, reclining on their elevated boxes, entirely oblivious of their surroundings, and a timid stranger would almost hesitate about disturbing their slumbers. But the Munich cabby has long since got hardened to the disagreeableprocess of being wakened up. Nor does this lethargy pervade the ranksof hackdom only: at least two-thirds of the teamsters one meets on theroads, hereabouts, are stretched out on their respective loads, contentedlysleeping while the horses or oxen crawl leisurely along toward theirgoal. 

Munich is visited heavily with rain during the night, and for severalkilometres, next morning, the road is a horrible waste of loose flintsand mud-filled ruts, along which it is all but impossible to ride; butafter leaving the level bottom of the Isar River the road improvessufficiently to enable me to take an occasional, admiring glance at theBavarian and Tyrolese Alps, towering cloudward on the southern horizon, their shadowy outlines scarcely distinguishable in the hazy distancefrom the fleecy clouds their peaks aspire to invade. While absentmindedlytaking a more lingering look than is consistent with safety when pickingone's way along the narrow edge of the roadway between the stone-strewncentre and the ditch, I run into the latter, and am rewarded with myfirst Cis-atlantic header, but fortunately both myself and the bicyclecome up uninjured. Unlike the Swabish peasantry, the natives east ofMunich appear as prosy and unpicturesque in dress as a Kansas homesteader. 

Ere long there is noticeable a decided change in the character of thevillages, they being no longer clusters of gabled cottages, but usuallyconsist of some three or four huge, rambling bulldings, at one of whichI call for a drink and observe that brewing and baking are going on asthough they were expecting a whole regiment to be quartered on them. Among other things I mentally note this morning is that the men actuallyseem to be bearing the drudgery of the farm equally with the women; butthe favorable impression becomes greatly imperilled upon meeting a womanharnessed to a small cart, heavily laboring along, while her husband -kind man - is walking along-side, holding on to a rope, upon which heconsiderately pulls to assist her along and lighten her task. NearingHoag, and thence eastward, the road becomes greatly improved, and alongthe Inn River Valley, from Muhldorf to Alt Oetting, where I remain forthe night, the late rain-storm has not reached, and the wheeling issuperior to any I have yet had in Germany. Muhldorf is a curious andinteresting old town. The sidewalks of Muhldorf are beneath long arcadesfrom one end of the principal street to the other; not modern structureseither, but massive archways that are doubtless centuries old, and thatsupport the front rooms of the buildings that tower a couple of storiesabove them. 

As toward dusk I ride into the market square of Alt Oetting, it isnoticeable that nearly all the stalls and shops remaining open displaynothing but rosaries, crucifixes, and other paraphernalia of the prevailingreligion. Through Eastern Bavaria the people seern pre-eminently devotional;church-spires dot the landscape at every point of the compass. At myhotel in Alt Oetting, crucifixes, holy water, and burning tapers aresituated on the different stairway landings. I am sitting in my room, penning these lines to the music of several hundred voices chanting inthe old stone church near by, and can look out of the window and see anumber of peasant women taking turns in dragging themselves on theirknees round and round a small religious edifice in the centre of themarket square, carrying on their shoulders huge, heavy wooden crosses, the ends of which are trailing on the ground. 

All down the Inn River Valley, there is many a picturesque bit ofintermingled pine-copse and grassy slopes; but admiring scenery isanything but a riskless undertaking along here, as I quickly discover. On the Inn River I find a primitive ferry-boat operated by a, fac-simileof the Ancient Mariner, who takes me and my wheel across for theconsideration of five pfennigs-a trifle over one cent -and when I refusethe tiny change out of a ten-pfennig piece the old fellow touches hiscap as deferentially, and favors me with a look of gratitude as profound, as though I were bestowing a pension upon him for life. My arrival at abroad, well-travelled high-way at once convinces me that I have againbeen unwittingly wandering among the comparatively untravelled by-waysas the result of following the kindly meant advice of people whoseknowledge of bicycling requirements is of the slimmest nature. The InnRiver a warm, rich vale; haymaking is already in full progress, anddelightful perfume is wafted on the fresh morning air from aclows wherescores of barefooted Maud Mullers are raking hay, and mowing it too, swinging scythes side by side with the men. Some of the out-door crucifixesand shrines (small, substantial buildings containing pictures, images, and all sorts of religious -emblems) along this valley are really quiteelaborate affairs. All through Roman Catholic Germany these emblems ofreligion are very elaborate, or the reverse, according to the locality, the chosen spot in rich and fertile valleys generally being favored withbetter and more artistic affairs, and more of them, than the comparativelyunproductive uplands. This is evidently because the inhabitants of thelatter regions are either less wealthy, and consequently cannot affordit, or otherwise realize that they have really much less to be thankfulfor than their comparatively fortunate neighbors in the more productivevalleys. 

At the town of Simbach I cross the Inn River again on a substantialwooden bridge, and on the opposite side pass under an old stone archwaybearing the Austrian coat-of-arms. Here I am conducted into the custom-houseby an officer wearing the sombre uniform of Franz Josef, and required, for the first time in Europe, to produce my passport. After a criticaland unnecessarily long examination of this document I am graciouslypermitted to depart. In an adjacent money-changer's office I exchangewhat German money I have remaining for the paper currency of Austria, and once more pursue my way toward the Orient, finding the roads ratherbetter than the average German ones, the Austrians, hereabouts at least, having had the goodness to omit the loose flints so characteristic ofBavaria. Once out of the valley of the Inn River, however, I find theuplands intervening between it and the valley of the Danube aggravatinglyhilly. 

While eating my first luncheon in Austria, at the village of Altheim, the village pedagogue informs me in good English that I am the firstBriton he has ever had the pleasure of conversing with. He learned thelanguage entirely from books, without a tutor, he says, learning it forpleasure solely, never expecting to utilize the accomplishment in anypractical way. One hill after another characterizes my route to-day; theweather, which has hitherto remained reasonably mild, is turning hot andsultry, and, arriving at Hoag about five o'clock, I feel that I havedone sufficient hillclimbing for one day. I have been wheeling throughAustrian territory since 10. 30 this morning, and, with observant eyesthe whole distance, I have yet to see the first native, male or female, possessing in the least degree either a graceful figure or a prepossessingface. There has been a great horse-fair at Hoag to-day; the business ofthe day is concluded, and the principal occupation of the men, apartfrom drinking beer and smoking, appears to be frightening the women outof their wits by leading prancing horses as near them as possible. 

My road, on leaving Hoag, is hilly, and the snowy heights of the NordlicheKalkalpen (North Chalk Mountains), a range of the Austrian Alps, loomup ahead at an uncertain distance. To-day is what Americans call a"scorcher, " and climbing hills among pine-woods, that shut out everypassing breeze, is anything but exhilarating exercise with the thermometerhovering in the vicinity of one hundred degrees. The peasants are abroadin their fields as usual, but a goodly proportion are reclining beneaththe trees. Reclining is, I think, a favorite pastime with the Austrian. The teamster, who happens to be wide awake and sees me approaching, knowsinstinctively that his team is going to scare at the bicycle, yet hemakes no precautionary movements whatever, neither does he arouse himselffrom his lolling position until the horses or oxen begin to swerve around. As a usual thing the teamster is filling his pipe, which has a large, ungainly-looking, porcelain bowl, a long, straight wooden stem, and acrooked mouth-piece. Almost every Austrian peasant from sixteen yearsold upward carries one of these uncomely pipes. 

The men here seem to be dull, uninteresting mortals, dressed in tight-fitting, and yet, somehow, ill-fitting, pantaloons, usually about threesizes too short, a small apron of blue ducking-an unbecoming garmentthat can only be described as a cross between a short jacket and awaistcoat - and a narrow-rimmed, prosy-looking billycock hat. The peasantwomen are the poetry of Austria, as of any other European country, andin their short red dresses and broad-brimmed, gypsy hats, they lookpicturesque and interesting in spite of homely faces and ungracefulfigures. Riding into Lambach this morning, I am about wheeling past ahorse and drag that, careless and Austrian-like, has been left untiedand unwatched in the middle of the street, when the horse suddenly scares, swerves around just in front of me, and dashes, helter-skelter, down thestreet. The horse circles around the market square and finally stops ofhis own accord without doing any damage. Runaways, other misfortunes, it seems, never come singly, and ere I have left Lambach an hour I amthe innocent cause of yet another one; this time it is a large, powerfulwork-dog, who becomes excited upon meeting me along the road, and upsetsthings in the most lively manner. Small carts pulled by dogs are commonvehicles here and this one is met coming up an incline, the man consideratelygiving the animal a lift. A life of drudgery breaks the spirit of thesework-dogs and makes them cowardly and cringing. At my approach this onehowls, and swerves suddenly around with a rush that upsets both man andcart, topsy-turvy, into the ditch, and the last glimpse of the rumpusobtained, as I sweep past and down the hill beyond, is the man pawingthe air with his naked feet and the dog struggling to free himself fromthe entangling harness. 

Up among the hills, at the village of Strenburg, night arrives at a veryopportune moment to-day, for Strenburg proves a nice, sociable sort ofvillage, where the doctor can speak good English and plays the role ofinterpreter for me at the gasthaus. The school-ma'am, a vivacious Italianlady, in addition to French and German, can also speak a few words ofEnglish, though she persistently refers to herself as the " school-master. " She boards at the same gasthaus, and all the evening long Iam favored by the liveliest prattle and most charming gesticulationsimaginable, while the room is half filled with her class of young ladyaspirants to linguistic accomplishments, listening to our amusing, ifnot instructive, efforts to carry on a conversation. ' It is altogethera most enjoyable evening, and on parting I am requested to write when Iget around the world and tell the Strenburgers all that I have seen andexperienced. On top of the gasthaus is a rude observatory, and beforestarting I take a view of the country. The outlook is magnificent; theAustrian Alps are towering skyward to the southeast, rearing snow-crownedheads out from among a billowy sea of pine-covered hills, and to thenorthward is the lovely valley of the Danube, the river glistening softlythrough the morning haze. 

On yonder height, overlooking the Danube on the one hand and the townof Molk on the other, is the largest and most imposing edifice I haveyet seen in Austria; it is a convent of the Benedictine monks; and thoughMolk is a solid, substantially built town, of perhaps a thousandinhabitants, I should think there is more material in the immense conventbuilding than in the whole town besides, and one naturally wonderswhatever use the monks can possibly have for a building of such enormousdimensions. Entering a barber's shop here for a shave, I find the barber ofMolk following the example of so many of his countrymen by snoozing themid-day hours happily and unconsciously away. One could easily pocketand walk off with his stock-in-trade, for small is the danger of his awakening. Waking him up, he shuffles mechanically over to hia razor and latheringapparatus, this latter being a soup-plate with a semicircular piecechipped out to fit, after a fashion, the contour of the customers'throats. Pressing this jagged edge of queen's-ware against your windpipe, the artist alternately rubs the water and a cake of soap therein containedabout your face with his hands, the water meanwhile passing freely betweenthe ill-fitting' soup-plate and your throat, and running down your breast;but don't complain; be reasonable: no reasonable-minded person couldexpect one soup-plate, however carefully chipped out, to fit the throatsof the entire male population of Molk, besides such travellers as happenalong. 

Spending the night at Neu Lengbach, I climb hills and wabble along, overrough, lumpy roads, toward Vienna, reaching the Austrian capital Sundaymorning, and putting up at the Englischer Eof about noon. At Vienna Idetermine to make a halt of two days, and on Tuesday pay a visit to theheadquarters of the Vienna Wanderers' Bicycle Club, away out on a suburbanstreet called Schwimmschulenstrasse; and the club promises that if Iwill delay my departure another day they will get up a small party ofwheelmen to escort me seventy kilometres, to Presburg. The bicycle clubsof Vienna have, at the Wanderers' headquarters, constructed an excellentrace-track, three and one-third laps to the English mile, at an expenseof 2, 000 gulden, and this evening several of Austria's fliers are trainingupon it for the approaching races. English and American wheelmen littleunderstand the difficulties these Vienna cyclers have to contend with:all the city inside the Ringstrasse, and no less than fifty streetsoutside, are forbidden to the mounted cyclers, and they are required toticket themselves with big, glaring letters, as also their lamps atnight, so that, in case of violating any of these regulations, they canby their number be readily recognized by the police. Self-preservationcompels the clubs to exercise every precaution against violating thepolice regulations, in order not to excite popular prejudice overwhelminglyagainst bicycles, and ere a new rider is permitted to venture outsidetheir own grounds he is hauled up before a regularly organized committee, consisting of officers from each club in Vienna, and required to gothrough a regular examination in mounting, dismounting, and otherwiseproving to their entire satisfaction his proficiency in managing andmanoeuvring his wheel; besides which every cycler is provided with apamphlet containing a list of the streets he may and may not frequent. In spite of all these harassing regulations, the Austrian capital hasalready two hundred riders. The Viennese impress themselves upon me asbeing possessed of more than ordinary individuality. Yonder comes a man, walking languidly along, and carrying his hat in his hand, because itis warm, and just behind him comes a fellow-citizen muffled up in anovercoat because - because of Viennese individuality. The people seem towalk the streets with a swaying, happy-go-anyhow sort of gait, collidingwith one another and jostling together on the sidewalk in the happiestmanner imaginable. 

At five o'clock on Thursday morning I am dressing, when I am notifiedthat two cyclers are awaiting me below. Church-bells are clanging joyouslyall over Vienna as we meander toward suburbs, and people are alreadystreaming in the direction of the St. Stephen's Church, near the centreof the city, for to-day is Frohnleichnam (Corpus Christi), and the Emperorand many of the great ecclesiastical, civil, and military personages ofthe empire will pass in procession with all pomp and circumstance; andthe average Viennese is not the person to miss so important an occasion. Three other wheelmen are awaiting us in the suburbs, and together weride through the waving barley-fields of the Danube bottom to Schwechat, for the light breakfast customary in Austria, and thence onward toPetronelle, thirty kilometres distant, where we halt a few minutes fora Corpus Christi procession, and drink a glass of white Hungarian wine. Near Petronelle are the remains of an old Roman wall, extending from theDanube to a lake called the Neusiedler See. My companions say it wasbuilt 2, 000 years ago, when the sway of the Romans extended over suchparts of Europe as were worth the trouble and expense of swaying. Theroads are found rather rough and inferior, on account of loose stonesand uneven surface, as we push forward toward Presburg, passing througha dozen villages whose streets are carpeted with fresh-cut grass, andconverted into temporary avenues, with branches stuck in the ground, inhonor of the day they are celebrating. At Hamburg we pass beneath anarchway nine hundred years old, and wheel on through the grass-carpetedstreets between rows of Hungarian soldiers drawn up in line, with greenoak-sprigs in their hats; the villagers are swarming from the church, whose bells are filling the air with their clangor, and on the summitof an over-shadowing cliff are the massive ruins of an ancient castle. Near about noon we roll into Presburg, warm and dusty, and after dinnertake a stroll through the Jewish quarter of the town up to the heightupon which Presburg castle is situated, and from which a most extensiveand beautiful view of the Danube, its wooded bluffs and broad, richbottom-lands, is obtainable. At dinner the waiter hands me a card, whichreads: "Pardon me, but I believe you are an Englishman, in which caseI beg the privilege of drinking a glass of wine with you. " The senderis an English gentleman residing at Budapest, Hungary, who, after therequested glass of wine, tells me that he guessed who I was when he firstsaw me enter the garden with the five Austrian wheelmen. 

My Austrian escort rides out with me to a certain cross-road, to makesure of heading me direct toward Budapest, and as we part they bid megood speed, with a hearty "Eljen. " - the Hungarian "Hip, hip, hurrah. "After leaving Presburg and crossing over into Hungary the road-bed isof a loose gravel that, during the dry weather this country is nowexperiencing, is churned up and loosened by every passing vehicle, untilone might as well think of riding over a ploughed field. But there is afair proportion of ridable side-paths, so that I make reasonably goodtime. Altenburg, my objective point for the night, is the centre of asixty-thousand-acre estate belonging to the Archduke Albrecht, uncle ofthe present Emperor of Austro-Hungary, and one of the wealthiest land-ownersin the empire. Ere I have been at the gasthaus an hour I am honored bya visit from Professor Thallmeyer, of the Altenburg Royal AgriculturalSchool, who invites me over to his house to spend an hour in conversation, and in the discussion of a bottle of Hungary's best vintage, for thelearned professor can talk very good English, and his wife is of Englishbirth and parentage. Although Frau Thallmeyer left England at the tenderage of two years, she calls herself an Englishwoman, speaks of Englandas "home, " and welcomes to her house as a countryman any wanderingBriton happening along. I am no longer in a land of small peasantproprietors, and there is a noticeably large proportion of the landdevoted to grazing purposes, that in France or Germany would be founddivided into small farms, and every foot cultivated. Villages are fartherapart, and are invariably adjacent to large commons, on which roam flocksof noisy geese, herds of ponies, and cattle with horns that would makea Texan blush - the long horned roadsters of Hungary. The costumes of theHungarian peasants are both picturesque and novel, the women and girlswearing top-boots and short dresses on holiday occasions and Sundays, and at other times short dresses without any boots at all; the men wearloose-flowing pantaloons of white, coarse linen that reach just belowthe knees, and which a casual observer would unhesitatingly pronounce ashort skirt, the material being so ample. Hungary is still practicallya land of serfs and nobles, and nearly every peasant encountered alongthe road touches his cap respectfully, in instinctive acknowledgment, as it were, of his inferiority. Long rows of women are seen hoeing inthe fields with watchful overseers standing over them - a scene notunsuggestive of plantation life in the Southern States in the days ofslavery. If these gangs of women are not more than about two hundredyards from the road their inquisitiveness overcomes every otherconsideration, and dropping everything, the whole crowd comes helter-skelteracross the field to obtain a closer view of the strange vehicle; for itis only in the neighborhood of one or two of the principal cities ofHungary that one ever sees a bicycle. 

Gangs of gypsies are now frequently met with; they are dark-skinned, interesting people, and altogether different-looking from those occasionallyencountered in England and America, where, although swarthy and dark-skinned, they bear no comparison in that respect to these, whose skin is wellnighblack, and whose gleaming white teeth and brilliant, coal-black eyesstamp them plainly as alien to the race around them. Ragged, unwashed, happy gangs of vagabonds these stragglers appear, and regular droves ofpartially or wholly naked youngsters come racing after me, calling out"kreuzer! kreuzer! kreuzer!" and holding out hand or tattered hat ina supplicating manner as they run along-side. Unlike the peasantry, noneof these gypsies touch their hats; indeed, yon swarthy-faced vagabond, arrayed mainly in gewgaws, and eying me curiously with his piercing blackeyes, may be priding himself on having royal blood in his veins; and, unregenerate chicken-lifter though he doubtless be, would scarce condescendto touch his tattered tile even to the Emperor of Austria. The blackeyes scintillate as they take notice of what they consider the greatwealth of sterling silver about the machine I bestride. Eastward fromAltenburg the main portion of the road continues for the most partunridably loose and heavy. 

For some kilometres out of Raab the road presents a far better surface, and I ride quite a lively race with a small Danube passenger steamerthat is starting down-stream. The steamboat toots and forges ahead, andin answer to the waving of hats and exclamations of encouragement fromthe passengers, I likewise forge ahead, and although the boat is goingdown-stream with the strong current of the Danube, as long as the roadcontinues fairly good I manage to keep in advance; but soon the loosesurface reappears, and when I arrive at Gonys, for lunch, I find thesteamer already tied up, and the passengers and officers greet myappearance with shouts of recognition. My route along the Danube Valleyleads through broad, level wheat-fields that recall memories of theSacramento Valley, California. Geese appear as the most plentiful objectsaround the villages: there are geese and goslings everywhere; and thisevening, in a small village, I wheel quite over one, to the dismay ofthe maiden driving them homeward, and the unconcealed delight of severalsmall Hungarians. 

At the village of Nezmely I am to-night treated to a foretaste of whatis probably in store for me at a goodly number of places ahead by beingconsigned to a bunch of hay and a couple of sacks in the stable as thebest sleeping accommodations the village gasthaus affords. True, I amassigned the place of honor in the manger, which, though uncomfortablynarrow and confining, is perhaps better accommodation, after all, thanthe peregrinating tinker and three other likely-looking characters areenjoying on the bare floor. Some of these companions, upon retiring, pray aloud at unseemly length, and one of them, at least, keeps it upin his sleep at frequent intervals through the night; horses and work-cattleare rattling chains and munching hay, and an uneasy goat, with a bellaround his neck, fills the stable with an incessant tinkle till dawn. Black bread and a cheap but very good quality of white wine seem aboutthe only refreshment obtainable at these little villages. One asks invain for milch-brod, butter, kdsc, or in fact anything acceptable to theEnglish palate; the answer to all questions concerning these things is"nicht, nicht, nicht. " - "What have you, then?" I sometimes ask, theanswer to which is almost invariably "brod und wein. " Stone-yards throngedwith busy workmen, chipping stone for shipment to cities along the Danube, are a feature of these river-side villages. The farther one travels themore frequently gypsies are encountered on the road. In almost everyband is a maiden, who, by reason of real or imaginary beauty, occupiesthe position of pet of the camp, wears a profusion of beads and trinkets, decorates herself with wild flowers, and is permitted to do no mannerof drudgery. Some of these gypsy maidens are really quite beautiful inspite of their very dark complexions. Their eyes glisten with inbornavarice as I sweep past on my "silver" bicycle, and in their astonishmentat my strange appearance and my evidently enormous wealth they almostforget their plaintive wail of "kreuzer! kreuzer!" a cry which readilybespeaks their origin, and is easily recognized as an echo from the landwhere the cry of "backsheesh" is seldom out of the traveller's hearing. 

The roads east of Nezmely are variable, flint-strewn ways predominating;otherwise the way would be very agreeable, since the gradients are gentle, and the dust not over two inches deep, as against three in most of Austro-Hungary thus far traversed. The weather is broiling hot; but I worryalong perseveringly, through rough and smooth, toward the land of therising sun. Nearing Budapest the roads become somewhat smoother, but atthe same time hillier, the country changing to vine-clad slopes; and allalong the undulating ways I meet wagons laden with huge wine-casks. Reaching Budapest in the afternoon, I seek out Mr. Kosztovitz, of theBudapest Bicycle Club, and consul of the Cyclists' Touring Club, whoproves a most agreeable gentleman, and who, besides being an enthusiasticcycler, talks English perfectly. There is more of the sporting spiritin Budapest, perhaps, than in any other city of its size on the Continent, and no sooner is my arrival known than I am taken in hand and practicallycompelled to remain over at least one day. Svetozar Igali, a noted cycletourist of the village of Duna Szekeso, now visiting the internationalexhibition at Budapest, volunteers to accompany me to Belgrade, andperhaps to Constantinople. I am rather surprised at finding so muchcycling enthusiasm in the Hungarian capital. Mr. Kosztovitz, who livedsome time in England, and was president of a bicycle club there, had thehonor of bringing the first wheel into the Austro-Hungarian empire, inthe autumn of 1879, and now Budapest alone has three clubs, aggregatingnearly a hundred riders, and a still greater number of non-riding members. Cyclers have far more liberty accorded them in Budapest than in Vienna, being permitted to roam the city almost as untrammelled as in London, this happy condition of affairs being partly the result of Mr. Kosztovitz'sdiplomacy in presenting a ready drawn-up set of rules and regulationsfor the government of wheelmen to the police authorities when the firstbicycle was introduced, and partly to the police magistrate, being himselfan enthusiastic all-'round sportsman, inclined to patronize anything inthe way of athletics. They are even experimenting in the Hungarian armywith the view of organizing a bicycle despatch service; and I am toldthat they already have a bicycle despatch in successful operation in theBavarian army. In the evening I am the club's guest at a supper underthe shade-trees in the exhibition grounds. Mr. Kosztovitz and anothergentleman who can speak English act as interpreters, and here, amid themerry clinking of champagne-glasses, the glare of electric lights, withthe ravishing music of an Hungarian gypsy band on our right, and a bandof swarthy Servians playing their sweet native melodies on our left, we, among other toasts, drink to the success of my tour. There is a cosmopolitanand exceedingly interesting crowd of visitors at the internationalexhibition: natives from Bulgaria, Servia, Roumania, and Turkey, in theirnational costumes; and mingled among them are Hungarian peasants fromvarious provinces, some of them in a remarkably picturesque dress, thatI afterward learn is Croatian. A noticeable feature of Budapest, besidesa predilection for sport among the citizens, is a larger proportion ofhandsome ladies than one sees in most European cities, and there is, moreover, a certain atmosphere about them that makes them rather agreeablecompany. If one is travelling around the world with a bicycle, it is notat all inconsistent with Budapest propriety for the wife of the wheelmansitting opposite you to remark that she wishes she were a rose, that youmight wear her for a button-hole bouquet on your journey, and to askwhether or not, in that case, you would throw the rose away when itfaded. Compliments, pleasant, yet withal as meaningless as the coquettishglances and fan-play that accompany them, are given with a freedom andliberality that put the sterner native of more western countries at hiswits' end to return them. But the most delightful thing in all Hungaryis its gypsy music. As it is played here beneath its own sunny skies, methinks there is nothing in the wide world to compare with it. The musicdoes not suit the taste of some people, however; it is too wild andthrilling. Budapest is a place of many languages, one of the waiters inthe exhibition cafe claiming the ability to speak and understand no lessthan fourteen different languages and dialects. 

Nine wheelmen accompany me some distance out of Budapest on Mondaymorning, and Mr. Philipovitz and two other members continue with Igaliand me to Duna Pentele, some seventy-five miles distant; this is ourfirst sleeping-place, the captain making his guest until our separationand departure in different directions next morning. During the fierceheat of mid-day we halt for about three hours at Adony, and spend apleasant after-dinner Lour examining the trappings and trophies of anoted sporting gentleman, and witnessing a lively and interesting set-towith fencing foils. There is everything in fire-arms in his cabinet, from an English double-barrelled shot-gun to a tiny air-pistol forshooting flies on the walls of his sitting-room; he has swords, oars, gymnastic paraphernalia - in fact, everything but boxing gloves. Arrivingat Duna Pentele early in the evening, before supper we swim for an hourin the waters of the Danube. At 9. 30 P. M. Two of our little company boardthe up-stream-bound steamer for the return home, and at ten o'clock weare proposing to retire for the night, when lo, in come a half-dozengentlemen, among them Mr. Ujvarii, whose private wine-cellar is celebratedall the country round, and who now proposes that we postpone going tobed long enough to pay a short visit to his cellar and sample the"finest wine in Hungary. " This is an invitation not to be resisted byordinary mortals, and accordingly we accept, following the gentleman andhis friends through the dark streets of the village. Along the dark, cool vault penetrating the hill-side Mr. Ujvarii leads the way betweenlong rows of wine-casks, heber* held in arm like a sword at dress parade. The heber is first inserted into a cask of red wine, with a perfume andflavor as agreeable as the rose it resembles in color, and carried, full, to the reception end of the vault by the corpulent host with the statelyair of a monarch bearing his sceptre. After two rounds of the red wine, two hebers of champagne are brought - champagne that plays a fountain ofdiamond spray three inches above the glass. The following toast isproposed by the host: "The prosperity and welfare of England, America, and Hungary, three countries that are one in their love and appreciationof sport and adventure. " The Hungarians have all the Anglo-American loveof sport and adventure. * A glass combination of tube and flask, holdingabout three pints, with an orifice at each end and the bulb or flasknear the upper orifice; the wine is sucked up into the flask with thebreath, and when withdrawn from the cask the index finger is held overthe lower orifice, from which the glasses are filled by manipulationsof the finger. 

>From Budapest to Paks, about one hundred and twenty kilometres, the roadsare superior to anything I expected to find east of Germany; but thethermometer clings around the upper regions, and everything is coveredwith dust. Our route leads down the Danube in an almost directly southerncourse. 

Instead of the poplars of France, and the apples and pears of Germany, the roads are now fringed with mulberry-trees, both raw and manufacturedsilk being a product of this part of Hungary. My companion is what inEngland or America would be considered a "character;" he dresses in thethinnest of racing costumes, through which the broiling sun readilypenetrates, wears racing-shoes, and a small jockey-cap with an enormouspoke, beneath which glints a pair of "specs;" he has rat-trap pedals tohis wheel, and winds a long blue girdle several times around his waist, consumes raw eggs, wine, milk, a certain Hungarian mineral water, andotherwise excites the awe and admiration of his sport-admiring countrymen. Igali's only fault as a road companion is his utter lack of speed, sixor eight kilometres an hour being his natural pace on average roads, besides footing it up the gentlest of gradients and over all roughstretches. Except for this little drawback, he is an excellent man totake the lead, for he is a genuine Magyar, and orders the peasantry aboutwith the authoritative manner of one born to rule and tyrannize; sometimes, when, the surface is uneven for wheeling, making them drive their clumsyox-wagons almost into the road-side ditch in order to avoid any possiblechance of difficulty in getting past. Igali knows four languages: French, German, Hungarian, and Slavonian, but Anglaise nicht, though with whatlittle French and German I have picked up while crossing those countrieswe manage to converse and understand each other quite readily, especiallyas I am, from constant practice, getting to be an accomplished pantomimist, and Igali is also a pantomimist by nature, and gifted with a versatilitythat would make a Frenchman envious. Ere we have been five minutes at agasthaus Igali is usually found surrounded by an admiring circle ofleading citizens - not peasants; Igali would not suffer them to gatherabout him - pouring into their willing ears the account of my journey;the words, "San Francisco, Boston, London, Paris, Wien, Pesth, Belgrade, Constantinople, Afghanistan, India, Khiva, " etc. , which are repeated inrotation at wonderfully short intervals, being about all that my linguisticabilities are capable of grasping. The road continues hard, but southof Paks it becomes rather rough; consequently halts under the shade ofthe mulberry-trees for Igali to catch up are of frequent occurrence. 

The peasantry, hereabout, seem very kindly disposed and hospitable. Sometimes, while lingering for Igali, they will wonder what I am stoppingfor, and motion the questions of whether I wish anything to eat or drink;and this afternoon one of them, whose curiosity to see how I mountedovercomes his patience, offers me a twenty-kreuzer piece to show him. At one village a number of peasants take an old cherry-woman to task forcharging me two kreuzers more for some cherries than it appears sheought, and although two kreuzers are but a farthing they make quite asquabble with the poor old woman about it, and will be soothed by neitherher voice nor mine until I accept another handful of cherries in lieuof the overcharged two kreuzers. 

Szekszard has the reputation, hereabout, of producing the best qualityof red wine in all Hungary - no small boast, by the way - and the hotel andwine-gardens here, among them, support an excellent gypsy band of fourteenpieces. Mr. Garay, the leader of the band, once spent nearly a year inAmerica, and after supper the band plays, with all the thrilling sweetnessof the Hungarian muse, "Home, sweet Home, " "Yankee Doodle, " and "SweetViolets, " for my especial delectation. 

A wheelman the fame of whose exploits has preceded him might as well tryto wheel through hospitable Hungary without breathing its atmosphere aswithout drinking its wine; it isn't possible to taboo it as I tabooedthe vin ordinaire of France, Hungarians and Frenchmen being two entirelydifferent people. Notwithstanding music until 11. 30 P. M. , yesterday, weare on the road before six o'clock this morning - for genuine, unadulteratedHungarian music does not prevent one getting up bright and fresh nextday - and about noon we roll into Duna Szekeso, Igali's native town, wherewe have decided to halt for the remainder of the day to get our clothingwashed, one of my shoes repaired, and otherwise prepare for our journeyto the Servian capital. Duna Szekeso is a calling-place for the Danubesteamers, and this afternoon I have the opportunity of taking observationsof a gang of Danubian roustabouts at their noontide meal. They are aswarthy, wild-looking crowd, wearing long hair parted in the middle, ornot parted at all; to their national costume are added the jaunty trappingsaffected by river men in all countries. Their food is coarse black breadand meat, and they take turns in drinking wine from a wooden tubeprotruding from a two-gallon watch-shaped cask, the body of which iscomposed of a section of hollow log instead of staves, lifting the caskup and drinking from the tube, as they would from the bung-hole of abeer-keg. Their black bread would hardly suit the palate of the Westernworld; but there are doubtless a few individuals on both sides of theAtlantic who would willingly be transformed into a Danubian roustaboutlong enough to make the acquaintance of yonder rude cask. 

After bathing in the river we call on several of Igali's friends, amongthem the Greek priest and his motherly-looking wife, Igali being of theGreek religion. There appears to be the greatest familiarity between thepriests of these Greek churches and their people, and during our briefvisit the priest, languid-eyed, fat, and jolly, his equally fat and jollywife, and Igali, caress playfully, and cut up as many antics as threekittens in a bay window. The farther one travels southward the moreamiable and affectionate in disposition the people seem to become. 

Five o'clock next morning finds us wheeling out of Duna Szekeso, andduring the forenoon we pass through Baranyavar, a colony of Greek Hovacs, where the women are robed in white drapery as scant as the statuary whichthe name of their religion calls to memory. The roads to-day are variable;there is little but what is ridable, but much that is rough and stonyenough to compel slow and careful wheeling. Early in the evening, as wewheel over the bridge spanning the River Drave, an important tributaryof the Danube, into Eszek, the capital of Slavonia, unmistakable rain-signs appear above the southern horizon. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 

The editor of Der Drau, the semi-weekly official organ of the Slavoniancapital, and Mr. Freund, being the two citizens of Eszek capable ofspeaking English, join voices at the supper-table in hoping it will rainenough to compel us to remain over to-morrow, that they may have thepleasure of showing us around Eszek and of inviting us to dinner andsupper; and Igali, I am constrained to believe, retires to his couch infull sympathy with them, being possessed of a decided weakness forstopping over and accepting invitations to dine. Their united wish isgratified, for when we rise in the morning it is still raining. Eszekis a fortified city, and has been in time past an important fortress. It has lost much of its importance since the introduction of modern arms, for it occupies perfectly level ground, and the fortifications consistmerely of large trenches that have been excavated and walled, with aview of preventing the city from being taken by storm - not a veryovershadowing consideration in these days, when the usual mode of procedureis to stand off and bombard a city into the conviction that furtherresistance is useless. After dinner the assistant editor of Der Draucomes around and pilots us about the city and its pleasant environments. The worthy assistant editor is a sprightly, versatile Slav, and, astogether we promenade the parks and avenues, the number and extent ofwhich appear to be the chief glory of Eszek, the ceaseless flow oflanguage and wellnigh continuous interchange of gesticulations betweenhimself and Igali are quite wonderful, and both of them certainly oughtto retire to-night far more enlightened individuals than they foundthemselves this morning. 

The Hungarian seems in a particularly happy and gracious mood to-day, as I instinctively felt certain he would be if the fates decreed againsta continuation of our journey. When our companion' s conversation turnson any particularly interesting subject I am graciously given the benefitof it to the extent of some French or German word the meaning of which, Igali has discovered, I understand. During the afternoon we wander throughthe intricacies of a yew-shrub maze, where a good-sized area of impenetrablythick vegetation has been trained and trimmed into a bewildering net-workof arched walks that almost exclude the light, and Igali pauses to favorme with the information that this maze is the favorite trysting placeof Slavonian nymphs and swains, and furthermore expresses his opinionthat the spot must be indeed romantic and an appropriate place to "comea-wooin' " on nights when the moonbeams, penetrating through a thousandtiny interspaces, convert the gloomy interior into chambers of dancinglight and shadow. All this information and these comments are embodiedin the two short words, "Amour, lima" accompanied by a few gesticulations, and is a fair sample of the manner in which conversation is carried onbetween us. It is quite astonishing how readily two persons constantlytogether will come to understand each other through the medium of a fewwords which they know the meaning of in common. Scores of ladies andgentlemen, the latter chiefly military officers, are enjoying a promenadein the rain-cooled atmosphere, and there is no mistaking the glances ofinterest with which many of them favor-Igali. His pronounced sportsmanlikemake-up attracts universal attention and causes everybody to mistake himfor myself - a kindly office which I devoutly wish he would fill until thewhole journey is accomplished. In the Casino garden a dozen beardedmusicians are playing Slavonian airs, and, by request of the assistanteditor, they play and sing the Slavonian national anthem and a popularair or two besides. The national musical instrument of Slavonia is the"tamborica"-a small steel-stringed instrument that is twanged with achip-like piece of wood. Their singing is excellent in its way, but tothe writer's taste there is no comparison between their tamboricas andthe gypsy music of Hungary. There are no bicycles in all Eszek save ours -though Mr. Freund, who has lately returned from Paris, has ordered one, with which he expects to win the admiration of all his countrymen - andIgali and myself are lionized to our hearts' content; but this eveningwe are quite startled and taken aback by the reappearance of the assistanteditor, excitedly announcing the arrival of a tricycle in town. Upongoing down, in breathless anticipation of summarily losing the universaladmiration of Eszek, we find an itinerant cobbler, who has constructeda machine that would make the rudest bone-shaker of ancient memory seemlike the most elegant product of Hartford or Coventry in comparison. Thebackbone and axle-tree are roughly hewn sticks of wood, ironed equallyrough at the village blacksmith's; and as, for a twenty-kreuzer piece, the rider mounts and wobbles all over the sidewalk for a short distance, the spectacle would make a stoic roar with laughter, and the good peopleof the Lower Danubian provinces are anything but stoical. Six o'clocknext morning finds us travelling southward into the interior of Slavonia;but we are not mounted, for the road presents an unridable surface ofmud, stones, and ruts, that causes my companion's favorite ejaculatoryexpletive to occur with more than its usual frequency. For a portion ofthe way there is a narrow sidepath that is fairly ridable, but anuninvitingly deep ditch runs unpleasantly near, and no amount of persuasioncan induce my companion to attempt wheeling along it. Igali's bump ofcautiousness is fully developed, and day by day, as we journey together, I am becoming more and more convinced that he would be an invaluablecompanion to have accompany one around the world; true, the journey wouldoccupy a decade, or thereabout, but one would be morally certain ofcoming out safe and sound in the end. During our progression southwardthere has been a perceptible softening in the disposition of the natives, this being more noticeably a marked characteristic of the Slavonians;the generous southern sun, shining on the great area of Oriental gentleness, casts a softening influence toward the sterner north, imparting to thepeople amiable and genial dispositions. It takes but comparatively smalldeeds to win the admiration and applause of the natives of the LowerDanube, with their childlike manners; and, by slowly meandering alongthe roadways of Southern Hungary occasionally with his bicycle, Igalihas become the pride and admiration of thousands. 

For mile after mile we have to trundle our way slowly along the muddyhighway as best we can, our road leading through a flat and rather swampyarea of broad, waving wheat-fields; we relieve the tedium of the journeyby whistling, alternately, "Yankee Doodle, " to which Igali has takenquite a fancy since first hearing it played by the gypsy band in thewine-garden at Szekszard three days ago, and the Hungarian national air -this latter, of course, falling to Igali's share of the entertainment. Having been to college in Paris, Igali is also able to contribute thefamous Marseillaise hymn, and, not to be outdone, I favor him with " GodSave the Queen" and "Britannia Rules the Waves, " both of which he thinksvery good tunes-the former seeming to strike his Hungarian ear, however, as rather solemn. In the middle of the forenoon we make a brief halt ata rude road-side tavern for some refreshments - a thick, narrow slice ofraw, fat bacon, white with salt, and a level pint of red wine, satisfyingmy companion; but I substitute for the bacon a slice of coarse, blackbread, much to Igali's wonderment. Here are congregated several Slavonianshepherds, in their large, ill-fitting, sheepskin garments, with thelong wool turned inward-clothes that apparently serve them alike to keepout the summer's heat and the winter's cold. One of the peasants, withideas a trifle befuddled with wine, perhaps, and face all aglow withadmiration for our bicycles, produces a tattered memorandum and begs usto favor him with our autographs, an act that of itself proves him tobe not without a degree of intelligence one would scarcely look for ina sheepskin-clad shepherd of Slavonia. Igali gruffly bids the man"begone, " and aims a careless kick at the proffered memorandum; but seeingno harm in the request, and, moreover, being perhaps by nature a triflemore considerate of others, I comply. As he reads aloud, "United States, America, " to his comrades, they one and all lift their hats quitereverently and place their brown hands over their hearts, for I supposethey recognize in my ready compliance with the simple request, incomparison with Igali's rude rebuff-which, by the way, no doubt comesnatural enough-the difference between the land of the prince and peasant, and the land where "liberty, equality, and fraternity" is not a meaninglessmotto - a land which I find every down-trodden peasant of Europe has heardof, and looks upward to. 

Soon after this incident we are passing a prune-orchard, when, as thoughfor our especial benefit, a couple of peasants working there begin singingaloud, and with evident enthusiasm, some national melody, and as theyobserve not our presence, at my suggestion we crouch behind a convenientclump of bushes and for several minutes are favored with as fine a duetas I have heard for many a day; but the situation becomes too ridiculousfor Igali, and it finally sends him into a roar of laughter that causesthe performance to terminate abruptly, and, rising into full view, wedoubtless repay the singers by letting them see us mount and ride intotheir native village, but a few hundred yards distant. We are to-daypassing through villages where a bicycle has never been seen - this beingoutside the area of Igali's peregrinations - and the whole populationinvariably turns out en masse, clerks, proprietors, and customers in theshops unceremoniously dropping everything and running to the streets;there is verily a hurrying to and fro of all the citizens; husbandshastening from magazine to dwelling to inform their wives and families, mothers running to call their children, children their parents, andeverybody scampering to call the attention of their sisters, cousins, and aunts, ere we are vanished in the distance, and it be everlastinglytoo late. 

We have been worrying along at some sort of pace, with the exception ofthe usual noontide halt, since six o'clock this morning, and the busymosquito is making life interesting for belated wayfarers, when we rideinto Sarengrad and put up at the only gasthaus in the village. Our bedroomis situated on the ground floor, the only floor in fact the gaathausboasts, and we are in a fair way of either being lulled to sleep or keptawake, as the case may be, by a howling chorus of wine-bibbers in thepublic room adjoining; but here, again, Igali shows up to good advantageby peremptorily ordering the singers to stop, and stop instanter. Theamiably disposed peasants, notwithstanding the wine they have beendrinking, cease their singing and become silent and circumspect, indeference to the wishes of the two strangers with the wonderful machines. We now make a practice of taking our bicycles into our bedroom with usat night, otherwise every right hand in the whole village would busyitself pinching the "gum-elastic" tires and pedal-rubbers, twirling thepedals, feeling spokes, backbone, and forks, and critically examiningand commenting upon every visible portion of the mechanism; and who knowsbut that the latent cupidity of some easy-conscienced villager might bearoused at the unusual sight of so much "silver" standing around loose(the natives hereabout don't even ask whether the nickelled parts of thebicycle are silver or not; they take it for granted to be so), andsurreptitiously attempt to chisel off enough to purchase an embroideredcoat for Sundays. From what I can understand of their comments amongthemselves, it is perfectly consistent with their ideas of the averageEnglishman that he should bestride a bicycle of solid silver, and iftheir vocabulary embraced no word corresponding to our "millionnaire, "and they desired to use one, they would probably pick upon the word"Englander" as the most appropriate. While we are making our toilets inthe morning eager faces are peering inquisitively through the bedroomwindows; a murmur of voices, criticizing us and our strange vehicles, greets our waking moments, and our privacy is often invaded, in spiteof Igali's inconsiderate treatment of them whenever they happen to crosshis path. 

Many of the inhabitants of this part of Slavonia are Croatians - peoplewho are noted for their fondness of finery; and, as on this sunny Sundaymorning we wheel through their villages, the crowds of peasantry whogather about us in all the bravery of their best clothes present, indeed, an appearance gay and picturesque beyond anything hitherto encountered. The garments of the men are covered with braid-work and silk embroiderywherever such ornamentation is thought to be an embellishment, and, tothe Croatian mind, that means pretty much everywhere; and the girls andwomen are arrayed in the gayest of colors; those displaying the brightesthues and the greatest contrasts seem to go tripping along conscious ofbeing irresistible. Many of the Croatian peasants are fine, strappingfellows, and very handsome women are observed in the villages - women withgreat, dreamy eyes, and faces with an expression of languor that bespeakstheir owners to be gentleness personified. Igali shows evidence of moresusceptibility to female charms than I should naturally have given himcredit for, and shows a decided inclination to linger in these beauty-blessedvillages longer than is necessary, and as one dark-eyed damsel afteranother gathers around us, I usually take the initiative in mounting andclearing out. 

Were a man to go suddenly flapping his way through the streets of Londonon the long-anticipated flying-machine, the average Cockney would scarcebetray the unfeigned astonishment that is depicted on the countenancesof these Croatian villagers as we nde into their midst and dismount. 

This afternoon my bicycle causes the first runaway since the triflingaffair at Lembach, Austria. A brown-faced peasant woman and a littlegirl, driving a small, shaggy pony harnessed to a basket-work, four-wheeledvehicle, are approaching; their humble-looking steed betrays no evidenceof restiveness until just as I am turning out to pass him, when, withoutwarning, he gives a swift, sudden bound to the right, nearly upsettingthe vehicle, and without more ado bolts down a considerable embankmentand goes helter-skelter across a field of standing grain. The old ladypluckily hangs on to the reins, and finally succeeds in bringing therunaway around into the road again without damaging anything save thecorn. It might have ended much less satisfactorily, however, and theincident illustrates one possible source of trouble to a 'cycler travellingalone through countries where the people neither understand, nor can beexpected to understand, a wheelman's position; the situation would, ofcourse, be aggravated in a country village where, not speaking thelanguage, one could not make himself understood in his own defence. Thesepeople here, if not wise as serpents, are at least harmless as doves;but, in case of the bicycle frightening a team and causing a runawaywith the unpleasant sequel of broken limbs, or injured horse, they wouldscarce know what to do in the premises, since they would have no precedentto govern them, and, in the absence of any intelligent guidance, mightconclude to wreak summary vengeance on the bicycle. In such a case, woulda wheelman be justified in using his revolver to defend his bicycle ?

Such is the reverie into which I fall while reclining beneath a spreadingmulberry-tree waiting for Igali to catch up; for he has promised that Ishall see the Slavonian national dance sometime to-day, and a villageis now visible in the distance. At the Danube-side village of Hamenitzan hour's halt is decided upon to give me the promised opportunity ofwitnessing the dance in its native land. It is a novel and interestingsight. A round hundred young gallants and maidens are rigged out infinery such as no other people save the Croatian and Slavonian peasantsever wear - the young men braided and embroidered, and the damsels havingtheir hair entwined with a profusion of natural flowers in addition totheir costumes of all possible hues. Forming themselves into a largering, distributed so that the sexes alternate, the young men extend andjoin their hands in front of the maidens, and the latter join handsbehind their partners; the steel-strung tamboricas strike up a livelytwanging air, to which the circle of dancers endeavor to shuffle timewith their feet, while at the same time moving around in a circle Livelierand faster twang the tamboricas, and more and more animated becomes thescene as the dancing, shuffling ring endeavors to keep pace with it. Asthe fun progresses into the fast and furious stages the youths' hatshave a knack of getting into a jaunty position on the side of theirheads, and the wearers' faces assume a reckless, flushed appearance, like men half intoxicated while the maidens' bright eyes and beamingfaces betoken unutterable happiness; finally the music and the shufflingof feet terminate with a rapid flourish, everybody kisses everybody - save, of course, mere luckless onlookers like Igali and myself - and the Slavoniannational dance is ended. 

To-night we reach the strongly fortified town of Peterwardein, oppositewhich, just across a pontoon bridge spanning the Danube, is the largercity of Neusatz. At Hamenitz we met Professor Zaubaur, the editor of theUj Videk, who came down the Danube ahead of us by steamboat; and now, after housing our machines at our gasthaus in Peterwardein, he pilotsus across the pontoon bridge in the twilight, and into one of those wine-gardens so universal in this part of the world. Here at Neusatz I listento the genuine Hungarian gypsy music for the last time on the Europeantour ere bidding the territory of Hungary adieu, for Neusatz is on theHungarian side of the Danube. The professor has evidently let no grassgrow beneath his feet since leaving us scarcely an hour ago at Hamenitz, for he has, in the mean time, ferreted out the only English-speakingperson at present in town, the good Frau Schrieber, an Austrian lady, formerly of Vienna, but now at Neusatz with her husband, a well-knownadvocate. This lady talks English quite fluently. Though not yet twenty-fiveshe is very, very wise, and among other things she informs her admiringfriends gathered round about us, listening to the - to them - unintelligibleflow of a foreign language, that Englishmen are "very grave beings, " apiece of information that wrings from Igali a really sympathetic response-nothing less than the startling announcement that he hasn't seen me smilesince we left Budapest together, a week ago. "Having seen the Slavonian, I ought by all means to see the Hungarian national dance, " Frau Schriebersays; adding, "It is a nice dance for Englishmen to look at, though itis so very gay that English ladies would neither dance it nor look atit being danced. " Ere parting company with this entertaining lady sheagrees that, if I will but remain in Hungary permanently, she knows ofa very handsome fraulein of sixteen summers, who, having heard of my"wonderful journey, " is already predisposed in my favor, and with alittle friendly tact and management on her - Frau Schrieber's - part wouldno doubt be willing to waive the formalities of a long courtship, andyield up hand and heart at my request. I can scarcely think of breakingin twain my trip around the world even for so tempting a prospect, andI recommend the fair Hungarian to Igali; but "the fraulein has neverheard of Herr Igali, and he will not do. "

"Will the fraulein be willing to wait until my journey around the worldis completed. "

"Yes; she vill vait mit much pleezure; I vill zee dat she vait; und Iknow you vill return, for an Englishman alvays forgets his promeezes. "Henceforth, when Igali and myself enter upon a programme of whistling, "Yankee Doodle" is supplanted by "The girl I left behind me, " muchto his annoyance, since, not understanding the sentiment responsible forthe change, bethinks "Yankee Doodle" a far better tune. So much attached, in fact, has Igali become to the American national air, that he informsthe professor and editor of Uj Videk of the circumstance of the bandplaying it at Szekszard. As, after supper, several of us promenade thestreets of Neusatz, the professor links his arm in mine, and, taking thecue from Igali, begs me to favor him by whistling it. I try my best topalm this patriotic duty off on Igali, by paying flattering complimentsto his style of whistling; but, after all, the duty falls on me, and Iwhistle the tune softly, yet merrily, as we walk along, the professor, spectacled and wise-looking, meanwhile exchanging numerous nods ofrecognition with his fellow-Neusatzers we meet. The provost-judge ofNeusatz shares the honors with Frau Schrieber of knowing more or lessEnglish; but this evening the judge is out of town. The enterprisingprofessor lies in wait for him, however, and at 5. 30 on Monday morning, while we are dressing, an invasion of our bed-chamber is made by theprofessor, the jolly-looking and portly provost-judge, a Slavonianlieutenant of artillery, and a druggist friend of the others. The provost-judge and the lieutenant actually own bicycles and ride them, the onlyrepresentatives of the wheel in Neusatz and Peterwardein, and the judgeis " very angry " - as he expresses it - that Monday is court day, and to-dayan unusually busy one, for he would be most happy to wheel with us toBelgrade. 

The lieutenant fetches his wheel and accompanies us to the next village. Peterwardein is a strongly fortified place, and, as a poition commandingthe Danube so completely, is furnished with thirty guns of large calibre, a battery certainly not to be despised when posted on a position socommanding as the hill on which Peterwardein fortress is built. As theeditor and others at Eszek, so here the professor, the judge, and thedruggist unite in a friendly protest against my attempt to wheel throughAsia, and more especially through China, "for everybody knows it isquite dangerous, " they say. These people cannot possibly understand whyit is that an Englishman or American, knowing of danger beforehand, willstill venture ahead; and when, in reply to their questions, I modestlyannounce my intention of going ahead, notwithstanding possible dangerand probable difficulties, they each, in turn, shake my hand as thoughreluctantly resigning me to a reckless determination, and the judge, acting as spokesman, and echoing and interpreting the sentiments of hiscompanions, exclaims, "England and America forever! it is ze grandestpeeples on ze world!" The lieutenant, when questioned on the subject bythe judge and the professor, simply shrugs his shoulders and says nothing, as becomes a man whose first duty is to cultivate a supreme contempt fordanger in all its forms. 

They all accompany us outside the city gates, when, after mutual farewellsand assurances of good-will, we mount and wheel away down the Danube, the lieutenant's big mastiff trotting soberly alongside his master, whileIgali, sometimes in and sometimes out of sight behind, brings up therear. After the lieutenant leaves us we have to trundle our weary wayup the steep gradients of the Fruskagora Mountains for a number ofkilometres. For Igali it is quite an adventurous morning. Ere we hadleft the shadows of Peterwardein fortress he upset while wheeling beneathsome overhanging mulberry-boughs that threatened destruction to hisjockey-cap; soon after parting company with the lieutenant he gets intoan altercation with a gang of gypsies about being the cause of theirhorses breaking loose from their picket-ropes and stampeding, and thenmaking uncivil comments upon the circumstance; an hour after this heoverturns again and breaks a pedal, and when we dismount at Indjia, forour noontide halt, he discovers that his saddle-spring has snapped inthe middle. As he ruefully surveys the breakage caused by the roughnessof the Fruskagora roads, and sends out to scour the village for a mechaniccapable of undertaking the repairs, he eyes my Columbia wistfully, andasks me for the address where one like it can be obtained. The blacksmithis not prepared to mend the spring, although he makes a good job of thepedal, and it takes a carpenter and his assistant from 1. 30 to 4. 30 P. M. To manufacture a grooved piece of wood to fit between the spring andbackbone so that he can ride with me to Belgrade. It would have been afifteen-minute task for a Yankee carpenter. We have been traversing aspur of the Fruskagora Mountains all the morning, and our progress hasbeen slow. The roads through here are mainly of the natural soil, andcorrespondingly bad; but the glorious views of the Danube, with itsalternating wealth of green woods and greener cultivated areas, fullyrecompense for the extra toil. Prune-orchards, the trees weighed downwith fruit yet green, clothe the hill-sides with their luxuriance; indeed, the whole broad, rich valley of the Danube seems nodding and smiling inthe consciousness of overflowing plenty; for days we have traversed roadsleading through vineyards and orchards, and broad areas with promising-lookinggrain-crops. 

It is but thirty kilometres from Indjia to Semlin, on the riverbankopposite Belgrade, and since leaving the Fruskagora Mountains the countryhas been a level plain, and the roads fairly smooth. But Igali hasnaturally become doubly cautious since his succession of misadventuresthis morning, and as, while waiting for him to overtake me, I reclinebeneath the mulberry-trees near the village of Batainitz and survey theblue mountains of Servia looming up to the southward through the eveninghaze, he rides up and proposes Batainitz as our halting-place for thenight, adding persuasively, "There will be no ferry-boat across toBelgrade to-night, and we can easily catch the first boat in the morning. "I reluctantly agree, though advocating going on to Semlin this evening. While our supper is being prepared we are taken in hand by the leadingmerchant of the village and "turned loose" in an orchard of smallfruits and early pears, and from thence conducted to a large gypsyencampment in the outskirts of the village, where, in acknowledgment ofthe honor of our visit-and a few kreuzers by way of supplement - the"flower of the camp, " a blooming damsel, about the shade of a totaleclipse, kisses the backs of our hands, and the men play a strummingmonotone with sticks and an inverted wooden trough, while the women dancein a most lively and not ungraceful manner. These gypsy bands are a happycrowd of vagabonds, looking as though they had never a single care inall the world; the men wear long, flowing hair, and to the ordinarycostume of the peasant is added many a gewgaw, worn with a carelessjaunty grace that fails not to carry with it a certain charm in spiteof unkempt locks and dirty faces. The women wear a minimum of clothesand a profusion of beads and trinkets, and the children go stark nakedor partly dressed. 

Unmistakable evidence that one is approaching the Orient appears in thesemi-Oriental costumes. Of the peasantry and roving gypsy bands, as wegradually near the Servian capital. An Oriental costume in Eszek issufficiently exceptional to be a novelty, and so it is until one getssouth of Peterwardein, when the national costumes of Slavonia and Croatiaare gradually merged into the tasselled fez, the many-folded waistband, and the loose, flowing pantaloons of Eastern lands. Here at Batainitzthe feet are encased in rude raw-hide moccasins, bound on with leathernthongs, and the ankle and calf are bandaged with many folds of heavy redmaterial, also similarly bound. The scene around our gasthaus, after ourarrival, resembles a popular meeting; for, although a few of the villagershave been to Belgrade and seen a bicycle, it is only within the last sixmonths that Belgrade itself has boasted one, and the great majority ofthe Batainitz people have simply heard enough about them to whet theircuriosity for a closer acquaintance. More-over, from the interest takenin my tour at Belgrade on account of the bicycle's recent introductionin that capital, these villagers, but a dozen kilometres away, have heardmore of my journey than people in villages farther north, and theircuriosity is roused in proportion. 

We are astir by five o'clock next morning; but the same curious crowdis making the stone corridors of the rambling old gasthaus impassable, and filling the space in front, gazing curiously at us, and commentingon our appearance whenever we happen to become visible, while waitingwith commendable patience to obtain a glimpse of our wonderful machines. They are a motley, and withal a ragged assembly; old women devoutly crossthemselves as, after a slight repast of bread and milk, we sally forthwith our wheels, prepared to start; and the spontaneous murmur ofadmiration which breaks forth as we mount becomes louder and morepronounced as I turn in the saddle and doff my helmet in deference tothe homage paid us by hearts which are none the less warm because hiddenbeneath the rags of honest poverty and semi-civilization. It takes butlittle to win the hearts of these rude, unsophisticated people. A twohours' ride from Batainitz, over level and reasonably smooth roads, brings us into Semlin, quite an important Slavonian city on the Danube, nearly opposite Belgrade, which is on the same side, but separated fromit by a large tributary called the Save. Ferry-boats ply regularly betweenthe two cities, and, after an hour spent in hunting up different officialsto gain permission for Igali to cross over into Servian territory withouthaving a regular traveller's passport, we escape from the madding crowdsof Semlinites by boarding the ferry-boat, and ten minutes later areexchanging signals! with three Servian wheelmen, who have come down tothe landing in full uniform to meet and welcome us to Belgrade. Manyreaders will doubtless be as surprised as I was to learn that at Belgrade, the capital of the little Kingdom of Servia, independent only since theTreaty of Berlin, a bicycle club was organized in January, 1885, andthat now, in June of the same year, they have a promising club of thirtymembers, twelve of whom are riders owning their own wheels. Their clubis named, in French, La Societe Velocipedique Serbe; in the Servianlanguage it is unpronounceable to an Anglo-Saxon, and printable onlywith Slav type. The president, Milorade M. Nicolitch Terzibachitch, isthe Cyclists' Touring Club Consul for Servia, and is the southeasternpicket of that organization, their club being the extreme 'cycle outpostin this direction. Our approach has been announced beforehand, and theclub has thoughtfully "seen" the Servian authorities, and so farsmoothed the way for our entrance into their country that the officialsdo not even make a pretence of examining my passport or packages - analmost unprecedented occurrence, I should say, since they are moreparticular about passports here than perhaps in any other Europeancountry, save Russia and Turkey. Here at Belgrade I am to part companywith Igali, who, by the way, has applied for, and just received, hiscertificate of appointment to the Cyclists' Touring Club Consulship ofDuna Szekeso and Mohacs, an honor of which he feels quite proud. True, there is no other 'cycler in his whole district, and hardly likely tobe for some time to corne; but I can heartily recommend him to anywandering wheelman happening down the Danube Valley on a tour; he knowsthe best wine-cellars in all the country round, and, besides being anagreeable and accommodating road companion, will prove a salutary checkupon the headlong career of anyone disposed to over-exertion. I am notyet to be abandoned entirely to my own resources, however; these hospitableServian wheelmen couldn't think of such a thing. I am to remain over astheir guest till to-morrow afternoon, when Mr. Douchan Popovitz, thebest rider in Belgrade, is delegated to escort me through Servia to theBulgarian frontier. When I get there I shall not be much astonished tosee a Bulgarian wheelman offer to escort me to Roumelia, and so on clearto Constantinople; for I certainly never expected to find so jolly andenthusiastic a company of 'cyclers in this corner of the world. 

The good fellowship and hospitality of this Servian club know no bounds;Igali and I are banqueted and driven about in carriages all day. 

Belgrade is a strongly fortified city, occupying a commanding hilloverlooking the Danube; it is a rare old town, battle-scarred and rugged;having been a frontier position of importance in a country that has beendebatable ground between Turk and Christian for centuries, it has beena coveted prize to be won and lost on the diplomatic chess-board, or, worse still, the foot-ball of contending armies and wrangling monarchs. Long before the Ottoman Turks first appeared, like a small dark cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, upon the southeastern horizon of Europe, to extend and overwhelm the budding flower of Christianity and civilizationin these fairest portions of the continent, Belgrade was an importantRoman fortress, and to-day its national museum and antiquarian storesare particularly rich in the treasure-trove of Byzantine antiquities, unearthed from time to time in the fortress itself and the region roundabout that came under its protection. So plentiful, indeed, are old coinsand relics of all sorts at Belgrade, that, as I am standing looking atthe collection in the window of an antiquary shop, the proprietor stepsout and presents me a small handful of copper coins of Byzantium as asort of bait that might perchance tempt one to enter and make a closerinspection of his stock. By the famous Treaty of Berlin the Serviansgained their complete independence, and their country, from a principality, paying tribute to the Sultan, changed to an independent kingdom with aServian on the throne, owing allegiance to nobody, and the people havenot yet ceased to show, in a thousand little ways, their thoroughappreciation of the change; besides filling the picture-galleries oftheir museum with portraits of Servian heroes, battle-flags, and othergentle reminders of their past history, they have, among other practicalmethods of manifesting how they feel about the departure of the dominatingcrescent from among them, turned the leading Turkish mosque into a gas-house. One of the most interesting relics in the Servian capital is anold Roman well, dug from the brow of the fortress hill to below the levelof the Danube, for furnishing water to the city when cut off from theriver by a besieging army. It is an enormous affair, a tubular brickwall about forty feet in circumference and two hundred and fifty feetdeep, outside of which a stone stairway, winding round and round theshaft, leads from top to bottom. Openings through the wall, six feethigh and three wide, occur at regular intervals all the way down, and, as we follow our ragged guide down, down into the damp and darkness bythe feeble light of a tallow candle in a broken lantern, I cannot helpthinking that these o'erhandy openings leading into the dark, waterydepths have, in the tragic history of Belgrade, doubtless been responsiblefor the mysterious disappearance of more than one objectionable person. It is not without certain involuntary misgivings that I take the lanternfrom the guide - whose general appearance is, by the way, hardly calculatedto be reassuring - and, standing in one of the openings, peer down intothe darksome depths, with him hanging on to my coat as an act of precaution. 

The view from the ramparts of Belgrade fortress is a magnificent panorama, extending over the broad valley of the Danube - which here winds aboutas though trying to bestow its favors with impartiality upon Hungary, Servia, and Slavonia - and of the Save. The Servian soldiers are campedin small tents in various parts of the fortress grounds and its environments, or lolling under the shade of a few scantily verdured trees, for the sunis to-day broiling hot. With a population not exceeding one and a halfmillion, I am told that Servia supports a standing army of a hundredthousand men; and, when required, every man in Servia becomes a soldier. As one lands from the ferry-boat and looks about him he needs no interpreterto inform him that he has left the Occident on the other side of theSave, and to the observant stranger the streets of Belgrade furnish manya novel and interesting sight in the way of fanciful costumes and phasesof Oriental life here encountered for the first time. In the afternoonwe visit the national museum of old coins, arms, and Eoman and Servianantiquities. A banquet in a wine-garden, where Servian national musicis dispensed by a band of female musicians, is given us in the eveningby the club, and royal quarters are assigned us for the night at thehospitable mansion of Mr. Terzibachitch's father, who is the merchant-prince of Servia, and purveyor to the court. Wednesday morning we takea general ramble over the city, besides visiting the club's head-quarters, where we find a handsome new album has been purchased for receiving ourautographs. The Belgrade wheelmen have names painted on their bicycles, as names are painted on steamboats or yachts: "Fairy, " "Good Luck, " and"Servian Queen, " being fair specimens. The cyclers here are sons ofleading citizens and business men of Belgrade, and, while they dress andconduct themselves as becomes thorough gentlemen, one fancies detectinga certain wild expression of the eye, as though their civilization werescarcely yet established; in fact, this peculiar expression is morenoticeable at Belgrade, and is apparently more general here than at anyother place I visit in Europe. I apprehend it to be a peculiarity thathas become hereditary with the citizens, from their city having been sooften and for so long the theatre of uncertain fate and distractingpolitical disturbances. It is the half-startled expression of peoplewith the ever-present knowledge of insecurity. But they are a warm-hearted, impulsive set of fellows, and when, while looking through the museum, we happen across Her Britannic Majesty's representative at the Serviancourt, who is doing the same thing, one of them unhesitatingly approachesthat gentleman, cap in hand, and, with considerable enthusiasm of manner, announces that they have with them a countryman of his who is ridingaround the world on a bicycle. This cooler-blooded and dignified gentlemanis not near so demonstrative in his acknowledgment as they doubtlessanticipated he would be; whereat they appear quite puzzled and mystified. 

Three carriages with cyclers and their friends accompany us a dozenkilometres out to a wayside mehana (the Oriental name hereabouts forhotels, wayside inns, etc. ); Douchan Popovitz, and Hugo Tichy, the captainof the club, will ride forty-five kilometres with me to Semendria, andat 4 o'clock we mount our wheels and ride away southward into Servia. Arriving at the mehana, wine is brought, and then the two Serviansaccompanying me, and those returning, kiss each other, after the mannerand custom of their country; then a general hand-shaking and well-wishesall around, and the carriages turn toward Belgrade, while we wheelmenalternately ride and trundle over a muddy - for it has rained since noon - andmountainous road till 7. 30, when relatives of Douchan Popovitz, in thevillage of Grotzka, kindly offer us the hospitality of their house tillmorning, which we hesitate not to avail ourselves of. When about to partat the mehana, the immortal Igali unwinds from around his waist thatlong blue girdle, the arranging and rearranging of which has been afamiliar feature of the last week's experiences, and presents it to mefor a souvenir of himself, a courtesy which I return by presenting himwith several of the Byzantine coins given to me by the Belgrade antiquaryas before mentioned. Beyond Semendria, where the captain leaves us forthe return journey, we leave the course of the Danube, which I have beenfollowing in a general way for over two weeks, and strike due southwardup the smaller, but not less beautiful, valley of the Morava River, wherewe have the intense satisfaction of finding roads that are both dry andlevel, enabling us, in spite of the broiling heat, to bowl along at asixteen-kilometre pace to the village, where we halt for dinner and theusual three hours noontide siesta. Seeing me jotting down my notes witha short piece of lead-pencil, the proprietor of the mehana at Semendria, where we take a parting glass of wine with the captain, and who admiresAmerica and the Americans, steps in-doors for a minute, and returns witha telescopic pencil-case, attached to a silken cord of the Servian"national colors, which he places abound my neck, requesting me to wearit around the world, and, when I arrive at my journey's end, sometimesto think of Servia. 

With Igali's sky-blue girdle encompassing my waist, and the Serviannational colors fondly encircling my neck, I begin to feel quite aheraldic tremor creeping over me, and actually surprise myself castingwistful glances at the huge antiquated horse pistol stuck in yonder bull-whacker's ample waistband; moreover, I really think that a pair of theseServian moccasins would not be bad foot-gear for riding the bicycle. Allup the Morava Valley the roads continue far better than I have expectedto find in Servia, and we wheel merrily along, the Resara Mountainscovered with dark pine forests, skirting the valley on the right, sometimesrising into peaks of quite respectable proportions. The sun sinks behindthe receding hills, it grows dusk, and finally dark, save the feeblelight vouchsafed by the new moon, and our destination still lies severalkilometres ahead. But at about nine we roll safely into Jagodina, well-satisfied with the consciousness of having covered one hundred and forty-five kilometres to-day, in spite of delaying our start in the morninguntil eight o'clock, and the twenty kilometres of indifferent road betweenGrotzka and Semendria. There has been no reclining under road-sidemulberry-trees for my companion to catch up to-day, however; the Servianwheelman is altogether a speedier man than Igali, and, whether the roadis rough or smooth, level or hilly, he is found close behind my rearwheel; my own shadow follows not more faithfully than does the "bestrider in Servia. "

We start for Jagodina at 5. 30 next morning, finding the roads a littleheavy with sand in places, but otherwise all that a wheelman could wish. Crossing a bridge over the Morava River, into Tchupria, we are requirednot only to foot it across, but to pay a toll for the bicycles, like anyother wheeled vehicle. At Tchupria it seems as though the whole townmust be depopulated, so great is the throng of citizens that swarm aboutus. Motley and picturesque even in their rags, one's pen utterly failsto convey a correct idea of their appearance; besides Servians, Bulgarians, and Turks, and the Greek priests who never fail of being on hand, nowappear Roumanians, wearing huge sheep-skin busbies, with the long, raggededges of the wool dangling about eyes and ears, or, in the case of amore "dudish " person, clipped around smooth at the brim, making thehead-gear look like a small, round, thatched roof. Urchins, whose dailyduty is to promenade the family goat around the streets, join in theprocession, tugging their bearded charges after them; and a score ofdogs, overjoyed beyond measure at the general commotion, romp about, andbark their joyous approval of it all. To have crowds like this followingone out of town makes a sensitive person feel uncomfortably like beingchased out of a community for borrowing chickens by moonlight, or onaccount of some irregularity concerning hotel bills. On occasions likethis Orientals seemingly have not the slightest sense of dignity; portly, well-dressed citizens, priests, and military officers press forward amongthe crowds of peasants and unwashed frequenters of the streets, evidentlymore delighted with things about them than they have been for many a daybefore. 

At Delegrad we wheel through the battle-field of the same name, where, in 1876, Turks and Servians were arrayed against each other. These battle-scarred hills above Delegrad command a glorious view of the lower MoravaValley, which is hereabouts most beautiful, and just broad enough forits entire beauty to be comprehended. The Servians won the battle ofDelegrad, and as I pause to admire the glorious prospect to the southwardfrom the hills, methinks their general showed no little sagacity inopposing the invaders at a spot where the Morava Vale, the jewel ofServia, was spread out like a panorama below his position, to fan withits loveliness the patriotism of his troops - they could not do otherwisethan win, with the fairest portion of their well-beloved country spreadout before them like a picture. A large cannon, captured from the Turks, is standing on its carriage by the road-side, a mute but eloquent witnessof Servian prowess. 

A few miles farther on we halt for dinner at Alexinatz, near the oldServian boundary-line, also the scene of one of the greatest battlesfought during the Servian struggle for independence. The Turks werevictorious this time, and fifteen thousand Servians and three thousandRussian allies yielded up their lives here to superior Turkish generalship, and Alexiuatz was burned to ashes. The Russians have erected a granitemonument on a hill overlooking the town, in memory of their comrades whoperished in this fight. The roads to-day average even better thanyesterday, and at six o'clock we roll into Nisch, one hundred and twentykilometres from our starting-point this morning, and two hundred andeighty from Belgrade. As we enter the city a gang of convicts workingon the fortifications forget their clanking shackles and chains, and themiseries of their state, long enough to greet us with a boisterous howlof approval, and the guards who are standing over them for once, atleast, fail to check them, for their attention, too, is wholly engrossedin the same wondrous subject. Nisch appears to be a thoroughly Orientalcity, and here I see the first Turkish ladies, with their features hiddenbehind their white yashmaks. At seven or eight o'clock in the morning, when it is comparatively cool and people are patronizing the market, trafficking and bartering for the day's supply of provisions, the streetspresent quite an animated appearance; but during the heat of the day thescene changes to one of squalor and indolence; respectable citizens aresmoking nargilehs (Mark Twain's "hubble-bubble"), or sleeping somewhereout of sight; business is generally suspended, and in every shady nookand corner one sees a swarthy ragamuffin stretched out at full length, perfectly happy and contented if only he is allowed to snooze the hoursaway in peace. 

Human nature is verily the same the world over, and here, in the hotelat Nisch, I meet an individual who recalls a few of the sensible questionsthat have been asked me from time to time at different places on bothcontinents. This Nisch interrogator is a Hebrew commercial traveller, who has a smattering of English, and who after ascertaining during ashort conversation that, when a range of mountains or any other smallobstruction is encountered, I get down and push the bicycle up, airs hisknowledge of English and of 'cycling to the extent of inquiring whetherI don't take a man along to push it up the hills!

Riding out of Nisch this morning we stop just beyond the suburbs to takea curious look at a grim monument of Turkish prowess, in the shape of asquare stone structure which the Turks built in 1840, and then faced thewhole exterior with grinning rows of Servian skulls partially embeddedin mortar. The Servians, naturally objecting to having the skulls oftheir comrades thus exposed to the gaze of everybody, have since removedand buried them; but the rows of indentations in the thick mortaredsurface still bear unmistakable evidence of the nature of their formeroccupants. An avenue of thrifty prune-trees shades a level road leadingout of Nisch for several kilometres, but a heavy thunder-storm duringthe night has made it rather slavish wheeling, although the surfacebecomes harder and smoother, also hillier, as we gradually approach theBalkan Mountains, that tower well up toward cloudland immediately ahead. The morning is warm and muggy, indicating rain, and the long, steeptrundle, kilometre after kilometre, up the Balkan slopes, is anythingbut child's play, albeit the scenery is most lovely, one prospectespecially reminding me of a view in the Big Horn Mountains of northernWyoming Territory. On the lower slopes we come to a mehana, where, besidesplenty of shade-trees, we find springs of most delightfully cool watergushing out of crevices in the rocks, and, throwing our freely perspiringforms beneath the grateful shade and letting the cold water play on ourwrists (the best method in the world of cooling one's self when overheated), we both vote that it would be a most agreeable place to spend the heatof the day. But the morning is too young yet to think of thus indulging, and the mountainous prospect ahead warns us that the distance coveredto-day will be short enough at the best. 

The Balkans are clothed with green foliage to the topmost crags, wildpear-trees being no inconspicuous feature; charming little valleys windabout between the mountain-spurs, and last night's downpour has imparteda freshness to the whole scene that perhaps it would not be one's goodfortune to see every day, even were he here. This region of intermingledvales and forest-clad mountains might be the natural home of brigandage, and those ferocious-looking specimens of humanity with things like longguns in hand, running with scrambling haste down the mountain-side towardour road ahead, look like veritable brigands heading us off with a viewto capturing us. But they are peacefully disposed goatherds, who, alpenstocks in hand, are endeavoring to see "what in the world thosequeer-looking things are, coming up the road. " Their tuneful noise, asthey play on some kind of an instrument, greets our ears from a dozenmountain-slopes round about us, as we put our shoulders to the wheel, and gradually approach the summit. Tortoises are occasionally surprisedbasking in the sunbeams in the middle of the road; when molested theyhiss quite audibly in protest, but if passed peacefully by they are seenshuffling off into the bushes, as though thankful to escape. Unhappyoxen are toiling patiently upward, literally inch by inch, draggingheavy, creaking wagons, loaded with miscellaneous importations, prominentamong which I notice square cans of American petroleum. Men on horsebackare encountered, the long guns of the Orient slung at their backs, andknife and pistols in sash, looking altogether ferocious. Not only arethese people perfectly harmless, however, but I verily think it wouldtake a good deal of aggravation to make them even think of fighting. Thefellow whose horse we frightened down a rocky embankment, at the imminentrisk of breaking the neck of both horse and rider, had both gun, knife, and pistols; yet, though he probably thinks us emissaries of the evilone, he is in no sense a dangerous character, his weapons being merelygewgaws to adorn his person. Finally, the summit of this range is gained, and the long, grateful descent into the valley of the Nissava Riverbegins. The surface during this descent, though averaging very good, isnot always of the smoothest; several dismounts are found to be necessary, and many places ridden over require a quick hand and ready eye to pass. The Servians have made a capital point in fixing their new boundary-linesouth of this mountain-range. 

Mountaineers are said to be "always freemen;" one can with equaltruthfulness add that the costumes of mountaineers' wives and daughtersare always more picturesque than those of their sisters in the valleys. In these Balkan Mountains their costumes are a truly wonderful blendingof colors, to say nothing of fantastic patterns, apparently a medley ofideas borrowed from Occident and Orient. One woman we have just passedis wearing the loose, flowing pantaloons of the Orient, of a bright-yellowcolor, a tight-fitting jacket of equally bright blue; around her waistis folded many times a red and blue striped waistband, while both headand feet are bare. This is no holiday attire; it is plainly the ordinaryevery-day costume. 

At the foot of the range we halt at a way-side mehana for dinner. A dailydiligence, with horses four abreast, runs over the Balkans from Nisehto Sophia, Bulgaria, and one of them is halted at the mehana forrefreshments and a change of horses. Refreshments at these mehanas arenot always palatable to travellers, who almost invariably carry a supplyof provisions along. Of bread nothing but the coarse, black varietycommon to the country is forthcoming at this mehana, and a gentleman, learning from Mr. Popovitz that I have not yet been educated up to blackbread, fishes a large roll of excellent milch-Brod out of his traps andkindly presents it to us; and obtaining from the mehana some hune-henfabrica and wine we make a very good meal. This hunehen fabrica is nothingmore nor less than cooked chicken. Whether hune-hen fabrica is genuineHungarian for cooked chicken, or whether Igali manufactured the termespecially for use between us, I cannot quite understand. Be this as itmay, before we started from Belgrade, Igali imparted the secret to Mr. Popovitz that I was possessed with a sort of a wild appetite, as it were, for hune-hen fabrica and cherries, three times a day, the consequencebeing that Mr. Popovitz thoughtfully orders those viands whenever wehalt. After dinner the mutterings of thunder over the mountains warn usthat unless we wish to experience the doubtful luxuries of a road-sidemehana for the night we had better make all speed to the village of BelaPalanka, twelve kilometres distant over - rather hilly roads. In fortyminutes we arrive at the Bela Palanka mehana, some time before the rainbegins. It is but twenty kilometres to Pirot, near the Bulgarian frontier, whither my companion has purposed to accompany me, but we are forced tochange this programme and remain at Bela Palanka. 

It rains hard all night, converting the unassuming Nissava into a roaringyellow torrent, and the streets of the little Balkan village into mud-holes. It is still raining on Sunday morning, and as Mr. Popovitz isobliged to be back to his duties as foreign correspondent in the ServianNational Bank at Belgrade on Tuesday, and the Balkan roads have beenrendered impassable for a bicycle, he is compelled to hire a team andwagon to haul him and his wheel back over the mountains to Nisch, whileI have to remain over Sunday amid the dirt and squalor and discomforts - tosay nothing of a second night among the fleas - of an Oriental villagemehana. We only made fifty kilometres over the mountains yesterday, butduring the three days from Belgrade together the aggregate has beensatisfactory, and Mr. Popovitz has proven a most agreeable and interestingcompanion. When but fourteen years of age he served under the banner ofthe Red Cross in the war between the Turks and Servians, and is altogetheran ardent patriot. My Sunday in Bela Palanka impresses me with theconviction that an Oriental village is a splendid place not to live in. In dry weather it is disagreeable enough, but to-day, it is a disorderlyaggregation of miserable-looking villagers, pigs, ducks, geese, chickens, and dogs, paddling around the muddy streets. The Oriental peasant'scostume is picturesque or otherwise, according to the fancy of theobserver. The red fez or turban, the upper garment, and the ample redsash wound round and round the waist until it is eighteen inches broad, look picturesque enough for anybody; but when it comes to having theseat of the pantaloons dangling about the calves of the legs, a personimbued with Western ideas naturally thinks that if the line betweenpicturesqueness and a two-bushel gunny-sack is to be drawn anywhere itshould most assuredly be drawn here. As I notice how prevalent thisungainly style of nether garment is in the Orient, I find myself gettingquite uneasy lest, perchance, anything serious should happen to mine, and I should be compelled to ride the bicycle in a pair of natives, whichwould, however, be an altogether impossible feat unless it were feasibleto gather the surplus area up in a bunch and wear it like a bustle. Icannot think, however, that Fate, cruel as she sometimes is, has anythingso outrageous as this in store for me or any other 'cycler. AlthoughTurkish ladies have almost entirely disappeared from Servia since itsseverance from Turkey, they have left, in a certain degree, an impressupon the women of the country villages; although the Bela Palanka maidens, as I notice on the streets in their Sunday clothes to-day, do not wearthe regulation yashmak, but a head-gear that partially obscures the face, their whole demeanor giving one the impression that their one object inlife is to appear the pink of propriety in the eyes of the whole world;they walk along the streets at a most circumspect gait, looking neitherto the right nor left, neither stopping to converse with each other bythe way, nor paying any sort of attention to the men. The two proprietorsof the mehana where I am stopping are subjects for a student of humannature. With their wretched little pigsty of a mehana in this poverty-strickenvillage, they are gradually accumulating a fortune. Whenever a lucklesstraveller falls into their clutches they make the incident count forsomething. They stand expectantly about in their box-like public room;their whole stock consists of a little diluted wine and mastic, and ifa bit of black bread and smear-lease is ordered, one is putting it downin the book, while the other is ferreting it out of a little cabinetwhere they keep a starvation quantity of edibles; when the one actingas waiter has placed the inexpensive morsel before you, he goes over tothe book to make sure that number two has put down enough; and, althoughthe maximum value of the provisions is perhaps not over twopence, thisprecious pair will actually put their heads together in consultationover the amount to be chalked down. Ere the shades of Sunday eveninghave settled down, I have arrived at the conclusion that if these twoare average specimens of the Oriental Jew they are financially a totallydepraved people. 

The rain ceased soon after noon on Sunday, and, although the roads areall but impassable, I pull out southward at five o'clock on Mondaymorning, trundling up the mountain-roads through mud that frequentlycompels me to stop and use the scraper. After the summit of the hillsbetween Bela Palanka and Pirot is gained, the road descending into thevalley beyond becomes better, enabling me to make quite good time intoPirot, where my passport. Undergoes an examination, and is favored witha vise by the Servian officials preparatory to crossing the Servian andBulgarian frontier about twenty kilometres to the southward. Pirot isquite a large and important village, and my appearance is the signal formore excitement than the Piroters have experienced for many a day. WhileI am partaking of bread and coffee in the hotel, the main street becomescrowded as on some festive occasion, the grown-up people's faces beamingwith as much joyous anticipation of what they expect to behold when Iemerge from the hotel as the unwashed countenances of the ragged youngstersaround them. Leading citizens who have been to Paris or Vienna, and havelearned something about what sort of road a 'cycler needs, have impartedthe secret to many of their fellow-townsmen, and there is a generalstampede to the highway leading out of town to the southward. This roadis found to be most excellent, and the enterprising people who havewalked, ridden, or driven out there, in order to see me ride past to thebest possible advantage, are rewarded by witnessing what they never sawbefore - a cycler speeding along past them at ten miles an hour. This givessuch general satisfaction that for some considerable distance I ridebetween a double row of lifted hats and general salutations, and aswelling murmur of applause runs all along the line. 

Two citizens, more enterprising even than the others, have determinedto follow me with team and light wagon to a road-side office ten kilometresahead, where passports have again to be examined. The road for the wholedistance is level and fairly smooth; the Servian horses are, like theIndian ponies of the West, small, but wiry and tough, and although Ipress forward quite energetically, the whip is applied without stint, and when the passport office is reached we pull up alongside it together, but their ponies' sides are white with lather. The passport officer isso delighted at the story of the race, as narrated to him by the others, that he fetches me out. A piece of lump sugar and a glass of water, acommon refreshment partaken of in this country. Yet a third time I amhalted by a roadside official and required to produce my passport, andagain at the village of Zaribrod, just over the Bulgarian frontier, whichI reach about ten o'clock. To the Bulgarian official I present a smallstamped card-board check, which was given me for that purpose at thelast Servian examination, but he doesn't seem to understand it, anddemands to see the original passport. When my English passport is producedhe examines it, and straightway assures me of the Bulgarian officialrespect for an Englishman by grasping me warmly by the hand. The passportoffice is in the second story of a mud hovel, and is reached by adilapidated flight of out-door stairs. My bicycle is left leaning againstthe building, and during my brief interview with the officer a noisycrowd of semi-civilized Bulgarians have collected about, examining itand commenting unreservedly concerning it and myself. The officer, ashamedof the rudeness of his country - and their evidently untutored minds, leans out of the window, and in a chiding voice explains to the crowdthat I am a private individual, and not a travelling mountebank goingabout the country giving exhibitions, and advises them to uphold the dignityof the Bulgarian character by scattering forthwith. But the crowd doesn'tscatter to any appreciable extent; they don't care whether I am public orprivate; they have never seen anything like me and the bicycle before, and the one opportunity of a lifetime is not to be lightly passed over. They are a wild, untamed lot, these Bulgarians here at Zaribrod, littlegiven to self-restraint. When I emerge, the silence of eager anticipationtakes entire possession of the crowd, only to break forth into a spontaneoushowl of delight, from three hundred bared throats when I mount into thesaddle and ride away into - Bulgaria. 

My ride through Servia, save over the Balkans. Has been most enjoyable, and the roads, I am agreeably surprised to have to record, have averagedas good as any country in Europe, save England and France, though beingfor the most part unmacadamized; with wet weather they would scarcelyshow to such advantage. My impression of the Servian peasantry is mostfavorable; they are evidently a warm-hearted, hospitable, and withal apatriotic people, loving their little country and appreciating theirindependence as only people who have but recently had their dream ofself-government realized know how to appreciate it; they even paint thewood-work of their bridges and public buildings with the national colors. I am assured that the Servians have progressed wonderfully since acquiringtheir full independence; but as one journeys down the beautiful andfertile valley of the Morava, where improvements would naturally be seen, if anywhere, one falls to wondering where they can possibly have comein. Some of their methods would, indeed, seem to indicate a most deplorablelack of practicability; one of the most ridiculous, to the writer's mind, is the erection of small, long sheds substantially built of heavy hewntimber supports, and thick, home-made tiles, over ordinary plank fencesand gates to protect them from the weather, when a good coating of taror paint would answer the purpose of preservation much better. Thesestructures give one the impression of a dollar placed over a penny toprotect the latter from harm. Every peasant owns a few acres of land, and, if he produces anything above his own wants, he hauls it to marketin an ox-wagon with roughly hewn wheels without tires, and whose creakingcan plainly bo heard a mile away. At present the Servian tills his littlefreehold with the clumsiest of implements, some his own rude handiwork, and the best imperfectly fashioned and forged on native anvils. His plowis chiefly the forked limb of a tree, pointed with iron sufficiently toenable him to root around in the surface soil. One would think the countrymight offer a promising field for some enterprising manufacturer of suchimplements as hoes, scythes, hay-forks, small, strong plows, cultivators, etc. 

These people are industrious, especially the women. I have entry met aServian peasant woman returning homeward in the evening from her laborin the fields, carrying a fat, heavy baby, a clumsy hoe not much lighterthan the youngster, and an earthenware water-pitcher, and, at the sametime, industriously spinning wool with a small hand-spindle. And yetsome people argue about the impossibility of doing two things at once. Whether these poor women have been hoeing potatoes, carrying the infant, and spinning wool at the same time all day I am unable to say, not havingbeen an eye-witness, though I really should not be much astonished ifthey had. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

BULGARIA, ROUMELIA, AND INTO TURKEY. 

The road leading into Bulgaria from the Zaribrod custom-house is fairlygood for several kilometres, when mountainous and rough ways areencountered; it is a country of goats and goat-herds. A rain-storm ishovering threateningly over the mountains immediately ahead, but it doesnot reach the vicinity I am traversing: it passes to the southward, andmakes the roads for a number of miles wellnigh impassable. Up in themountains I meet more than one " Bulgarian national express " - pony pack-trains, carrying merchandise to and fro between Sofia and Nisch. Mostof these animals are too heavily laden to think of objecting to theappearance of anything on the road, but some of the outfits are returningfrom Sofia in "ballast" only; and one of these, doubtless overjoyedbeyond measure at their unaccustomed lissomeness, breaks through allrestraint at my approach, and goes stampeding over the rolling hills, the wild-looking teamsters in full tear after them. Whatever of thisnature happens in this part of the world the people seem to regard withcommendable complacence: instead of wasting time in trying to quarrelabout it, they set about gathering up the scattered train, as though astampede were the most natural thing going. Bulgaria - at least by theroute I am crossing it - is a land of mountains and elevated plateaus, andthe inhabitants I should call the "ranchers of the Orient, " in theirgeneral appearance and demeanor bearing the same relation to the ploddingcorn-hoer and scythe-swinger of the Morava Valley as the Niobrara cow-boydoes to the Nebraska homesteader. On the mountains are encountered herdsof goats in charge of men who reck little for civilization, and theupland plains are dotted over with herds of ponies that require constantwatching in the interest of scattered fields of grain. For lunch I haltat an unlikely-looking mehana, near a cluster of mud hovels, which, Isuppose, the Bulgarians consider a village, and am rewarded by theblackest of black bread, in the composition of which sand plays noinconsiderable part, and the remnants of a chicken killed and stewed atsome uncertain period of the past. Of all places invented in the worldto disgust a hungry, expectant wayfarer, the Bulgarian mehana is themost abominable. Black bread and mastic (a composition of gum-mastic andBoston rum, so I am informed) seem to be about the only things habituallykept in stock, and everything about the place plainly shows the proprietorto be ignorant of the crudest notions of cleanliness. A storm is observedbrewing in the mountains I have lately traversed, and, having swallowedmy unpalatable lunch, I hasten to mount, and betake myself off towardSofia, distant thirty kilometres. The road is nothing extra, to say theleast, but a howling wind blowing from the region of the gathering stormpropels me rapidly, in spite of undulations, ruts, and undesirable roadqualities generally. The region is an elevated plateau, of which but asmall proportion is cultivated; on more than one of the neighboring peakspatches of snow are still lingering, and the cool mountain breezes recallmemories of the Laramie Plains. Men and women returning homeward onhorseback from Sofia are frequently encountered. The women are deckedwith beads and trinkets and the gewgaws of semi-civilization, as mightbe the favorite squaws of Squatting Beaver or Sitting Bull, and furthermoreimitate their copper-colored sisters of the Far West by bestriding theirponies like men. But in the matter of artistic and profuse decorationof the person the squaw is far behind the peasant woman of Bulgaria. Thegarments of the men are a combination of sheepskin and a thick, coarse, woollen material, spun by the women, and fashioned after patterns theirforefathers brought with them centuries ago when they first invadedEurope. The Bulgarian saddle, like everything else here, is a rudelyconstructed affair, that answers the double purpose of a pack-saddle orfor riding - a home-made, unwieldy thing, that is a fair pony's load ofitself. 

At 4. 30 P. M. I wheel into Sofia, the Bulgarian Capital, having coveredone hundred and ten kilometres to-day, in spite of mud, mountains, androads that have been none of the best. Here again I have to patronizethe money-changers, for a few Servian francs which I have are not currentin Bulgaria; and the Israelite, who reserved unto himself a profit oftwo francs on the pound at Nisch, now seems the spirit of fairness itselfalong-side a hook-nosed, wizen-faced relative of his here at Sofia, whowants two Servian francs in exchange for each Bulgarian coin of the sameintrinsic value; and the best I am able to get by going to severaldifferent money-changers is five francs in exchange for seven; yet theServian frontier is but sixty kilometres distant, with stages runningto it daily; and the two coins are identical in intrinsic value. At theHotel Concordia, in Sofia, in lieu of plates, the meat is served onround, flat blocks of wood about the circumference of a saucer - the"trenchers" of the time of Henry VIII. - and two respectable citizensseated opposite me are supping off black bread and a sliced cucumber, both fishing slices of the cucumber out of a wooden bowl with theirfingers. 

Life at the Bulgarian Capital evidently bears its legitimate relativecomparison to the life of the country it represents. One of PrinceAlexander's body-guard, pointed out to me in the bazaar, looks quite asemi-barbarian, arrayed in a highly ornamented national costume, withimmense Oriental pistols in waistband, and gold-braided turban cockedon one side of his head, and a fierce mustache. The soldiers here, eventhe comparatively fortunate ones standing guard at the entrance to theprince's palace, look as though they haven't had a new uniform for yearsand had long since despaired of ever getting one. A war, and an alliancewith some wealthy nation which would rig them out in respectable uniforms, would probably not be an unwelcome event to many of them. While wanderingabout the bazaar, after supper, I observe that the streets, the palacegrounds, and in fact every place that is lit up at all, save the minaretsof the mosque, which are always illumined with vegetable oil, are lightedwith American petroleum, gas and coal being unknown in the Bulgariancapital. There is an evident want of system in everything these peopledo. From my own observations I am inclined to think they pay no heedwhatever to generally accepted divisions of time, but govern their actionsentirely by light and darkness. There is no eight-hour nor ten-hoursystem of labor here; and I verily believe the industrial classes workthe whole time, save when they pause to munch black bread, and to takethree or four hours' sleep in the middle of the night; for as I trundlemy way through the streets at five o'clock next morning, the same peopleI observed at various occupations in the bazaars are there now, as busilyengaged as though they had been keeping it up all night; as also areworkmen building a house; they were pegging away at nine o'clock yestefdayevening, by the flickering light of small petroleum lamps, and at fivethis morning they scarcely look like men who are just commencing for theday. The Oriental, with his primitive methods and tenacious adherenceto the ways of his forefathers, probably enough, has to work these extralong hours in order to make any sort of progress. However this may be, I have throughout the Orient been struck by the industriousness of thereal working classes; but in practicability and inventiveness the Orientalis sadly deficient. On the way out I pause at the bazaar to drink hotmilk and eat a roll of white bread, the former being quite acceptable, for the morning is rather raw and chilly; the wind is still blowing agale, and a company of cavalry, out for exercise, are incased in theirheavy gray overcoats, as though it were midwinter instead of the twenty-third of June. Rudely clad peasants are encountered on the road, carryinglarge cans of milk into Sofia from neighboring ranches. I stop severalof them with a view of sampling the quality of their milk, but invariablyfind it unstrained, and the vessels looking as though they had beenstrangers to scalding for some time. Others are carrying gunny-sacks ofsmear-kase on their shoulders, the whey from which is not infrequentlystreaming down their backs. Cleanliness is no doubt next to godliness;but the Bulgarians seem to be several degrees removed from either. Theyneed the civilizing influence of soap quite as much as anything else, and if the missionaries cannot educate them up to Christianity orcivilization it might not be a bad scheme to try the experiment ofstarting a native soap-factory or two in the country. 

Savagery lingers in the lap of civilization on the breezy plateaus ofBulgaria, but salvation is coming this way in the shape of an extensionof the Eoumelian railway from the south, to connect with the Servianline north of the Balkans. For years the freight department of thispioneer railway will have to run opposition against ox-teams, and creaking, groaning wagons; and since railway stockholders and directors are notusually content with an exclusive diet of black bread, with a wiltedcucumber for a change on Sundays, as is the Bulgarian teamster, and sincelocomotives cannot be turned out to graze free of charge on the hill-sides, the competition will not be so entirely one-sided as might be imagined. Long trains of these ox-teams are met with this morning hauling freightand building-lumber from the railway terminus in Eoumelia to Sofia. Theteamsters are wearing large gray coats of thick blanketing, with floodscovering the head, a heavy, convenient garment, that keeps out both rainand cold while on the road, and at night serves for blanket and mattress;for then the teamster turns his oxen loose on the adjacent hill-sidesto graze, and, after munching a piece of black bread, he places a smallwicker-work wind-break against the windward side of the wagon, and, curling himself up in his great-coat, sleeps soundly. Besides the ox-trains, large, straggling trains of pack-ponies and donkeys occasionallyfill the whole roadway; they are carrying firewood and charcoal from themountains, or wine and spirits, in long, slender casks, from Roumelia;while others are loaded with bales and boxes of miscellaneous merchandise, out of all proportion to their own size. 

The road southward from Sofia is abominable, being originally constructedof earth and large unbroken bowlders; it has not been repaired for years, and the pack-trains and ox-wagons forever crawling along have, duringthe wet weather of many seasons, tramped the dirt away, and left thesurface a wretched waste of ruts, holes, and thickly protruding stones. It is the worst piece of road I have encountered in all Europe; andalthough it is ridable this morning by a cautious person, one risks andinvites disaster at every turn of the wheel. "Old Boreas" comes howlingfrom the mountains of the north, and hustles me briskly along over ruts, holes, and bowlders, however, in a most reckless fashion, furnishing allthe propelling power needful, and leaving me nothing to do but keep asharp lookout for breakneck places immediately ahead. In Servia, thepeasants, driving along the road in their wagons, upon observing meapproaching them, being uncertain of the character of my vehicle and theamount of road-space I require, would ofttimes drive entirely off theroad; and sometimes, when they failed to take this precaution, and theirteams would begin to show signs of restiveness as I drew near, the menwould seem to lose their wits for the moment, and cry out in alarm, asthough some unknown danger were hovering over them. I have seen womenbegin to wail quite pitifully, as though they fancied I bestrode an all-devouring circular saw that was about to whirl into them and rend team, wagon, and everything asunder. But the Bulgarians don't seem to caremuch whether I am going to saw them in twain or not; they are far lessparticular about yielding the road, and both men and women seem to bemade of altogether sterner stuff than the Servians and Slavonians. Theyseem several degrees less civilized than their neighbors farther north, judging from tieir general appearance and demeanor. They act peaceablyand are reasonably civil toward me and the bicycle, however, and personallvI rather enjoy their rough, unpolished manners. Although there is acertain element of rudeness and boisterousuess about them compared withanything I have encountered elsewhere in Europe, they seem, on the whole, a good-natured people. We Westerners seldom hear anything of the Bulgariansexcept in war-times and then it is usually in connection with atrocitiesthat furnish excellent sensational material for the illustrated weeklies;consequently I rather expected to have a rough time riding through alone. But, instead of coming out slashed and scarred like a Heidelberg student, I emerge from their territory with nothing more serious than a goodhealthy shaking up from their ill-conditioned roads and howling winds, and my prejudice against black bread with sand in it partly overcomefrom having had to eat it or nothing. Bulgaria is a principality underthe suzerainty of the Sultan, to whom it is supposed to pay a yearlytribute; but the suzerainty sits lightly upon the people, since they dopretty much as they please; and they never worry themselves about thetribute, simply putting it down on the slate whenever it comes due. TheTurks might just as well wipe out the account now as at any time, forthey will eventually have to whistle for the whole indebtedness. A smartrain-storm drives me into an uninviting mehana near the Roumelian frontier, for two unhappy hours, at noon - a mehana where the edible accommodationswould wring an "Ugh" from an American Indian - and the sole occupantsare a blear-eyed Bulgarian, in twenty-year-old sheep-skin clothes, whoseappearance plainly indicates an over-fondness for mastic, and an unhappy-looking black kitten. Fearful lest something, perchance, might occurto compel me to spend the night here, I don my gossamers as soon as therain slacks up a little, and splurge ahead through the mud toward Ichtiman, which, my map informs me, is just on this side of the Kodja Balkans, which rise up in dark wooded ridges at no great distance ahead, to thesouthward. The mud and rain combine to make things as disagreeable aspossible, but before three o'clock I reach Ichtiman, to find that I amin the province of Eoumelia, and am again required to produce my passport. 

I am now getting well down into territory that quite recently wascompletely under the dominion of the "unspeakable Turk " - unspeakable, by the way, to the writer in more senses than one - and is partly so evennow, but have as yet seen very little of the "mysterious veiled lady. "The Bulgarians are Christian when they are anything, though the greatmajority of them are nothing religiously. A comparatively comfortablemehana is found here at Ichtiman, and the proprietor, being able to talkGerman, readily comprehends the meaning of hune-hen fabrica; but I haveto dispense with cherries. 

Mud is the principal element of the road leading out of Ichtiman andover the Kodja Balkans this morning. The curious crowd of Ichtimanitesthat follow me through the mud-holes and filth of their native streets, to see what is going to happen when I get clear of them, are rewardedbut poorly for their trouble; the best I can possibly do being to makea spasmodic run of a hundred yards through the mud, which I do purelyout of consideration for their inquisitiveness, since it seems ratherdisagreeable to disappoint a crowd of villagers who are expectantlyfollowing and watching one's every movement, wondering, in their ignorance, why you don't ride instead of walk. It is a long, wearisome trundle upthe muddy slopes of the Kodja Balkans, but, after the descent into theMaritza Valley begins, some little ridable surface is encountered, thoughmany loose stones are lying about, and pitch-holes innumerable, makeriding somewhat risky, considering that the road frequently leadsimmediately alongside precipices. Pack-donkeys are met on these mountain-roads, sometimes filling the way, and corning doggedly and indifferentlyforward, even in places where I have little choice between scramblingup a rock on one side of the road or jumping down a precipice on theother. I can generally manage to pass them, however, by placing thebicycle on one side, and, 'standing guard over it, push them off one byone as they pass. Some of these Roumelian donkeys are the most diminutivecreatures I ever saw; but they seem capable of toiling up these steepmountain-roads with enormous loads. I met one this morning carryingbales of something far bigger than himself, and a big Roumelian, whosefeet actually came in contact with the ground occasionally, perched onhis rump; the man looked quite capable of carrying both the donkey andhis load. 

The warm and fertile Maritza Valley is reached soon after noon, and Iam not sorry to find it traversed by a decent macadamized road; though, while it has been raining quite heavily up among the mountains, thisvalley has evidently been favored with a small deluge, and frequentstretches are covered with deep mud and sand, washed down from theadjacent hills; in the cultivated areas of the Bulgarian uplands thegrain-fields are yet quite green, but harvesting has already begun inthe warmer Maritza Vale, and gangs of Roumelian peasants are in thefields, industriously plying reaping-hooks to save their crops of wheatand rye, which the storm has badly lodged. Ere many miles of this levelvalley-road are ridden over, a dozen pointed minarets loom up ahead, andat four o'clock I dismount at the confines of the well nigh impassablestreets of Tatar Bazardjik, quite a lively little city in the sense thatOriental cities are lively, which means well-stocked bazaars throngedwith motley crowds. Here I am delayed for some time by a thunder-storm, and finally wheel away southward in the face of threatening heavens. Several villages of gypsies are camped on the banks of the Maritza, justoutside the limits of Tatar Bazardjik; a crowd of bronzed, half-nakedyoungsters wantonly favor me with a fusillade of stones as I ride past, and several gaunt, hungry-looking curs follow me for some distance withmuch threatening clamor. The dogs in the Orient seem to be pretty muchall of one breed, genuine mongrel, possessing nothing of the spirit andcourage of the animals we are familiar with. Gypsies are more plentifulsouth of the Save than even in Austria-Hungary, but since leaving SlavoniaI have never been importuned by them for alms. Travellers from othercountries are seldom met with along the roads here, and I suppose thatthe wandering Romanies have long since learned the uselessness of askingalms of the natives; but, since they religiously abstain from anythinglike work, how they manage to live is something of a mystery. 

Ere I am five kilometres from Tatar Bazardjik the rain begins to descend, and there is neither house nor other shelter visible anywhere ahead. Thepeasants' villages are all on the river, and the road leads for mileafter mile through fields of wheat and rye. I forge ahead in a drenchingdownpour that makes short work of the thin gossamer suit, which on thisoccasion barely prevents me getting a wet skin ere I descry a thrice-welcomemehana ahead and repair thither, prepared to accept, with becomingthankfulness, whatever accommodation the place affords. It proves manydegrees superior to the average Bulgarian institution of the same name, the proprietor causing my eyes fairly to bulge out with astonishment byproducing a box of French sardines, and bread several shades lighterthan I had, in view of previous experience expected to find it; and fora bed provides one of the huge, thick overcoats before spoken of, which, with the ample hood, envelops the whole figure in a covering that defiesboth wet and cold. I am provided with this unsightly but none the lessacceptable garment, and given the happy privilege of occupying the floorof a small out-building in company with several rough-looking pack-trainteamsters similarly incased; I pass a not altogether comfortless night, the pattering of rain against the one small window effectually suppressingsuch thankless thoughts as have a tendency to come unbidden whenever thesnoring of any of my fellow-lodgers gets aggravatingly harsh. In allthis company I think I am the only person who doesn't snore, and when Iawake from my rather fitful slumbers at four o'clock and find the rainno longer pattering against the window, I arise, and take up my journeytoward Philippopolis, the city I had intended reaching yesterday. It isafter crossing the Kodja Balkans and descending into the Maritza Valleythat one finds among the people a peculiarity that, until a person becomesused to it, causes no little mystification and many ludicrous mistakes. A shake of the head, which with us means a negative answer, means exactlythe reverse with the people of the Maritza Valley; and it puzzled me nota little more than once yesterday afternoon when inquiring whether I wason the right road, and when patronizing fruit-stalls in Tatar Bazardjik. One never feels quite certain about being right when, after inquiringof a native if this is the correct road to Mustapha Pasha or Philippopolishe replies with a vigorous shake of the head; and although one soon getsaccustomed to this peculiarity in others, and accepts it as it is intended, it is not quite so easy to get into the habit yourself. This queer customseems to prevail only among the inhabitants of this particular valley, for after leaving it at Adrianople I see nothing more of it. Anotherpeculiarity all through Oriental, and indeed through a good part ofCentral Europe, is that, instead of the "whoa" which we use to a horse, the driver hisses like a goose. 

Yesterday evening's downpour has little injured the road between themehana and Philippopolis, the capital of Eoumelia, and I wheel to theconfines of that city in something over two hours. Philippopolis is mostbeautifully situated, being built on and around a cluster of severalrocky hills; a situation which, together with a plenitude of wavingtrees, imparts a pleasing and picturesque effect. With a score of taperingminarets pointing skyward among the green foliage, the scene is thoroughlyOriental; but, like all Eastern cities, "distance lends enchantment tothe view. " All down the Maritza Valley, and in lesser numbers extendingsouthward and eastward over the undulating plains of Adrianople, aremany prehistoric mounds, some twenty-five or thirty feet high, and ofabout the same diameter. Sometimes in groups, and sometimes singly, thesemounds occur so frequently that one can often count a dozen at a time. In the vicinity of Philippopolis several have been excavated, and humanremains discovered reclining beneath large slabs of coarse pottery setup like an inverted V, thus: A, evidently intended as a water-shed forthe preservation of the bodies. Another feature of the landscape, andone that fails not to strike the observant traveller as a melancholyfeature, are the Mohammedan cemeteries. Outside every town and near everyvillage are broad areas of ground thickly studded with slabs of roughlyhewn rock set up on end; cities of the dead vastly more populous thanthe abodes of life adjacent. A person can stand on one of the Philippopolisheights and behold the hills and vales all around thickly dotted withthese rude reminders of our universal fate. It is but as yesterday sincethe Turk occupied these lands, and was in the habit of making itparticularly interesting to any "dog of a Christian" who dared desecrateone of these Mussulman cemeteries with his unholy presence; but to-daythey are unsurrounded by protecting fence or the moral restrictions ofdominant Mussulmans, and the sheep, cows, and goats of the "infidelgiaour" graze among them; and oh, shade of Mohammed! hogs also scratchtheir backs against the tombstones and root around, at their own sweetwill, sometimes unearthing skulls and bones, which it is the Turkishcustom not to bury at any great depth. The great number and extent ofthese cemeteries seem to appeal to the unaccustomed observer in eloquentevidence against a people whose rule find religion have been of thesword. 

While obtaining my breakfast of bread and milk in the Philippopolisbazaar an Arab ragamuffin rushes in, and, with anxious gesticulationstoward the bicycle, which I have from necessity left outside, and criesof "Monsieur, monsieur, " plainly announces that there is something goingwrong in connection with the machine. Quickly going out I find that, although I left it standing on the narrow apology for a sidewalk, it isin imminent danger of coming to grief at the instance of a broadly ladendonkey, which, with his load, veritably takes up the whole narrow street, including the sidewalks, as he slowly picks his way along through mud-holesand protruding cobble-stones. And yet Philippopolis has improved wonderfullysince it has nominally changed from a Turkish to a Christian city, I amtold; the Cross having in Philippopolis not only triumphed over theCrescent, but its influence is rapidly changing the condition andappearance of the streets. There is no doubt about the improvements, butthey are at present most conspicuous in the suburbs, near the Englishconsulate. It is threatening rain again as I am picking my way throughthe crooked streets of Philippopolis toward the Adrianople road; verily, I seem these days to be fully occupied in playing hide-and-seek with theelements; but in Roumelia at this season it is a question of either rainor insufferable heat, and perhaps, after all, I have reason to be thankfulat having the former to contend with rather than the latter. Twothunderstorms have to be endured during the forenoon, and for lunch Ireach a mehana where, besides eggs roasted in the embers, and fairlygood bread, I am actually offered a napkin that has been used but a fewtimes - an evidence of civilization that is quite refreshing. A repetitionof the rain-dodging of the forenoon characterizes the afternoon journey, and while halting at a small village the inhabitants actually take mefor a mountebank, and among them collect a handful of diminutive coppercoins about the size and thickness of a gold twenty-five-cent piece, andof which it would take at least twenty to make an American cent, andoffer them to me for a performance. What with shaking my head for "no"and the villagers naturally mistaking the motion for " yes, " accordingto their own custom, I have quite an interesting time of it making themunderstand that I am not a mountebank travelling from one Roumelianvillage to another, living on two cents' worth of black sandy bread perdiem, and giving performances for about three cents a time. For myhalting-place to-night I reach the village of Cauheme, in which I finda mehana, where, although the accommodations are of the crudest nature, the proprietor is a kindly disposed and, withal, a thoroughly honestindividual, furnishing me with a reed mat and a pillow, and making thingsas comfortable and agreeable as possible. Eating raw cucumbers as we eatapples or pears appears to be universal in Oriental Europe; frequently, through Bulgaria and Roumelia, I have noticed people, both old and young, gnawing away at a cucumber with the greatest relish, eating it rind andall, without any condiments whatever. 

All through Roumelia the gradual decay of the Crescent and the correspondingelevation of the Cross is everywhere evident; the Christian element isnow predominant, and the Turkish authorities play but an unimportantpart in the government of internal affairs. Naturally enough, it doesnot suit the Mussulman to live among people whom his religion and time-honored custom have taught him to regard as inferiors, the consequencebeing that there has of late years been a general folding of tents andsilently stealing away; and to-day it is no very infrequent occurrencefor a whole Mussulman village to pack up, bag and baggage, and movebodily to Asia Minor, where the Sultan gives them tracts of land forsettlement. Between the Christian and Mussulman populations of thesecountries there is naturally a certain amount of the "six of one andhalf a dozen of the other " principle, and in certain regions, where theMussulmans have dwindled to a small minority, the Christians are everprone to bestow upon them the same treatment that the Turks formerlygave them. There appears to be little conception of what we consider"good manners" among Oriental villagers, and while I am writing out afew notes this evening, the people crowding the mehana because of mystrange unaccustomed presence stand around watching every motion of mypen, jostling carelessly against the bench, and commenting on thingsconcerning me and the bicycle with a garrulousness that makes it almostimpossible for me to write. The women of these Eoumelian villages bangtheir hair, and wear it in two long braids, or plaited into a streamingwhite head-dress of some gauzy material, behind; huge silver clasps, artistically engraved, that are probably heirlooms, fasten a belt aroundtheir waists; and as they walk along barefooted, strings of beads, bangles, and necklaces of silver coins make an incessant jingling. Thesky clears and the moon shines forth resplendently ere I stretch myselfon my rude couch to-night, and the sun rising bright next morning wouldseem to indicate fair weather at last; an indication that proves illusory, however, before the day is over. 

At Khaskhor, some fifteen kilometres from Cauheme, I am able to obtainmy favorite breakfast of bread, milk, and fruit, and while I am in-doorseating it a stalwart Turk considerately mounts guard over the bicycle, resolutely keeping the meddlesome crowd at bay until I get through eating. The roads this morning, though hilly, are fairly smooth, and about eleveno'clock I reach Hermouli, the last town in Roumelia, where, besides beingrequired to produce my passport, I am requested by a pompous lieutenantof gendarmerie to produce my permit for carrying a revolver, the firsttime I have been thus molested in Europe. Upon explaining, as best Ican, that I have no such permit, and that for a voyageur permission isnot necessary (something about which I am in no way so certain, however, as my words would seem to indicate), I am politely disarmed, and conductedto a guard-room in the police-barracks, and for some twenty minutes amfavored with the exclusive society of a uniformed guard and the unhappyreflections of a probable heavy fine, if not imprisonment. I am inclinedto think afterward that in arresting and detaining me the officer wassimply showing off his authority a little to his fellow-Hermoulites, clustered about me and the bicycle, for, at the expiration of half anhour, my revolver and passport are handed back to me, and without furtherinquiries or explanations I am allowed to depart in peace. As though inwilful aggravation of the case, a village of gypsies have their tentspitched and their donkeys grazing in the last Mohammedan cemetery I seeere passing over the Roumelian border into Turkey proper, where, at thevery first village, the general aspect of religious affairs changes, asthough its proximity to the border should render rigid distinctionsdesirable. Instead of the crumbling walls and tottering minarets, a groupof closely veiled women are observed praying outside a well-preservedmosque, and praying sincerely too, since not even my ncver-before-seenpresence and the attention-commanding bicycle are sufficient to win theirattention for a moment from their devotions, albeit those I meet on theroad peer curiously enough from between the folds of their muslin yashmaks. I am worrying along to-day in the face of a most discouraging head-wind, and the roads, though mostly ridable, are none of the best. For much ofthe way there is a macadamized road that, in the palmy days of the Ottomandominion, was doubtless a splendid highway, but now weeds and thistles, evidences of decaying traffic and of the proximity of the Eoumelianrailway, are growing in the centre, and holes and impassable places makecycling a necessarily wide-awake performance. 

Mustapha Pasha is the first Turkish town of any importance I come to, and here again my much-required "passaporte" has to be exhibited; butthe police-officers of Mustapha Pasha seem to be exceptionally intelligentand quite agreeable fellows. My revolver is in plain view, in itsaccustomed place; but they pay no sort of attention to it, neither dothey ask me a whole rigmarole of questions about my linguisticaccomplishments, whither I am going, whence I came, etc. , but simplyglance at my passport, as though its examination were a matter of smallconsequence anyhow, shake hands, and smilingly request me to let themsee me ride. It begins to rain soon after I leave Mustapha Pasha, forcingme to take refuge in a convenient culvert beneath the road. I have beenunder this shelter but a few minutes when I am favored with the companyof three swarthy Turks, who, riding toward Mustapha Pasha on horseback, have sought the same shelter. These people straightway express theirastonishment at finding rne and the bicycle under the culvert, by firstcommenting among themselves; then they turn a battery of Turkishinterrogations upon my devoted head, nearly driving me out of my sensesere I escape. They are, of course, quite unintelligible to me; for ifone of them asks a question a shrug of the shoulders only causes him torepeat the same over and over again, each time a little louder and alittle more deliberate. Sometimes they are all three propounding questionsand emphasizing them at the same time, until I begin to think that thereis a plot to talk me to death and confiscate whatever valuables I haveabout me. They all three have long knives in their waistbands, and, instead of pointing out the mechanism of the bicycle to each other withthe finger, like civilized people, they use these long, wicked-lookingknives for the purpose. They maybe a coterie of heavy villains foranything I know to the contrary, or am able to judge from their generalappearance, and in view of the apparent disadvantage of one against threein such cramped quarters, I avoid their immediate society as much aspossible by edging off to one end of the culvert. They are probablyhonest enough, but as their stock of interrogations seems inexhaustible, at the end of half an hour I conclude to face the elements and take mychances of finding some other shelter farther ahead rather than enduretheir vociferous onslaughts any longer. They all three come out to seewhat is going to happen, and I am not ashamed to admit that I standtinkering around the bicycle in the pelting rain longer than is necessarybefore mounting, in order to keep them out in it and get them wet through, if possible, in revenge for having practically ousted me from the culvert, and since I have a water-proof, and they have nothing of the sort, Ipartially succeed in my plans. 

The road is the same ancient and neglected macadam, but between MustaphaPasha and Adrianople they either make some pretence of keeping it inrepair, or else the traffic is sufficient to keep down the weeds, and Iam able to mount and ride in spite of the downpour. After riding abouttwo miles I come to another culvert, in which I deem it advisable totake shelter. Here, also, I find myself honored with company, but thistime it is a lone cow-herder, who is either too dull and stupid to doanything but stare alternately at me and the bicycle, or else is deafand dumb, and my recent experience makes me cautious about tempting himto use his tongue. I am forced by the rain to remain cramped up in thislast narrow culvert until nearly dark, and then trundle along throughan area of stones and water-holes toward Adrianople, which city lies Iknow not how far to the southeast. While trundling along through thedarkness, in the hope of reaching a village or mehana, I observe a rocketshoot skyward in the distance ahead, and surmise that it indicates thewhereabout of Adrianople; but it is plainly many a weary mile ahead; theroad cannot be ridden by the uncertain light of a cloud-veiled moon, andI have been forging ahead, over rough ways leading through an undulatingcountry, and most of the day against a strong head-wind, since earlydawn. By ten o'clock I happily arrive at a section of country that hasnot been favored by the afternoon rain, and, no mehana making itsappearance, I conclude to sup off the cold, cheerless memories of theblack bread and half-ripe pears eaten for dinner at a small village, andcrawl beneath some wild prune-bushes for the night. 

A few miles wheeling over very fair roads, next morning, brings me intoAdrianople, where, at the Hotel Constantinople, I obtain an excellentbreakfast of roast lamb, this being the only well-cooked piece of meatI have eaten since leaving Nisch. It has rained every day withoutexception since it delayed me over Sunday at Bela Palanka, and thismorning it begins while I am eating breakfast, and continues a drenchingdownpour for over an hour. While waiting to see what the weather iscoming to, I wander around the crooked and mystifying streets, watchingthe animated scenes about the bazaars, and try my best to pick up someknowledge of the value of the different coins, for I have had to dealwith a bewildering mixture of late, and once again there is a completechange. Medjidis, cheriks, piastres, and paras now take the place ofSerb francs, Bulgar francs, and a bewildering list of nickel and copperpieces, down to one that I should think would scarcely purchase a woodentoothpick. The first named is a large silver coin worth four and a halffrancs; the cherik might be called a quarter dollar; while piastres andparas are tokens, the former about five cents and the latter requiringabout nine to make one cent. There are no copper coins in Turkey proper, the smaller coins being what is called "metallic money, " a compositionof copper and silver, varying in value from a five-para piece to fivepiastres. 

The Adrianopolitans, drawn to the hotel by the magnetism of the bicycle, are bound to see me ride whether or no, and in their quite naturalignorance of its character, they request me to perform in the small, roughly-paved court-yard of the hotel, and all sorts of impossible places. I shake my head in disapproval and explanation of the impracticabilityof granting their request, but unfortunately Adrianople is within thecircle where a shake of the head is understood to mean " yes, certainly;"and the happy crowd range around a ridiculously small space, and smilingapprovingly at what they consider my willingness to oblige, motion forme to come ahead. An explanation seems really out of the question afterthis, and I conclude that the quickest and simplest way of satisfyingeverybody is to demonstrate my willingness by mounting and wabblingalong, if only for a few paces, which I accordingly do beneath a hackshed, at the imminent risk of knocking my brains out against beams andrafters. 

At eleven o'clock I decide to make a start, I and the bicycle being thefocus of attraction for a most undignified mob as I trundle through themuddy streets toward the suburbs. Arriving at a street where it ispossible to mount and ride for a short distance, I do this in the hopeof satisfying the curiosity of the crowd, and being permitted to leavethe city in comparative peace and privacy; but the hope proves a vainone, for only the respectable portion of the crowd disperses, leavingme, solitary and alone, among a howling mob of the rag, tag, and bobtailof Adrianople, who follow noisily along, vociferously yelling for me to"bin! bin!" (mount, mount), and "chu! chu!" (ride, ride) along thereally unridable streets. This is the worst crowd I have encountered onthe entire journey across two continents, and, arriving at a street wherethe prospect ahead looks comparatively promising, I mount, and wheelforward with a view of outdistancing them if possible; but a ride ofover a hundred yards without dismounting would be an exceptional performancein Adrianople after a rain, and I soon find that I have made a mistakein attempting it, for, as I mount, the mob grows fairly wild and riotouswith excitement, flinging their red fezes at the wheels, rushing upbehind and giving the bicycle smart pushes forward, in their eagernessto see it go faster, and more than one stone comes bounding along thestreet, wantonly flung by some young savage unable to contain himself. I quickly decide upon allaying the excitement by dismounting, and trundlinguntil the mobs gets tired of following, whatever the distance. Thismovement scarcely meets with the approval of the unruly crowd, however, and several come forward and exhibit ten-para pieces as an inducementfor me to ride again, while overgrown gamins swarm around me, and, straddling the middle and index fingers of their right hands over theirleft, to illustrate and emphasize their meaning, they clamorously cry, "bin! bin! chu! chu! monsieur! chu! chu!" as well as much other persuasivetalk, which, if one could understand, would probably be found to meanin substance, that, although it is the time-honored custom and privilegeof Adrianople mobs to fling stones and similar compliments at suchunbelievers from the outer world as come among them in a conspicuousmanner, they will considerately forego their privileges this time, if Iwill only "bin! bin!" and "chu! chu!" The aspect of harmlessmischievousness that would characterize a crowd of Occidental youths ona similar occasion is entirely wanting here, their faces wearing thedetermined expression of people in dead earnest about grasping the onlyopportunity of a lifetime. Respectable Turks stand on the sidewalk andeye the bicycle curiously, but they regard my evident annoyance at beingfollowed by a mob like this with supreme indifference, as does also apassing gendarme, whom I halt, and motion my disapproval of the proceedings. Like the civilians, he pays no sort of attention, but fixes a curiousstare on the bicycle, and asks something, the import of which will tome forever remain a mystery. 

Once well out of the city the road is quite good for several kilometres, and I am favored with a unanimous outburst of approval from a rough crowdat a suburban mehana, because of outdistancing a horseman who rides outfrom among them to overtake me. At Adrianople my road leaves the MaritzaValley and leads across the undulating uplands of the Adrianople Plains, hilly, and for most of the way of inferior surface. Reaching the villageof Hafsa, soon after noon, I am fairly taken possession of by a crowdof turbaned and fezed Hafsaites and soldiers wearing the coarse blueuniform of the Turkish regulars, and given not one moment's escape from"bin! bin!" until I consent to parade my modest capabilities with thewheel by going back and forth along a ridable section of the main street. The population is delighted. Solid old Turks pat me on the back approvingly, and the proprietor of the mehana fairly hauls me and the bicycle intohis establishment. This person is quite befuddled with mastic, whichmakes him inclined to be tyrannical and officious; and several timeswithin the hour, while I wait for the never-failing thunder-shower tosubside, he peremptorily dismisses both civilians and military out ofthe mehana yard; but the crowd always filters back again in less thantwo minutes. Once, while eating dinner, I look out of the window andfind the bicycle has disappeared. Hurrying out, I meet the boozy proprietorand another individual making their way with alarming unsteadiness up asteep stairway, carrying the machine between them to an up-stairs room, where the people will have no possible chance of seeing it. Two minutesafterward his same whimsical and capricious disposition impels him topolitely remove the eatables from before me, and with the manners of ashowman, he gently leads me away from the table, and requests me to rideagain for the benefit of the very crowd he had, but two minutes since, arbitrarily denied the privilege of even looking at the bicycle. Nothingwould be more natural than to refuse to ride under these circumstances;but the crowd looks so gratified at the proprietor's sudden and unaccountablechange of front, that I deem it advisable, in the interest of beingpermitted to finish my meal in peace, to take another short spin; moreover, it is always best to swallow such little annoyances in good part. 

My route to-day is a continuation of the abandoned macadam road, theweed-covered stones of which I have frequently found acceptable in tidingme over places where the ordinary dirt road was deep with mud. In spiteof its long-neglected condition, occasional ridable stretches areencountered, but every bridge and culvert has been destroyed, and anhonest shepherd, not far from Hafsa, who from a neighboring knoll observesme wheeling down a long declivity toward one of these uncovered waterways, nearly shouts himself hoarse, and gesticulates most frantically in aneffort to attract my attention to the danger ahead. Soon after this Iam the innocent cause of two small pack-mules, heavily laden withmerchandise, attempting to bolt from their driver, who is walking behind. One of them actually succeeds in escaping, and, although his pack is tooheavy to admit of running at any speed, he goes awkwardly jogging acrossthe rolling plains, as though uncertain in his own mind of whether heis acting sensibly or not; but his companion in pack-slavery is lessfortunate, since he tumbles into a gully, bringing up flat on his broadand top-heavy pack with his legs frantically pawing the air. Stoppingto assist the driver in getting the collapsed mule on his feet again, this individual demands damages for the accident; so I judge, at least, from the frequency of the word "medjedie, " as he angrily, yet ruefully, points to the mud-begrimed pack and unhappy, yet withal laughter-provoking, attitude of the mule; but I utterly fail to see any reasonable connectionbetween the uncalled-for scariness of his mules and the contents of mypocket-book, especially since I was riding along the Sultan's ancientand deserted macadam, while he and his mules were patronizing a separateand distinct dirt-road alongside. As he seems far more concerned aboutobtaining a money satisfaction from me than the rescue of the mule fromhis topsy-turvy position, I feel perfectly justified, after several timesindicating my willingness to assist him, in leaving him and proceedingon my way. 

The Adrianople plains are a dreary expanse of undulating grazing-land, traversed by small sloughs and their adjacent cultivated areas. Alongthis route it is without trees, and the villages one comes to at intervalsof eight or ten miles are shapeless clusters of mud, straw-thatched huts, out of the midst of which, perchance, rises the tapering minaret of asmall mosque, this minaret being, of course, the first indication of avillage in the distance. Between Adrianople and Eski Baba, the town Ireach for the night, are three villages, in one of which I approach aTurkish private house for a drink of water, and surprise the women withfaces unveiled. Upon seeing my countenance peering in the doorway theyone and all give utterance to little screams of dismay, and dart likefrightened fawns into an adjoining room. When the men appear, to seewhat is up, they show no signs of resentment at my abrupt intrusion, butone of them follows the women into the room, and loud, angry words seemto indicate that they are being soundly berated for allowing themselvesto be thus caught. This does not prevent the women from reappearing thenext minute, however, with their faces veiled behind the orthodox yashmak, and through its one permissible opening satisfying their feminine curiosityby critically surveying me and my strange vehicle. Four men follow meon horseback out of this village, presumably to see what use I make ofthe machine; at least I cannot otherwise account for the honor of theirunpleasantly close attentions - close, inasmuch as they keep their horses'noses almost against my back, in spite of sundry subterfuges to shakethem off. When I stop they do likewise, and when I start again theydeliberately follow, altogether too near to be comfortable. They are, all four, rough-looking peasants, and their object is quite unaccountable, unless they are doing it for "pure cussedness, " or perhaps with somevague idea of provoking me into doing something that would offer themthe excuse of attacking and robbing me. The road is sufficiently lonelyto invite some such attention. If they are only following me to see whatI do with the bicycle, they return but little enlightened, since theysee nothing but trundling and an occasional scraping off of mud. At theend of about two miles, whatever their object, they give it up. Severalshowers occur during the afternoon, and the distance travelled has beenshort and unsatisfactory, when just before dark I arrive at Eski Baba, where I am agreeably surprised to find a mehana, the proprietor of whichis a reasonably mannered individual. Since getting into Turkey proper, reasonably mannered people have seemed wonderfully scarce, the majorityseeming to be most boisterous and headstrong. Next to the bicycle theTurks of these interior villages seem to exercise their minds the mostconcerning whether I have a passport; as I enter Eski Baba; a gendarmestanding at the police-barrack gates shouts after me to halt and produce"passaporte. " Exhibiting my passport at almost every village is gettingmonotonous, and, as I am going to remain here at least overnight, Iignore the gendarme's challenge and wheel on to the mehana. Two gendarmesare soon on the spot, inquiring if I have a "passaporte;" but, uponlearning that I am going no farther to-day, they do not take the troubleto examine it, the average Turkish official religiously believing innever doing anything to-day that can be put off till to-morrow. 

The natives of a Turkish interior village are not over-intimate withnewspapers, and are in consequence profoundly ignorant, having littleconception of anything, save what they have been familiar with andsurrounded by all their lives, and the appearance of the bicycle isindeed a strange visitation, something entirely beyond their comprehension. The mehana is crowded by a wildly gesticulating and loudly commentingand arguing crowd of Turks and Christians all the evening. Although thereseems to be quite a large proportion of native unbelievers in Eski Babathere is not a single female visible on the streets this evening; andfrom observations next day I judge it to be a conservative Mussulmanvillage, where the Turkish women, besides keeping themselves veiled withorthodox strictness, seldom go abroad, and the women who are not Mohammedan, imbibing something of the retiring spirit of the dominant race, alsokeep themselves well in the background. A round score of dogs, great andsmall, and in all possible conditions of miserableness, congregate inthe main street of Eski Baba at eventide, waiting with hungry-eyedexpectancy for any morsel of food or offal that may peradventure findits way within their reach. The Turks, to their credit be it said, neverabuse dogs; but every male "Christian" in Eski Baba seems to considerhimself in duty bound to kick or throw a stone at one, and scarcely aminute passes during the whole evening without the yelp of some unfortunatecur. These people seem to enjoy a dog's sufferings; and one soullesspeasant, who in the course of the evening kicks a half-starved cur sosavagely that the poor animal goes into a fit, and, after staggering androlling all over the street, falls down as though really dead, is thehero of admiring comments from the crowd, who watch the creature'ssufferings with delight. Seeing who can get the most telling kicks atthe dogs seems to be the regular evening's pastime among the malepopulation of Eski Baba unbelievers, and everybody seems interested anddelighted when some unfortunate animal comes in for an unusually severevisitation. A rush mat on the floor of the stable is my bed to-night, with a dozen unlikely looking natives, to avoid the close companionshipof whom I take up my position in dangerous proximity to a donkey's hindlegs, and not six feet from where the same animal's progeny is stretchedout with all the abandon of extreme youth. Precious little sleep isobtained, for fleas innumerable take liberties with my person. A flourishingcolony of swallows inhabiting the roof keeps up an incessant twittering, and toward daylight two muezzins, one on the minaret of each of the twomosques near by, begin calling the faithful to prayer, and howling "Allah. Allah!" with the voices of men bent on conscientiously doing theirduty by making themselves heard by every Mussulman for at least a milearound, robbing me of even the short hour of repose that usually followsa sleepless night. 

It is raining heavily again on Sunday morning - in fact, the last week hasbeen about the rainiest that I ever saw outside of England - and consideringthe state of the roads south of Eski Baba, the prospects look favorablefor a Sunday's experience in an interior Turkish village. Men are solemnlysquatting around the benches of the mehana, smoking nargilehs and sippingtiny cups of thick black coffee, and they look on in wonder while Idevour a substantial breakfast; but whether it is the novelty of seeinga 'cycler feed, or the novelty of seeing anybody eat as I am doing, thusearly in the morning, I am unable to say; for no one else seems to partakeof much solid food until about noontide. All the morning long, peopleswarming around are importuning me with, " Bin, bin, bin, monsieur. "The bicycle is locked up in a rear chamber, and thrice I accommodatinglyfetch it out and endeavor to appease their curiosity by riding along ahundred-yard stretch of smooth road in the rear of the mehana; but theirimportunities never for a moment cease. Finally the annoyance becomesso unbearable that the proprietor takes pity on my harassed head, and, after talking quite angrily to the crowd, locks me up in the same roomwith the bicycle. Iron bars guard the rear windows of the houses at EskiBaba, and ere I am fairly stretched out on my mat several swarthy facesappear at the bars, and several voices simultaneously join in the dreadchorus of, " Bin, bin, bin, monsieur! bin, bin. " compelling me to close, in the middle of a hot day-the rain having ceased about ten o'clock-theone small avenue of ventilation in the stuffy little room. A moment'sprivacy is entirely out of the question, for, even with the window closed, faces are constantly peering in, eager to catch even the smallest glimpseof either me or the bicycle. Fate is also against me to-day, plainlyenough, for ere I have been imprisoned in the room an hour the door isunlocked to admit the mulazim (lieutenant of gendarmes), and two of hissubordinates, with long cavalry swords dangling about their legs, afterthe manner of the Turkish police. 

In addition to puzzling their sluggish brains about my passport, mystrange means of locomotion, and my affairs generally, they have now, it seems, exercised their minds up to the point that they ought tointerfere in the matter of my revolver. But first of all they want tosee my wonderful performance of riding a thing that cannot stand alone. After I have favored the gendarmes and the assembled crowd by ridingonce again, they return the compliment by tenderly escorting me down topolice headquarters, where, after spending an hour or so in examiningmy passport, they place that document and my revolver in their strongbox, and lackadaisically wave me adieu. Upon returning to the mehana, Ifind a corpulent pasha and a number of particularly influential Turksawaiting my reappearance, with the same diabolical object of asking meto "bin! bin!" Soon afterward come the two Mohammedan priests, with thesame request; and certainly not less than half a dozen times during theafternoon do I bring out the bicycle and ride, in deference to theinsatiable curiosity of the sure enough "unspeakable" Turk; and everyseparate time my audience consists not only of the people personallymaking the request, but of the whole gesticulating male population. Theproprietor of the mehana kindly takes upon himself the office of apprisingme when my visitors are people of importance, by going through thepantomime of swelling his features and form up to a size correspondingin proportion relative to their importance, the process of inflation inthe case of the pasha being quite a wonderful performance for a man whois not a professional contortionist. 

Once during the afternoon I attempt to write, but I might as well attemptto fly, for the mehana is crowded with people who plainly have not theslightest conception of the proprieties. Finally a fez is wantonly flung, by an extra-enterprising youth, at my ink-bottle, knocking it over, andbut for its being a handy contrivance, out of which the ink will notspill, it would have made a mess of my notes. Seeing the uselessness oftrying to write, I meander forth, and into the leading mosque, and withoutremoving my shoes, tread its sacred floor for several minutes, and standlistening to several devout Mussulmans reciting the Koran aloud, for, be it known, the great fast of Ramadan has begun, and fasting and prayeris now the faithful Mussulman's daily lot for thirty days, his religionforbidding him either eating or drinking from early morn till close -of day. After looking about the interior, I ascend the steep spiralstairway up to the minaret balcony whence the muezzin calls the faithfulto prayer five times a day. As I pop my head out through the littleopening leading to the balcony, I am slightly taken aback by findingthat small footway already occupied by the muezzin, and it is a fairquestion as to whether the muezzin's astonishment at seeing my whitehelmet appear through the opening is greater, or mine at finding himalready in possession. However, I brazen it out by joining him, and he, like a sensible man, goes about his business just the same as if nobodywere about. The people down in the streets look curiously up and callone another's attention to the unaccustomed sight of a white-helmeted'cycler and a muezzin upon the minaret together; but the fact that I amnot interfered with in any way goes far to prove that the Mussulmanfanaticism, that we have all heard and read about so often, has wellnighflickered out in European Turkey; moreover, I think the Eski Babanswould allow me to do anything, in order to place me under obligations to"bin! bin!" whenever they ask me. At nine o'clock I begin to grow a trifleuneasy about the fate of my passport and revolver, and, proceeding tothe police-barracks, formally demand their return. Nothing has apparentlybeen done concerning either one or the other since they were taken fromme, for the mulazim, who is lounging on a divan smoking cigarettes, produces them from the same receptacle he consigned them to thisafternoon, and lays them before him, clearly as mystified and perplexedas ever about what he ought to do. I explain to him that I wish to departin the morning, and gendarmes are despatched to summon several leadingEski Babans for consultation, in the hope that some of them, or all of themput together, might perchance arrive at a satisfactory conclusionconcerning me. The great trouble appears to be that, while I got thepassport vised at Sofia and Philippopolis, I overlooked Adrianople, andthe Eski Baba officials, being in the vilayet of the latter city, arenaturally puzzled to account for this omission; and, from what I cangather of their conversation, some are advocating sending me back toAdrianople, a suggestion that I straightway announce my disapproval ofby again and again calling their attention to the vise of the Turkishconsul-general in London, and giving them to understand, with muchemphasis, that this vise answers, for every part of Turkey, includingthe vilayet of Adrianople. The question then arises as to whether thathas anything to do with my carrying a revolver; to which I candidly replythat it has not, at the same time pointing out that I have just comethrough Servia and Bulgaria (countries in which the Turks consider itquite necessary to go armed, though in fact there is quite as much, ifnot more, necessity for arms in Turkey), and that I have come throughboth Mustapha Pasha and Adrianople without being molested on account ofthe revolver; all of which only seems to mystify them the more, and makethem more puzzled than ever about what to do. Finally a brilliant ideaoccurs to one of them, being nothing less than to shift the weight otthe dreadful responsibility upon the authoritative shoulders of a visitingpasha, an important personage who arrived in Eski Baba by carriage abouttwo hours ago, and whose arrival I remember caused quite a flurry ofexcitement among the natives. The pasha is found surrounded by a numberof bearded Turks, seated cross-legged on a carpet in the open air, smokingnargilehs and cigarettes, and sipping coffee. This pasha is fatter andmore unwieldy, if possible, than the one for whose edification I rodethe bicycle this afternoon; noticing which, all hopes of being createda pasha upon my arrival at Constantinople naturally vanish, for evidentlyone of the chief qualifications for a pashalic is obesity, a distinctionto which continuous 'cycling, in hot weather is hardly conducive. Thepasha seems a good-natured person, after the manner of fat peoplegenerally, and straightway bids me be seated on the carpet, and orderscoffee and cigarettes to be placed at my disposal while he examines mycase. In imitation of those around me I make an effort to sit cross-leggedon the mat; but the position is so uncomfortable that I am quicklycompelled to change it, and I fancy detecting a merry twinkle in the eyeof more than one silent observer at my inability to adapt my posture tothe custom of the country. I scarcely think the pasha knows anythingmore about what sort of a looking document an English passport ought tobe, than does the mulazim and the leading citizens of Eski Baba; but hegoes through the farce of critically examining the vise of the Turkishconsul-general in London, while another Turk holds his lighted cigaretteclose to it, and blows from it a feeble glimmer of light. Plainly thepasha cannot make anything more out of it than the others, for many aTurkish pasha is unable to sign his own name intelligibly, using a sealinstead; but, probably with a view of favorably impressing those aroundhim, he asks me first if I am an Englishman, and then if I am "a baron, "doubtless thinking that an English baron is a person occupying a somewhatsimilar position in English society to that of a pasha in Turkish: viz. , a really despotic sway over the people of his district; for, althoughthere are law and lawyers in Turkey to-day, the pasha, especially incountry districts, is still an all-powerful person, practically doingas he pleases. 

To the first question I return an affirmative answer; the latter I pretendnot to comprehend; but I cannot help smiling at the question and themanner in which it is put - seeing which the pasha and his friends smilein response, and look knowingly at each other, as though thinking, " Ah!he is a baron, but don't intend to let us know it. " Whether this self-arrived decision influences things in my favor I hardly know, but anyhowhe tosses me my passport, and orders the mulazim to return my revolver;and as I mentally remark the rather jolly expression of the pasha's face, I am inclined to think that, instead of treating the matter with theridiculous importance attached to it by the mulazim and the other people, he regards the whole affair in the light of a few minutes' acceptablediversion. The pasha arrived too late this evening at Eski Baba to seethe bicycle: "Will I allow a gendarme to go to the mehana and bring itfor his inspection?" "I will go and fetch it myself, " I explain; and inten minutes the fat pasha and his friends are examining the perfectmechanism of an American bicycle by the light of an American kerosenelamp, which has been provided in the meantime. Some of the on-lookers, who have seen me ride to-day, suggested to the pasha that I "bin! bin!"and the pasha smiles approvingly at the suggestion; but by pantomime Iexplain to him the impossibility of riding, owing to the nature of theground and the darkness, and I am really quite surprised at the readinesswith which he comprehends and accepts the situation. The pasha is verylikely possessed of more intelligence than I have been giving him creditfor; anyhow he has in ten minutes proved himself equal to the situation, which the mulazim and several prominent Eski Babans have puzzled theircollective brains over for an hour in vain, and, after he has inspectedthe bicycle, and resumed his cross-legged position on the carpet, I doffmy helmet to him and those about him, and return to the mehana, wellsatisfied with the turn affairs have taken. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THROUGH EUROPEAN TURKEY. 

ON Monday morning I am again awakened by the muezzin calling the Mussulmansto their early morning devotions, and, arising from my mat at fiveo'clock, I mount and speed away southward from Eski Baba, Not less thana hundred people have collected to see the wonderful performance again. 

All pretence of road-making seems to have been abandoned; or, what ismore probable, has never been seriously attempted, the visible roadwaysfrom village to village being mere ox-wagon and pack-donkey tracks, crossing the wheat-fields and uncultivated tracts in any direction. Thesoil is a loose, black loam, which the rain converts into mud, throughwhich I have to trundle, wooden scraper in hand; and I not infrequentlyhave to carry the bicycle through the worst places. The morning is sultry, requiring good roads and a breeze-creating pace for agreeable going. Harvesting and threshing are going forward briskly, but the busy hum ofthe self-binder and the threshing-machine is not heard; the reaping isdone with rude hooks, and the threshing by dragging round and round, with horses or oxen, sleigh-runner shaped, broad boards, roughed withflints or iron points, making the surface resemble a huge rasp. Largegangs of rough-looking Armenians, Arabs, and Africans are harvesting thebroad acres of land-owning pashas, the gangs sometimes counting not lessthan fifty men. Several donkeys are always observed picketed near them, taken, wherever they go, for the purpose of carrying provisions andwater. Whenever I happen anywhere near one of these gangs they all comecharging across the field, reaping-hooks in hand, racing with each otherand good-naturedly howling defiance to competitors. A band of Zuluscharging down on a fellow, and brandishing their assegais, could scarcelypresent a more ferocious front. Many of them wear no covering of anykind on the upper part of the body, no hat, no foot-gear, nothing but apair of loose, baggy trousers, while the tidiest man among them wouldbe immediately arrested on general principles in either England orAmerica. Rough though they are, they appear, for the most part, to begood-natured fellows, and although they sometimes emphasize theirimportunities of "bin! bin!" by flourishing their reaping-hooksthreateningly over my head, and one gang actually confiscates the bicycle, which they lay up on a shock of wheat, and with much flourishing ofreaping-hooks as they return to their labors, warn me not to take itaway, these are simply good-natured pranks, such as large gangs oflaborers are wont to occasionally indulge in the world over. 

Streams have to be forded to-day for the first time in Europe, severalsmall creeks during the afternoon; and near sundown I find my pathwayinto a village where I propose stopping for the night, obstructed by acreek swollen bank-full by a heavy thunder-shower in the hills. A coupleof lads on the opposite bank volunteer much information concerning thedepth of the creek at different points; no doubt their evident mystificationat not being understood is equalled only by the amazement at my answers. Four peasants come down to the creek, and one of them kindly wades inand shows that it is only waist deep. Without more ado I ford it, withthe bicycle on my shoulder, and straight-way seek the accommodation ofthe village mehana. This village is a miserable little cluster of mudhovels, and the best the mehana affords is the coarsest of black-breadand a small salted fish, about the size of a sardine, which the nativesdevour without any pretence of cooking, but which are worse than nothingfor me, since the farther they are away the better I am suited. Stickinga flat loaf of black-bread and a dozen of these tiny shapes of saltednothing in his broad waistband, the Turkish peasant sallies forthcontentedly to toil. 

I have accomplished the wonderful distance of forty kilometres to-day, at which I am really quite surprised, considering everything. The usualdaily weather programme has been faithfully carried out - a heavy mist atmorning, that has prevented any drying up of roads during the night, three hours of oppressive heat - from nine till twelve - during which myraidsof ravenous flies squabble for the honor of drawing your blood, and then, when the mud begins to dry out sufficient to justify my dispensing withthe wooden scraper, thunder-showers begin to bestow their unappreciatedfavor upon the roads, making them well-nigh impassable again. The followingmorning the climax of vexation is reached when, after wading through themud for two hours, I discover that I have been dragging, carrying, andtrundling my laborious way along in the wrong direction for Tchorlu, which is not over thirty-five kilometres from my starting-point, but ittakes me till four o'clock to reach there. A hundred miles on French orEnglish roads would not be so fatiguing, and I wisely take advantage ofbeing in a town where comparatively decent accommodations are obtainableto make up, so far as possible, for this morning's breakfast of blackbread and coffee, and my noontide meal of cold, cheerless reflectionson the same. The same programme of "bin! bin. " from importuning crowds, and police inquisitiveness concerning my "passporte" are endured andsurvived; but I spread myself upon rny mat to-night thoroughly convincedthat a month's cycling among the Turks would worry most people intopremature graves. 

I am now approaching pretty close to the Sea of Marmora, and next morningI am agreeably surprised to find sandy roads, which the rains have ratherimproved than otherwise; and although much is unridably heavy, it isimmeasurably superior to yesterday's mud. I pass the country residenceof a wealthy pasha, and see the ladies of his harem seated in the meadowhard by, enjoying the fresh morning air. They form a circle, facinginward, and the swarthy eunuch in charge stands keeping watch at arespectful distance. I carry a pocketful of bread with me this morning, and about nine o'clock, upon coming to a ruined mosque and a few desertedbuildings, I approach one at which signs of occupation are visible, forsome water. This place is simply a deserted Mussulman village, from whichthe inhabitants probably decamped in a body during the last Russo-Turkishwar; the mosque is in a tumble-down condition, the few dwelling-housesremaining are in the last stages of dilapidation, and the one I call atis temporarily occupied by some shepherds, two of whom are regalingthemselves with food of some kind out of an earthenware vessel. 

Obtaining the water, I sit down on some projecting boards to eat myfrugal lunch, fully conscious of being an object of much furtive speculationon the part of the two occupants of the deserted house; which, however, fails to strike me as anything extraordinary, since these attentionshave long since become an ordinary every-day affair. Not even the sulkyand rather hang-dog expression of the men, which failed not to escapemy observation at my first approach, awakened any shadow of suspicionin my mind of their being possibly dangerous characters, although theappearance of the place itself is really sufficient to make one hesitateabout venturing near; and upon sober after-thought I am fully satisfiedthat this is a resort of a certain class of disreputable characters, half shepherds, half brigands, who are only kept from turning full-fledgedfreebooters by a wholesome fear of retributive justice. While I amdiscussing my bread and water one of these worthies saunters with assumedcarelessness up behind me and makes a grab for my revolver, the butt ofwhich he sees protruding from the holster. Although I am not exactlyanticipating this movement, travelling alone among strange people makesone's faculties of self-preservation almost mechanically on the alert, and my hand reaches the revolver before his does. Springing up, I turnround and confront him and his companion, who is standing in the doorway. A full exposition of their character is plainly stamped on their faces, and for a moment I am almost tempted to use the revolver on them. Whetherthey become afraid of this or whether they have urgent business of somenature will never be known to me, but they both disappear inside thedoor; and, in view of my uncertainty of their future intentions, Iconsider it advisable to meander on toward the coast. 

Ere I get beyond the waste lands adjoining this village I encounter twomore of these shepherds, in charge of a small flock; they are wateringtheir sheep; and as I go over to the spring, ostensibly to obtain adrink, but really to have a look at them, they both sneak off at myapproach, like criminals avoiding one whom they suspect of being adetective. Take it all in all, I am satisfied that this neighborhood isa place that I have been fortunate in coming through in broad daylight;by moonlight it might have furnished a far more interesting item thanthe above. An hour after, I am gratified at obtaining my first glimpseof the Sea of Marmora off to the right, and in another hour I am disportingin the warm clear surf, a luxury that has not been within my reach sinceleaving Dieppe, and which is a thrice welcome privilege in this land, where the usual ablutions at mehanas consist of pouring water on thehands from a tin cup. The beach is composed of sand and tiny shells, thewarm surf-waves are clear as crystal, and my first plunge in the Marmora, after a two months' cycle tour across a continent, is the most thoroughlyenjoyable bath I ever had; notwithstanding, I feel it my duty to keep aloose eye on some shepherds perched on a handy knoll, who look as ifhalf inclined to slip down and examine my clothes. The clothes, with, of course, the revolver and every penny I have with me, are almost asnear to them as to me, and always, after ducking my head under water, my first care is to take a precautionary glance in their direction. "Cursed is the mind that nurses suspicion, " someone has said; but underthe circumstances almost anybody would be suspicious. These shepherdsalong the Marmora coast favor each other a great deal, : and when a personhas been the recipient of undesirable attention from one of them, tolook askance at the next one met with comes natural enough. 

Over the undulating cliffs and along the sandy beach, my road now leadsthrough the pretty little seaport of Cilivria, toward Constantinople, traversing a most lovely stretch of country, where waving wheat-fieldshug the beach and fairly coquet with the waves, and the slopes are greenand beautiful with vineyards and fig-gardens, while away beyond theglassy shimmer of the sea I fancy I can trace on the southern horizonthe inequalities of the hills of Asia Minor. Greek fishing-boats areplying hither and thither; one noble sailing-vessel, with all sails set, is slowly ploughing her way down toward the Dardanelles - probably a grain-ship from the Black Sea - and the smoke from a couple of steamers isdiscernible in the distance. Flourishing Greek fishing-villages and vine-growing communities occupy this beautiful strip of coast, along whichthe Greeks seem determined to make the Cross as much more conspicuousthan the Crescent as possible, by rearing it on every public buildingunder their control, and not infrequently on private ones as well. Thepeople of these Greek villages seem possessed of sunny dispositions, theabsence of all reserve among the women being in striking contrast to thedemeanor of the Turkish fair sex. These Greek women chatter after mefrom the windows as I wheel past, and if I stop a minute in the streetthey gather around by dozens, smiling pleasantly, and plying me withquestions, which, of course, I cannot understand. Some of them are quitehandsome, and nearly all have perfect white teeth, a fact that I haveample opportunity of knowing, since they seem to be all smiles. Therehas been much making of artificial highways leading from Constantinoplein this direction in ages past. A road-bed of huge blocks of stone, suchas some of the streets of Eastern towns are made impassable with, istraceable for miles, ascending and descending the rolling hills, imperishable witnesses of the wide difference in Eastern and Westernideas of making a road. These are probably the work of the people whooccupied this country before the Ottoman Turks, who have also tried theirhands at making a macadam, which not infrequently runs close along-sidethe old block roadway, and sometimes crosses it; and it is matter ofsome wonderment that the Turks, instead of hauling material for theirroad from a distance did not save expense by merely breaking the stonesof the old causeway and using the same road-bed. Twice to-day I havebeen required to produce my passport, and when toward evening I passthrough a small village, the lone gendarme who is smoking a nargileh infront of the mehana where I halt points to my revolver and demands"passaporte, " I wave examination, so to speak, by arguing the case withhim, and by the not always unhandy plan of pretending not exactly tocomprehend his meaning. "Passaporte! passaporte! gendarmerie, me, "replies the officer, authoritatively, in answer to my explanation of avoyager being privileged to carry a revolver; while several villagerswho have gathered around us interpose "Bin! bin! monsieur, bin! bin. "I have little notion of yielding up either revolver or passport to thisvillage gendarme, for much of their officiousness is simply the dispositionto show off their authority and satisfy their own personal curiosityregarding me, to say nothing of the possibility of coming in for a littlebacksheesh. The villagers are worrying me to "bin! bin!" at the sametime the gendarme is worrying me about the revolver and passport, andknowing from previous experience that the gendarme would never stop mefrom mounting, being quite as anxious to witness the performance as thevillagers, I quickly decide upon killing two birds with one stone, andaccordingly mount, and pick my way along the rough street out on to theConstantinople road. The gloaming settles into darkness, and the domesand minarets of Stamboul, which have been visible from the brow of everyhill for several miles back, are still eight or ten miles away, andrightly judging that the Ottoman Capital is a most bewildering city fora stranger to penetrate after night, I pillow my head on a sheaf of oats, within sight of the goal toward which I have been pedalling for some2, 500 miles since leaving Liverpool. After surveying with a good dealof satisfaction the twinkling lights that distinguish every minaret inConstantinople each night during the fast of Ramadan, I fall asleep, andenjoy, beneath a sky in which myriads of far-off lamps seem to be twinklingmockingly at the Ramadan illuminations, the finest night's repose I havehad for a week. Nothing but the prevailing rains have prevented me fromsleeping beneath the starry dome entirely in peference to putting up atthe village mehanas. 

En route into Stamboul, on the following morning, I meet the first trainof camels I have yet encountered; in the gray of the morning, with thescenes around so thoroughly Oriental, it seems like an appropriateintroduction to Asiatic life. Eight o'clock finds me inside the line ofearthworks thrown up by Baker Pasha when the Russians were last knockingat the gates of Constantinople, and ere long I am trundling through thecrooked streets of the Turkish Capital toward the bridge which connectsStamboul with Galata and Pera. Even here my ears are assailed with theeternal importunities to "bin! bin!" the officers collecting the bridge-toll even joining in the request. To accommodate them I mount, and ridepart way across the bridge, and at 9 o'clock on July 2d, just two calendarmonths from the start at Liverpool, I am eating my breakfast in aConstantinople restaurant. I am not long in finding English-speakingfriends, to whom my journey across the two continents is not unknown, and who kindly direct me to the Chamber of Commerce Hotel, Eue Omar, Galata, a home-like establishment, kept by an English lady. I have beenpurposing of late to remain in Constantinople during the heated term ofJuly and August, thinking to shape my course southward through Asia Minorand down the Euphrates Valley to Bagdad, and by taking a south-easterlydirection as far as circumstances would permit into India, keep pacewith the seasons, thus avoiding the necessity of remaining over anywherefor the winter. At the same time I have been reckoning upon meetingEnglishmen in Constantinople who, having travelled extensively in Asia, could further enlighten me regarding the best route to India. As I housemy bicycle and am shown to my room I take a retrospective glance acrossEurope and America, and feel almost as if I have arrived at the half-wayhouse of my journey. The distance from Liverpool to Constantinople isfully 2, 500 miles, which brings the wheeling distance from San Franciscoup to something over 6, 000. So far as the, distance wheeled and to bewheeled is concerned, it is not far from half-way; but the real difficultiesof the journey are still ahead, although I scarcely anticipate any thattime and perseverance will not overcome. My tour across Europe has been, on the whole, a delightful journey, and, although my linguistic shortcomingshave made it rather awkward in interior places where no English-speakingperson was to be found, I always managed to make myself understoodsufficiently to get along. In the interior of Turkey a knowledge ofFrench has been considered indispensable to a traveller: but, althougha full knowledge of that language would have made matters much smootherby enabling me to converse with officials and others, I have neverthelesscome through all right without it; and there have doubtless been occasionswhen my ignorance has saved me from a certain amount of bother with thegendarmerie, who, above all things, dislike to exercise their thinkingapparatus. A Turkish official is far less indisposed to act than he isto think; his mental faculties work sluggishly, but his actions aregoverned largely by the impulse of the moment. 

Someone has said that to see Constantinople is to see the entire East;and judging from the different costumes and peoples one meets on thestreets and in the bazaars, the saying is certainly not far amiss. Fromits geographical situation, as well as from its history, Constantinoplenaturally takes the front rank among the cosmopolitan cities of theworld, and the crowds thronging its busy thoroughfares embrace everycondition of man between the kid-gloved exquisite without a wrinkle inhis clothes and the representative of half-savage Central Asian Statesincased in sheepskin garments of rudest pattern. The great fast of Ramadanis under full headway, and all true Mussulmans neither eat nor drink aparticle of anything throughout the day until the booming of cannon ateight in the evening announces that the fast is ended, when the scenequickly changes into a general rush for eatables and drink. Between eightand nine o'clock in the evening, during Ramadan, certain streets andbazaars present their liveliest appearance, and from the highest-classedrestaurant patronized by bey and pasha to the venders of eatables on thestreets, all do a rushing business; even the mjees (water-venders), whowith leather water-bottles and a couple of tumblers wait on thirstypedestrians with pure drinking water, at five paras a glass, dodge aboutamong the crowds, announcing themselves with lusty lung, fully alive tothe opportunities of the moment. 

A few of the coffee-houses provide music of an inferior quality, Constantinople not being a very musical place. A forenoon hour spent ina neighborhood of private residences will repay a stranger for histrouble, since he will during that time see a bewildering assortment ofstreet-venders, from a peregrinating meat-market, with a complete stockdangling from a wooden framework attached to a horse's back, to a grimyindividual worrying along beneath a small mountain of charcoal, and eachwith cries more or less musical. The sidewalks of Constantinople areridiculously narrow, their only practical use being to keep vehiclesfrom running into the merchandise of the shopkeepers, and to givepedestrians plenty of exercise in jostling each other, and hopping onand off the curbstone to avoid inconveniencing the ladies, who of courseare not to be jostled either off the sidewalk or into a sidewalk stockof miscellaneous merchandise. The Constantinople sidewalk is anybody'sterritory; the merchant encumbers it with his wares and the coffee-houseswith chairs for customers to sit on, the rights of pedestrians beingaltogether ignored; the natural consequence is that these latter fillthe streets, and the Constantinople Jehu not only has to keep his witsabout him to avoid running over men and dogs, but has to use his lungscontinually, shouting at them to clear the way. If a seat is taken inone of the coffee-house chairs, a watchful waiter instantly makes hisappearance with a tray containing small chunks of a pasty sweetmeat, known in England as " Turkish Delight, " one of which you are expectedto take and pay half a piastre for, this being a polite way of obtainingpayment for the privilege of using the chair. The coffee is servedsteaming hot in tiny cups holding about two table-spoonfuls, the pricevarying from ten paras upward, according to the grade of the establishment. A favorite way of passing the evening is to sit in front of one of theseestablishments, watching the passing throngs, and smoke a nargileh, thislatter requiring a good half-hour to do it properly. I undertook toinvestigate the amount of enjoyment contained in a nargileh one evening, and before smoking it half through concluded that the taste has to becultivated. 

One of the most inconvenient things about Constantinople is the greatscarcity of small change. Everybody seems to be short of fractional moneysave the money-changers-people who are here a genuine necessity, sinceone often has to patronize them before making the most trifling purchase. Ofttimes the store-keeper will refuse point-blank to sell an articlewhen change is required, solely on account of his inability or unwillingnessto supply it. After drinking a cup of coffee, I have had the kahuajeerefuse to take any payment rather than change a cherik. Inquiring thereason for this scarcity, I am informed that whenever there is any newoutput of this money the noble army of money-changers, by a liberal andjudicious application of backsheesh, manage to get a corner on the lotand compel the general public, for whose benefit it is ostensibly issued, to obtain what they require through them. However this may be, theymanage to control its circulation to a great extent; for while theirglass cases display an overflowing plenitude, even the fruit-vender, whose transactions are mainly of ten and twenty paras, is not infrequentlycompelled to lose a customer because of his inability to make change. There are not less than twenty money-changers' offices within a hundredyards of the Galata end of the principal bridge spanning the Golden Horn, and certainly not a less number on the Stamboul side. 

The money-changer usually occupies a portion of the frontage of a cigaretteand tobacco stand; and on all the business streets one happens at frequentintervals upon these little glass cases full of bowls and heaps ofmiscellaneous coins, varying in value. Behind sits a business-lookingperson - usually a Jew - jingling a handful of medjedis, and expectantlyeyeing every approaching stranger. The usual percentage charged is, forchanging a lira, eighty paras; thirty paras for a medjedie, and ten fora cherik, the percentage on this latter coin being about five per cent. Some idea of the inconvenience to the public of this state of affairscan be better imagined by the American by reflecting that if this stateof affairs existed in Boston he would frequently have to walk around theblock and give a money-changer five per cent, for changing a dollarbefore venturing upon the purchase of a dish of baked beans. If oneoffers a coin of the larger denominations in payment of an article, evenin quite imposing establishments, they look as black over it as thoughyou were trying to palm off a counterfeit, and hand back the change withan ungraciousness and an evident reluctance that makes a sensitive personfeel as though he has in some way been unwittingly guilty of a meanaction. Even the principal streets of Constantinople are but indifferentlylighted at night, and, save for the feeble glimmer of kerosene lamps infront of stores and coffee-houses, the by-streets are in darkness. Smallparties of Turkish women are encountered picking their way along thestreets of Galata in charge of a male attendant, who walks a little waybehind, if of the better class, or without the attendant in the case ofpoorer people, carrying small Japanese lanterns. Sometimes a lanternwill go out, or doesn't burn satisfactorily, and the whole party haltsin the middle of the, perhaps, crowded thoroughfare, and clusters arounduntil the lantern is radjusted. The Turkish lady walks with a slouchygait, her shroud-like abbas adding not a little to the ungracefulness. Matters are likewise scarcely to be improved by wearing two pairs ofshoes, the large, slipper-like overshoes being required by etiquette tobe left on the mat upon entering the house she is visiting; and in thecase of a strictly orthodox Mussulman lady - and, doubtless, we may alsoeasily imagine in case of a not over-prepossessing countenance - the yashmakhides all but the eyes. The eyes of many Turkish ladies are large andbeautiful, and peep from between the white, gauzy folds of the yashmakwith an effect upon the observant Frank not unlike coquettishly oglingfrom behind a fan. Handsome young Turkish ladies with a leaning towardWestern ideas are no doubt coming to understand this, for many arenowadays met on the streets wearing yashmaks that are but a singlethickness of transparent gauze that obscures never a feature, at thesame time producing the decidedly interesting and taking effect abovementioned. It is readily seen that the wearing of yashmaks must be quitea charitable custom in the case of a lady not blessed with a handsomeface, since it enables her to appear in public the equal of her morefavored sister in commanding whatever homage is to be derived from thatmystery which is said to be woman's greatest charm; and if she has butthe one redeeming feature of a beautiful pair of eyes, the advantage isobvious. In street-cars, steamboats, and all public conveyances, boardor canvas partitions wall off a small compartment for the exclusive useof ladies, where, hidden from the rude gaze of the Frank, the Turkishlady can remove her yashmak and smoke cigarettes. 

On Sunday, July 12th, in company with an Englishman in the Turkishartillery service, I pay my first visit to Asian soil, taking a caiqueacross the Bosphorus to Kadikeui, one of the many delightful seasideresorts within easy distance of Constantinople. Many objects of interestare pointed out, as, propelled by a couple of swarthy, half-naked caique-jees, the sharp-prowed caique gallantly rides the blue waves of thisloveliest of all pieces of land-environed water. More than once I havenoticed that a firm belief in the supernatural has an abiding hold uponthe average Turkish mind, having frequently during my usual eveningpromenade through the Galata streets noted the expression of deep andgenuine earnestness upon the countenances of fez-crowned citizens givingrespectful audience to Arab fortune-tellers, paying twenty-para piecesfor the revelations he is favoring them with, and handing over the coinswith the business-like air of people satisfied that they are getting itsfull equivalent. Consequently I am not much astonished when, roundingSeraglio Point, my companion calls my attention to several large sectionsof whalebone suspended on the wall facing the water, and tells me thatthey are placed there by the fishermen, who believe them to be a talismanof no small efficacy in keeping the Bosphorus well supplied with fish, they firmly adhering to the story that once, when the bones were removed, the fish nearly all disappeared. The oars used by the caique-jees areof quite a peculiar shape, the oar-shaft immediately next the hand-holdswells into a bulbous affair for the next eighteen inches, which is atleast four times the circumference of the remainder, and the end of theoarblade is for some reason made swallow-tailed. The object of theenlarged portion, which of course comes inside the rowlocks, appears tobe the double purpose of balancing the weight of the longer portionoutside, and also for preventing the oar at all times from escaping intothe water. The rowlock is simply a raw-hide loop, kept well greased, andas, toward the end of every stroke, the caique-jee leans back to hiswork, the oar slips several inches, causing a considerable loss of power. The day is warm, the broiling sun shines directly down on the bare headsof the caique-jees. And causes the perspiration to roll off their swarthyfaces in large beads, but they lay back to their work manfully, although, from early morning until cannon roar at 8 P. M. Neither bite nor sup, noteven so much water as to moisten the end of their parched tongues, willpass their lips; for, although but poor hard- working caique-jees, theyare true Mussulmans. Pointing skyward from the summit of the hill backof Seraglio Point are the four tapering minarets of the world-renownedSt. Sophia mosque, and a little farther to the left is the Sultana Achmetmosque, the only mosque in all Mohammedanism with six minarets. Near byis the old Seraglio Palace, or rather what is left of it, built byMohammed II. In 1467, out of materials from the ancient Byzantine palaces, and in a department of which the sanjiak shereef (holy standard), boorda-yshereef (holy mantle), and other venerated relics of the prophet Mohammedare preserved. To this place, on the 15th of Ramadan, the Sultan andleading dignitaries of the Empire repair to do homage to the holy relics, upon which it would be the highest sacrilege for Christian eyes to gaze. The hem of this holy mantle is reverently kissed by the Sultan and thefew leading personages present, after which the spot thus brought incontact with human lips is carefully wiped with an embroidered napkindipped in a golden basin of water; the water used in this ceremony isthen supposed to be of priceless value as a purifier of sin, and iscarefully preserved, and, corked up in tiny phials, is distributed amongthe sultanas, grand dignitaries, and prominent people of the realm, whoin return make valuable presents to the lucky messengers and Mussulmanecclesiastics employed in its distribution. This precious liquid is doledout drop by drop, as though it were nectar of eternal life receiveddirect from heaven, and, mixed with other water, is drunk immediatelyupon breaking fast each evening during the remaining fifteen days ofRamadan. Arriving at Kadikeui, the opportunity presents of observingsomething of the high-handed manner in which Turkish pashas are wont toexpect from inferiors their every whim obeyed. We meet a friend of mycompanion, a pasha, who for the remainder of the afternoon makes one ofour company. Unfortunately for a few other persons the pasha is in awhimsical mood to-day and inclined to display for our benefit ratherarbitrary authority toward others. The first individual coming under hisimmediate notice is a young man torturing a harp. Summoning the musician, the pasha summarily orders him to play "Yankee Doodle. " The writerarrived in Constantinople with the full impression that it was the mosqneof St. Sophia that has the famons six minarets, having, I am quite sure, seen it thus quite frequently accredited in print, and I mention thisespecially, in order that readers who may have been similarly misinformedmay know that the above account is the correct one, does not know it, and humbly begs the pasha to name something more familiar. "YankeeDoodle!" - replies the pasha peremptorily. The poor man looks as thoughhe would willingly relinquish all hopes of the future if only some presentavenue of escape would offer itself; but nothing of the kind seems atall likely. The musician appeals to my Turkish-speaking friend, and begshim to request me to favor him with the tune. I am of course only tooglad to help him stem the rising tide of the pasha's wrath by whistlingthe tune for him; and after a certain amount of preliminary twanging bestrikes up and manages to blunder through "Yankee Doodle. " The pasha, after ascertaining from me that the performance is creditable, consideringthe circumstances, forthwith hands him more money than he would collectamong the poorer patrons of the place in two hours. Soon a company offive strolling acrobats and conjurers happens along, and these likewiseare summoned into the "presence" and ordered to proceed. Many of theconjurer's tricks are quite creditable performances; but the pashaoccasionally interferes in the proceedings just in the nick of time toprevent the prestidigitator finishing his manipulations, much to thepasha's delight. Once, however, he cleverly manages to hoodwink thepasha, and executes his trick in spite of the latter's interference, which so amuses the pasha that he straightway gives him a medjedie. Ourreturn boat to Galata starts at seven o'clock, and it is a ten minutes'drive down to the landing. At fifteen minutes to seven the pasha callsfor a public carriage to take us down to the steamer. 

"There are no carriages, Pasha Effendi. Those three are all engaged byladies and gentlemen in the garden, " exclaims the waiter, respectfully. 

"Engaged or not engaged, I want that open carriage yonder, " replies thepasha authoritatively, and already beginning to show signs of impatience. "Boxhanna. "(hi, you, there!)" drive around here, " addressing the driver. 

The driver enters a plea of being already engaged. The pasha's temperrises to the point of threatening to throw carriage, horses, and driverinto the Bosphorus if his demands are not instantly complied with. Finallythe driver and everybody else interested collapse completely, and, entering the carriage, we are driven to our destination without anothermurmur. Subsequently I learned that a government officer, whether a pashaor of lower rank, has the power of taking arbitrary possession of apublic conveyance over the head of a civilian, so that our pasha was, after all, only sticking up for the rights of himself and my friend ofthe artillery, who likewise wears the mark by which a military man isin Turkey always distinguishable from a civilian - a longer string to thetassel of his fez. 

This is the last day of Ramadan, and the following Monday ushers in thethree days' feast of Biaram, which is in substance a kind of a generalcarousal to compensate for the rigid self-denial of the thirty days'fasting and prayer' just ended. The government offices and works aretill closed, everybody is wearing new clothes, and holiday-making engrossesthe public attention. A friend proposes a trip on a Bosphorus steamerup as far as the entrance to the Black Sea. The steamers are profuselydecorated with gaycolored flags, and at certain hours all war-shipsanchored in the Bosphorus, as well as the forts and arsenals, firesalutes, the roar and rattle of the great guns echoing among the hillsof Europe and Asia, that here confront each other, with but a thousandyards of dancing blue waters between them. All along either lovely shorevillages and splendid country-seats of wealthy pashas and Constantinoplemerchants dot the verdure-clad slopes. Two white marble kiosks of theSultan are pointed out. The old castles of Europe and Asia face eachother on opposite sides of the narrow channel. They were famous fortressesin their day, but, save as interesting relics of a bygone age, they areno longer of any use. At Therapia are the summer residences of thedifferent ambassadors, the English and French the most conspicuous. Theextensive grounds of the former are most beautifully terraced, andevidently fit for the residence of royalty itself. Happy indeed is theConstantinopolitan whose income commands a summer villa in Therapia, orat any of the many desirable locations in plain view within this earthlyparadise of blue waves and sunny slopes, and a yacht in which to winghis flight whenever and wherever fancy bids him go. In the glitter andglare of the mid-day sun the scene along the Bosphorus is lovely, yetits loveliness is plainly of the earth; but as we return cityward in theeventide the dusky shadows of the gloaming settle over everything. Aswe gradually approach, the city seems half hidden behind a vaporous veil, as though, in imitation of thousands of its fair occupants, it werehiding its comeliness behind the yashmak; the scores of tapering minarets, and the towers, and the masts of the crowded shipping of all nationsrise above the mist, and line with delicate tracery the western sky, already painted in richest colors by the setting sun. On Saturday morning, July 18th, the sound of martial music announces the arrival of thesoldiers from Stamboul, to guard the streets through which the Sultanwill pass on his way to a certain mosque to perform some ceremony inconnection with the feast just over. At the designated place I find thestreets already lined with Circassian cavalry and Ethiopian zouaves; thelatter in red and blue zouave costumes and immense turbans. Mountedgendarmes are driving civilians about, first in one direction and thenin another, to try and get the streets cleared, occasionally fetchingsome unlucky wight in the threadbare shirt of the Galata plebe a stingingcut across the shoulders with short raw-hide whips - a glaring injusticethat elicits not the slightest adverse criticism from the spectators, and nothing but silent contortions of face and body from the individualreceiving the attention. I finally obtain a good place, where nothingbut an open plank fence and a narrow plot of ground thinly set withshrubbery intervenes between me and the street leading from the palace. In a few minutes the approach of the Sultan is announced by the appearanceof half a dozen Circassian outriders, who dash wildly down the streets, one behind the other, mounted on splendid dapple-gray chargers; thencome four close carriages, containing the Sultan's mother and leadingladies of the imperial harem, and a minute later appears a mounted guard, two abreast, keen-eyed fellows, riding slowly, and critically eyeingeverybody and everything as they proceed; behind them comes a gorgeouslyarrayed individual in a perfect blaze of gold braid and decorations, andclose behind him follows the Sultan's carriage, surrounded by a smallcrowd of pedestrians and horsemen, who buzz around the imperial carriagelike bees near a hive, the pedestrians especially dodging about hitherand thither, hopping nimbly over fences, crossing gardens, etc. , keepingpace with the carriage meanwhile, as though determined upon ferreting outand destroying anything in the shape of danger that may possibly belurking along the route. My object of seeing the Sultan's face is gained;but it is only a momentary glimpse, for besides the horsemen flittingaround the carriage, an officer suddenly appears in front of my positionand unrolls a broad scroll of paper with something printed on it, whichhe holds up. Whatever the scroll is, or the object of its display maybe, the Sultan bows his acknowledgments, either to the scroll or to theofficer holding it up. 

Ere I am in the Ottoman capital a week, I have the opportunity ofwitnessing a fire, and the workings of the Constantinople Fire Department. While walking along Tramway Street, a hue and cry of' "yangoonvar!yangoonvar!" (there is fire! there is fire!) is raised, and threebarefooted men, dressed in the scantiest linen clothes, come chargingpell-mell through the crowded streets, flourishing long brass hose-nozzlesto clear the way; behind them comes a crowd of about twenty others, similarly dressed, four of whom are bearing on theirshoulders a primitive wooden pump, while others are carrying leathernwater-buckets. They are trotting along at quite a lively pace, shoutingand making much unnecessary commotion, and lastly comes their chief onhorseback, cantering close at their heels, as though to keep the menwell up to their pace. The crowds of pedestrians, who refrain fromfollowing after the firemen, and who scurried for the sidewalks at theirapproach, now resume their place in the middle of the street; but againthe wild cry of "yangoon var!" resounds along the narrow street, andthe same scene of citizens scuttling to the sidewalks, and a hurryingfire brigade followed by a noisy crowd of gamins, is enacted over again, as another and yet another of these primitive organizations go scootingswiftly past. It is said that these nimble-footed firemen do almostmiraculous work, considering the material they have at command - anassertion which I think is not at all unlikely; but the wonder is thatdestructive fires are not much more frequent, when the fire departmentis evidently so inefficient. In addition to the regular police force andfire department, there is a system of night watchmen, called bekjees, who walk their respective beats throughout the night, carrying stavesheavily shod with iron, with which they pound the flagstones with aresounding "thwack. " Owing to the hilliness of the city and the roughnessof the streets, much of the carrying business of the city is done byhamals, a class of sturdy-limbed men, who, I am told, are mostly Armenians. They wear a sort of pack-saddle, and carry loads the mere sight of whichmakes the average Westerner groan. For carrying such trifles as cratesand hogsheads of crockery and glass-ware, and puncheons of rum, fourhamals join strength at the ends of two stout poles. Scarcely lessmarvellous than the weights they carry is the apparent ease with whichthey balance tremendous loads, piled high up above them, it being noinfrequent sight to see a stalwart hamal with a veritable Saratoga trunk, for size, on his back, with several smaller trunks and valises piledabove it, making his way down Step Street, which is as much as manypedestrians can do to descend without carrying anything. One of thesehamals, meandering along the street with six or seven hundred pounds ofmerchandise on his back, has the legal right - to say nothing of the evidentmoral right - to knock over any unloaded citizen who too tardily yieldsthe way. From observations made on the spot, one cannot help thinkingthat there is no law in any country to be compared to this one, forsimon-pure justice between man and man. These are most assuredly thestrongest-backed and hardest working men I have seen anywhere. They areremarkably trustworthy and sure-footed, and their chief ambition, I amtold, is to save sufficient money to return to the mountains and valleysof their native Armenia, where most of them have wives patiently awaitingtheir coming, and purchase a piece of land upon which to spend theirdeclining years in ease and independence. 

Far different is the daily lot of another habitue of the streets of thisbusy capital - large, pugnacious-looking rams, that occupy pretty much thesame position in Turkish sporting circles that thoroughbred bull-dogsdo in England, being kept by young Turks solely on account of theircombative propensities and the facilities thereby afforded for gamblingon the prowess of their favorite animals. At all hours of the day andevening the Constantinople sport may be met on the streets leading hiswoolly pet tenderly with a string, often carrying something in his handto coax the ram along. The wool of these animals is frequently clippedto give them a fanciful aspect, the favorite clip being to produce alion-like appearance, and they are always carefully guarded against thefell influence of the "evil eye" by a circlet of blue beads and pendentcharms suspended from the neck. This latter precautionary measure is notconfined to these hard-headed contestants for the championship of Galata, Pera, and Stamboul, however, but grace the necks of a goodly proportionof all animals met on the streets, notably the saddle-ponies, whoseservices are offered on certain streetcorners to the public. 

Occasionally one notices among the busy throngs a person wearing a turbanof dark green; this distinguishing mark being the sole privilege ofpersons who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca. All true Mussulmans aresupposed to make this pilgrimage some time during their lives, eitherin person or by employing a substitute to go in their stead, wealthypashas sometimes paying quite large sums to some imam or other holyperson to go as their proxy, for the holier the substitute the greateris supposed to be the benefit to the person sending him. Other personsare seen with turbans of a lighter shade of green than the returned Meccapilgrims. These are people related in some way to the reigning sovereign. 

Constantinople has its peculiar attractions as the great centre of theMohammedan world as represented in the person of the Sultan, and duringthe five hundred years of the Ottoman dominion here, almost every Sultanand great personage has left behind him some interesting reminder of thetimes in which he lived and the wonderful possibilities of unlimitedwealth and power. A stranger will scarcely show himself upon the streetsere he is discovered and accosted by a guide. From long experience thesemen can readily distinguish a new arrival, and they seldom make a mistakeregarding his nationality. Their usual mode of self-introduction is toapproach him, and ask if he is looking for the American consulate, orthe English post-office, as the case may be, and if the stranger repliesin the affirmative, to offer to show the way. Nothing is mentioned aboutcharges, and the uninitiated new arrival naturally wonders what kind ofa place he has got into, when, upon offering what his experience inWestern countries has taught him to consider a most liberal recompense, the guide shrugs his shoulders, and tells you that he guided a gentlemanthe same distance yesterday and the gentleman gave - usually about doublewhat you are offering, no matter whether it be one cherik or half adozen. An afternoon ramble with a guide through Stamboul embraces theMuseum of Antiquities, the St. Sophia Mosque, the Costume Museum, thethousand and one columns, the Tomb of Sultan Mahmoud, the world-renownedStamboul Bazaar, the Pigeon Mosque, the Saraka Tower, and the Tomb ofSultan Suliman I. Passing over the Museum of Antiquities, which to theaverage observer is very similar to a dozen other institutions of thekind, the visitor very naturally approaches the portals of the St. SophiaMosque with expectations enlivened by having already read wondrousaccounts of its magnificence and unapproachable grandeur. But, let one'sfancy riot as it will, there is small fear of being disappointed in the"finest mosque in Constantinople. " At the door one either has to takeoff his shoes and go inside in stocking-feet, or, in addition to theentrance fee of two cheriks, "backsheesh" the attendant for the use ofa pair of overslippers. People with holes in their socks and young menwearing boots three sizes too small are the legitimate prey of theslipper-man, since the average human would yield up almost his lastpiastre rather than promenade around in St. Sophia with his big toeprotruding through his foot-gear like a mud-turtle's head, or run therisk of having to be hauled bare-footed to his hotel in a hack, from theimpossibility of putting his boots on again. Devout Mussulmans are bowingtheir foreheads down to the mat-covered floor in a dozen different partsof the mosque as we enter; tired-looking pilgrims from a distance arecurled up in cool corners, happy in the privilege of peacefully slumberingin the holy atmosphere of the great edifice they have, perhaps, travelledhundreds of miles to see; a dozen half-naked youngsters are clamberingabout the railings and otherwise disporting themselves after the mannerof unrestrained juveniles everywhere - free to gambol about to theirhearts' content, providing they abstain from making a noise that wouldinterfere with devotions. Upon the marvellous mosaic ceiling of the greatdome is a figure of the Virgin Mary, which the Turks have frequentlytried to cover up by painting it over; but paint as often as they will, the figure will not be concealed. On one of the upper galleries are the"Gate of Heaven " and "Gate of Hell, " the former of which the Turksonce tried their best to destroy; but every arm that ventured to raisea tool against it instantly became paralyzed, when the would-be destroyersnaturally gave up the job. In giving the readers these facts I earnestlyrequest them not to credit them to my personal account; for, althoughearnestly believed in by a certain class of Christian natives here, Iwould prefer the responsibility for their truthfulness to rest on thebroad shoulders of tradition rather than on mine. 

The Turks never call the attention of visitors to these reminders of thereligion of the infidels who built the structure, at such an enormousoutlay of money and labor, little dreaming that it would become one ofthe chief glories of the Mohammedan world. But the door-keeper who followsvisitors around never neglects to point out the shape of a human handon the wall, too high up to be closely examined, and volunteer theintelligence that it is the imprint of the hand of the first Sultan whovisited the mosque after the occupation of Constantinople by the Osmanlis. Perhaps, however, the Mussulman, in thus discriminating between thetraditions of the Greek residents and the alleged hand-mark of the firstSultan, is actuated by a laudable desire to be truthful so far as possible;for there is nothing improbable about the story of the hand-mark, inasmuchas a hole chipped in the masonry, an application of cement, and a pressureof the Sultan's hand against it before it hardened, give at once somethingfor visitors to look at through future centuries and shake their headsincredulously about. Not the least of the attractions are two monsterwax candles, which, notwithstanding their lighting up at innumerablefasts and feasts, for the guide does not know how many years past, arestill eight feet long by four in circumference; but more wonderful thanthe monster wax candles, the brass tomb of Constantine's daughter, setin the wall over one of the massive doors, the Sultan's hand-mark, thefigure of the Virgin Mary, and the green columns brought from Baalbec;above everything else is the wonderful mosaic-work. The mighty dome andthe whole vast ceiling are mosaic-work in which tiny squares of blue, green, and gold crystal are made to work out patterns. The squares usedare tiny particles having not over a quarter-inch surface; and the amountof labor and the expense in covering the vast ceiling of this tremendousstructure with incomputable myriads of these small particles fairlystagger any attempt at comprehension. 

An interesting hour can next be spent in the Costume Museum, where life-size figures represent the varied and most decidedly picturesque costumesof the different officials of the Ottoman capital in previous ages, thejanizaries, and natives of the different provinces. Some of the head-gearin vogue at Constantinople before the fez were tremendous affairs, butthe fez is certainly a step too far in the opposite direction, beingseveral degrees more uncomfortable than nothing in the broiling sun; thefez makes no pretence of shading the eyes, and excludes every particleof air from the scalp. The thousand and one columns are in an ancientGreek reservoir that formerly supplied all Stamboul with water. Thecolumns number but three hundred and thirty-four in reality, but eachcolumn is in three parts, and by stretching the point we have the fanciful" tbousand-and-one. " The reservoir is reached by descending a flight ofstone steps; it is filled in with earth up to the upper half of thesecond tier of columns, so that the lower tier is buried altogether. This filling up was done in the days of the janizaries, as it was foundthat those frisky warriors were carrying their well-known theory of"right being might and the Devil take the weakest" to the extent of robbingunprotected people who ventured to pass this vicinity after dark, andthen consigning them to the dark depths of the deserted reservoir. Thereservoir is now occupied during the day by a number of Jewish silk-weavers, who work here on account of the dampness and coolness being beneficialto the silk. The tomb of Mahmoud is next visited on the way to the Bazaar. The several coffins of the Sultan Mahmoud and his Sultana and princessesare surrounded by massive railings of pure silver; monster wax candlesare standing at the head and foot of each coffin, in curiously wroughtcandlesticks of solid silver that must weigh a hundred pounds each atleast; ranged around the room are silver caskets, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, in which rare illumined copies of the Koran are carefully kept, theattendant who opened one for my inspection using a silk pocket-handkerchiefto turn the leaves. The Stamboul Bazaar well deserves its renown, sincethere is nothing else of its kind in the whole world to compare with it. Its labyrinth of little stalls and shops if joined together in onestraight line would extend for miles; and a whole day might be spentquite profitably in wandering around, watching the busy scenes ofbargaining and manufacturing. Here, in this bewildering maze of buyingand selling, the peculiar life of the Orient can be seen to perfection;the "mysterious veiled lady" of the East is seen thronging the narrowtraffic-ways and seated in every stall; water-venders and venders ofcarpooses (water-melons) and a score of different eatables are meanderingthrough. Here, if your guide be an honest fellow, he can pilot you intostuffy little holes full of antique articles of every description, wheregenuine bargains can be picked up; or, if he be dishonest, and in leaguewith equally dishonest tricksters, whose places are antiquaries only inname, he can lead you where everything is basest imitation. In the formercase, if anything is purchased he comes in for a small and not undeservedcommission from the shopkeeper, and in the latter for perhaps as muchas thirty per cent. I am told that one of these guides, when escortinga party of tourists with plenty of money to spend and no knowledgewhatever of the real value or genuineness of antique articles, oftenmakes as much as ten or fifteen pounds sterling a day commission. 

On the way from the Bazaar we call at the Pigeon Mosque, so called onaccount of being the resort of thousands of pigeons, that have becomequite tame from being constantly fed by visitors and surrounded by humanbeings. A woman has charge of a store of seeds and grain, and visitorspurchase a handful for ten paras and throw to the pigeons, who flockaround fearlessly in the general scramble for the food. At any hour ofthe day Mussulman ladies may be seen here feeding the pigeons for theamusement of their children. From the Pigeon Mosque we ascend the SarakaTower, the great watch-tower of Stamboul, from the summit of which thenews of a fire in any part of the city is signalled, by suspending hugeframe-work balls covered with canvas from the ends of projecting polesin the day, and lights at night. Constant watch and ward is kept overthe city below by men snugly housed in quarters near the summit, who, in addition to their duties as watchmen, turn an honest cherik occasionallyby supplying cups of coffee to Visitors. 

No fairer site ever greeted human vision than the prospect from the Towerof Saraka. Stamboul, Galata, Pera, and Scutari, with every suburbanvillage and resort for many a mile around, can be seen to perfectionfrom the commanding height of Saraka Tower. The guide can here point outevery building of interest in Stamboul-the broad area of roof beneathwhich the busy scenes of Stamboul Bazaar are enacted from day to day, the great Persian khan, the different mosques, the Sultan's palaces atPera, the Imperial kiosks up the Bosphorus, the old Grecian aqueduct, along which the water for supplying the great reservoir of the thousandand one columns used to be conducted, the old city walls, and scores ofother interesting objects too numerous to mention here. On the oppositehill, across the Golden Horn, Galata Watch-tower points skyward abovethe mosques and houses of Galata and Pera. The two bridges connectingStamboul and Galata are seen thronged with busy traffic; a forest ofmasts and spars is ranged all along the Golden Horn; steamboats areplying hither and thither across the Bosphorus; the American cruiserQuinnebaug rides at anchor opposite the Imperial water-side palace; theblue waters of the Sea of Marmora and the Gulf of Ismidt are dotted hereand there with snowy sails or lined with the smoke of steamships; allcombined to make the most lovely panorama imaginable, and to which thecoast-wise hills and more lofty mountains of Asia Minor in the distanceform a most appropriate background. 

>From this vantage-point the guide will not neglect whetting the curiosityof his charge for more sight-seeing by pointing out everything that heimagines would be interesting; he points out a hill above Scutari, whence, he says, a splendid view can be had of "all Asia Minor, " and "we couldwalk there and back in half a day, or go quicker with horses or donkeys;"he reminds you that to-morrow is the day for the howling dervishes inScutari, and tells you that by starting at one we can walk out to theEnglish cemetery, and return to Scutari in time for the howling dervishesat four o'clock, and manages altogether to get his employer interestedin a programme, which, if carried out, would guarantee him employmentfor the next week. On the way back to Galata we visit the tomb of SuliemanI, the most magnificent tomb in Stamboul. Here, before the coffins ofSulieman I. , Sulieman II, and his brother Ahmed, are monster wax candles, that have stood sentry here for three hundred and fifty years; and themosaic dome of the beautiful edifice is studded with what are popularlybelieved to be genuine diamonds, that twinkle down on the curiouslygazing visitor like stars from a miniature heaven. The attendant tellsthe guide, in answer to an inquiry from me, that no one living knowswhether they are genuine diamonds or not, for never, since the day itwas finished, over three centuries and a half ago, has anyone beenpermitted to go up and examine them. The edifice was go perfectly andsolidly built in the beginning, that no repairs of any kind have everbeen necessary; and it looks almost like a new building to-day. 

Not being able to spare the time for visiting all the objects of interestenumerated by the guide, I elect to see the howling dervishes as themost interesting among them. Accordingly we take the ferry-boat acrossto Scutari on Thursday afternoon in time to visit the English cemeterybefore the dervishes begin their peculiar services. We pass through oneof the largest Mussulman cemeteries of Constantinople, a bewilderingarea of tombstones beneath a grove of dark cypresses, so crowded anddisorderly that the oldest gravestones seem to have been pushed down, or on one side, to make room for others of a later generation, and theseagain for still others. In happy comparison to the disordered area ofcrowded tombstones in the Mohammedan graveyard is the English cemetery, where the soldiers who died at the Scutari hospital during the Crimeanwar were buried, and the English residents of Constantinople now burytheir dead. The situation of the English cemetery is a charming spot, on a sloping bluff, washed by the waters of the Bosphorus, where therequiem of the murmuring waves is perpetually sung for the brave fellowsinterred there. An Englishman has charge; and after being in Turkey amonth it is really quite refreshing to visit this cemetery, and note thescrupulous neatness of the grounds. The keeper must be industry personified, for he scarcely permits a dead leaf to escape his notice; and the fourangels beaming down upon the grounds from the national monument erectedby England, in memory of the Crimean heroes, were they real visitorsfrom the better land, could doubtless give a good account of hisstewardship. 

The howling dervishes have already begun to howl as we open the portalsleading into their place of worship by the influence of a cherik placedin the open palm of a sable eunuch at the door; but it is only theoverture, for it is half an hour later when the interesting part of theprogramme begins. The first hour seems to be devoted to preliminarymeditations and comparatively quiet ceremonies; but the cruel-lookinginstruments of self-flagellation hanging on the wall, and a choice andcomplete assortment of drums and other noise-producing but unmelodiousinstruments, remind the visitor that he is in the presence of a peculiarpeople. Sheepskin mats almost cover the floor of the room, which is keptscrupulously clean, presumably to guard against the worshippers soilingtheir lips whenever they kiss the floor, a ceremony which they performquite frequently during the first hour; and everyone who presumes totread within that holy precinct removes his over-shoes, if he is wearingany, otherwise he enters in his stockings. At five o'clock the excitementbegins; thirty or forty men are ranged around one end of the room, bowingthemselves about most violently, and keeping time to the movements oftheir bodies with shouts of "Allah. Allah. " and then branching off intoa howling chorus of Mussulman supplications, that, unintelligible asthey are to the infidel ear, are not altogether devoid of melody in theexpression, the Turkish language abounding in words in which there is aworld of mellifluousness. A dancing dervish, who has been patientlyawaiting at the inner gate, now receives a nod of permission from thepriest, and, after laying aside an outer garment, waltzes nimbly intothe room, and straightway begins spinning round like a ballet-dancerin Italian opera, his arms extended, his long skirt forming a completecircle around him as he revolves, and his eyes fixed with a determinedgaze into vacancy. Among the howlers is a negro, who is six feet threeat least, not in his socks, but in the finest pair of under-shoes in theroom, and whether it be in the ceremony of kissing the floor, knockingforeheads against the same, kissing the hand of the priest, or in thehowling and bodily contortions, this towering son of Ham performs hispart with a grace that brings him conspicuously to the fore in thisrespect. But as the contortions gradually become more-violent, and thecry of "Allah akbar. Allah hai!" degenerates into violent grunts of "h-o-o-o-o-a-hoo-hoo, " the half-exhausted devotees fling aside everythingbut a white shroud, and the perspiration fairly streams off them, fromsuch violent exercise in the hot weather and close atmosphere of thesmall room. The exercises make rapid inroads upon the tall negro's powersof endurance, and he steps to one side and takes a breathing-spell offive minutes, after which he resumes his place again, and, in spite ofthe ever-increasing violence of both lung and muscular exercise, and theextra exertion imposed by his great height, he keeps it up heroicallyto the end. 

For twenty-five minutes by my watch, the one lone dancing dervish - whoappears to be a visitor merely, but is accorded the brotherly privilegeof whirling round in silence while the others howl-spins round and roundlike a tireless top, making not the slightest sound, spinning in a long, persevering, continuous whirl, as though determined to prove himselfholier than the howlers, by spinning longer than they can keep up theirhowling - a fair test of fanatical endurance, so to speak. One cannot helpadmiring the religious fervor and determination of purpose that impelthis lone figure silently around on his axis for twenty-five minutes, at a speed that would upset the equilibrium of anybody but a dancingdervish in thirty seconds; and there is something really heroic in themanner in which he at last suddenly stops, and, without uttering a soundor betraying any sense of dizziness whatever from the exercise, puts onhis coat again and departs in silence, conscious, no doubt, of being aholier person than all the howlers put together, even though they arestill keeping it up. As unmistakable signals of distress are involuntarilyhoisted by the violently exercising devotees, and the weaker ones quietlyfall out of line, and the military precision of the twists of body andbobbing and jerking of head begins to lose something of its regularity, the six "encouragers, " ranged on sheep-skins before the line of howlingmen, like non-commissioned officers before a squad of new recruits, increase their encouraging cries of "Allah. Allah akbar" as though fearfulthat the din might subside, on account of the several already exhaustedorgans of articulation, unless they chimed in more lustily and helpedto swell the volume. 

Little children now come trooping in, seeking with eager anticipationthe happy privilege of being ranged along the floor like sardines in atin box, and having the priest walk along their bodies, stepping fromone to the other along the row, and returning the same way, while twoassistants steady him by holding his hands. In the case of the smallerchildren, the priest considerately steps on their thighs, to avoidthrowing their internal apparatus out of gear; but if the recipient ofhis holy attentions is, in his estimation, strong enough to run the risk, he steps square on their backs, The little things jump up as sprightlyas may be, kiss the priest's hand fervently, and go trooping out of thedoor, apparently well pleased with the novel performance. Finally humannature can endure it no longer, and the performance terminates in a long, despairing wail of "Allah. Allah. Allah!" The exhausted devotees, soakedwet with perspiration, step forward, and receive what I take to be ratheran inadequate reward for what they have been subjecting themselves to -viz. , the privilege of kissing the priest's already much-kissed hand, and at 5. 45 P. M. The performance is over. I take my departure in timeto catch the six o'clock boat for Galata, well satisfied with the finestshow I ever saw for a cherik. I have already made mention of there beingmany beautiful sea-side places to which Constantinopolitans resort onSundays and holidays, and among them all there is no lovelier spot thanthe island of Prinkipo, one of the Prince's Islands group, situated sometwelve miles from Constantinople, down the Gulf of Ismidt. Shelton Bey(Colonel Shelton), an English gentleman, who superintends the Sultan'scannon-foundry at Tophana, and the well-known author of Shelton's "Mechanic's Guide, " owns the finest steam-yacht on the Bosphorus, andthree Sundays out of the five I remain here, this gentleman and hisexcellent lady kindly invite me to visit Prinkipo with them for the day. 

On the way over we usually race with the regular passenger steamer, andas the Bey's yacht is no plaything for size and speed, we generallymanage to keep close enough to amuse ourselves with the comments on thebeauty and speed of our little craft from the crowded deck of the otherboat. Sometimes a very distinguished person or two is aboard the yachtwith our little company, personages known to the Bey, who having arrivedon the passenger-boat, accept invitations for a cruise around the island, or to dine aboard the yacht as she rides at anchor before the town. Butthe advent of the " Americanish Velocipediste " and his glisteningmachine, a wonderful thing that Prinkipo never saw the like of before, creates a genuine sensation, and becomes the subject of a nine-days'wonder. Prinkipo is a delightful gossipy island, occupied during thesummer by the families of wealthy Constantinopolitans and leading businessmen, who go to and fro daily between the little island and the city onthe passenger-boats regularly plying between them, and is visited everySunday by crowds in search of the health and pleasure afforded by a day'souting. While here at Constantinople I received by mail from America aButcher spoke cyclometer, and on the second visit to Prinkipo I measuredthe road which has been made around half the island; the distance isfour English miles and a fraction. The road was built by refugees employedby the Sultan during the last Russo-Turkish war, and is a very good one;for part of the distance it leads between splendid villas, on the verandasof which are seen groups of the wealth and beauty of the Osmanli capital, Armenians, Greeks, and Turks - the latter ladies sometimes take the privilegeof dispensing with the yashmak during their visits to the comparativeseclusion of Prinkipo villas - with quite a sprinkling of English andEuropeans. The sort of impression made upon the imaginations of Prinkipoyoung ladies by the bicycle is apparent from the following comment madeby a bevy of them confidentially to Shelton Bey, and kindly written outby him, together with the English interpretation thereof. The Prinkipoladies' compliment to the first bicycle rider visiting their beautifulisland is: "O Bizdan kaydore ghyurulduzug em nezalcettt sadi bir dakikaulchum ghyuriorus nazaman bir dah backiorus O bittum gitmush. " (He glidesnoiselessly and gracefully past; we see him only for a moment; when welook again he is quite gone. ) The men are of course less poetical, theirideas running more to the practical side of the possibilities of the newox-rival, and they comment as follows: "Onum beyghir hich-bir-sheyyemiore hich-bir-shey ichmiore Inch yorumliore ma sheitan gibi ghiti-ore, "(His horse, he eats nothing, drinks nothing, never gets tired, and goeslike the very devil. ) It is but fair to add, however, that any boldOccidental contemplating making a descent on Prinkipo with a, "sociable"with a view to delightful moonlight rides with the fair; authors ofthe above poetic contribution will find himself "all at sea" upon, hisarrival, unless he brings a three-seated machine, so that the mamma canbe accommodated with a seat behind, since the daughters of Prinkiposociety never wander forth by moonlight, or any other light, unless thusaccompanied, or by some; equally staid and solicitous relative. 

For the Asiatic tour I have invented a "bicycle tent" - a handy contrivanceby which the bicycle is made to answer the place of tent poles. Thematerial used is fine, strong sheeting, that will roll up into a smallspace, and to make it thoroughly water-proof, I have dressed it withboiled linseed oil. My footgear henceforth will be Circassian moccasins, with the pointed toes sticking up like the prow of a Venetian galley. Ihave had a pair made to order by a native shoemaker in Galata, and, foreither walking or pedalling, they are ahead of any foot-gear I ever wore;they are as easy as a three-year-old glove, and last indefinitely, andfor fancifulness in appearance, the shoes of civilization are nowhere. Three days before starting out I receive friendly warnings from both theEnglish and American consul that Turkey in Asia is infested with brigands, the former going the length of saying that if he had the power he wouldrefuse me permission to meander forth upon so risky an undertaking. Ihave every confidence, however, that the bicycle will prove an effectualsafeguard against any undue familiarity on the part of these friskycitizens. Since reaching Constantinople the papers here have publishedaccounts of recent exploits accomplished by brigands near Eski Baba. Ihave little doubt but that more than one brigand was among my highlyinterested audiences there on that memorable Sunday. 

The Turkish authorities seem to have made themselves quite familiar withmy intentions, and upon making application for a teskere (Turkish passport)they required me to specify, as far as possible, the precise route Iintend traversing from Scutari to Ismidt, Angora, Erzeroum, and beyond, to the Persian frontier. An English gentleman who has lately travelledthrough Persia and the Caucasus tells me that the Persians are quiteagreeable people, their only fault being the one common failing of theEast: a disposition to charge whatever they think it possible to obtainfor anything. The Circassians seem to be the great bugbear in AsiaticTurkey. I am told that once I get beyond the country that these peoplerange over - who are regarded as a sort of natural and half-privilegedfreebooters - I shall be reasonably safe from molestation. It is a commonthing in Constantinople when two men are quarrelling for one to threatento give a Circassian a couple of medjedis to kill the other. The Circassianis to Turkey what the mythical "bogie" is to England; mothers threatenundutiful daughters, fathers unruly sons, and everybody their enemiesgenerally, with the Circassian, who, however, unlike the "bogie" of theEnglish household, is a real material presence, popularly understood tobe ready for any devilment a person may hire him to do. 

The bull-dog revolver, under the protecting presence of which I havetravelled thus far, has to be abandoned here at Constantinople, havingproved itself quite a wayward weapon since it came from the gunsmith'shands in Vienna, who seemed to have upset the internal mechanism in somemysterious manner while boring out the chambers a trifle to accommodateEuropean cartridges. My experience thus far is that a revolver has beenmore ornamental than useful; but I am now about penetrating far differentcountries to any I have yet traversed. Plenty of excellently finishedGerman imitations of the Smith & Wesson revolver are found in the magazinesof Constantinople; but, apart from it being the duty of every Englishmanor American to discourage, as far as his power goes, the unscrupulousnessof German manufacturers in placing upon foreign markets what are, as faras outward appearance goes, the exact counterparts of our own goods, forhalf the money, a genuine American revolver is a different weapon fromits would-be imitators, and I hesitate not to pay the price for thegenuine article. Remembering the narrow escape on several occasions ofhaving the bull-dog confiscated by the Turkish gendarmerie, and havingheard, moreover, in Constantinople, that the same class of officials inTurkey in Asia will most assuredly want to confiscate the Smith & Wessonas a matter of private speculation and enterprise, I obtain through theBritish consul a teskere giving me special permission to carry a revolver. Subsequent events, however, proved this precaution to be unnecessary, for a more courteous, obliging, and gentlemanly set of fellows, accordingto their enlightenment, I never met any where, than the governmentofficials of Asiatic Turkey. Were I to make the simple statement that Iam starting into Asia with a pair of knee-breeches that are worth fourteenEnglish pounds (about sixty-eight dollars) and offer no further explanation, I should, in all probability, be accused of a high order of prevarication. Nevertheless, such is the fact; for among other subterfuges to outwitpossible brigands, and kindred citizens, I have made cloth-covered buttonsout of Turkish liras (eighteen shillings English), and sewed them on inplace of ordinary buttons. Pantaloon buttons at $54 a dozen are a luxurythat my wildest dreams never soared to before, and I am afraid many athrifty person will condemn me for extravagance; but the "splendor"of the Orient demands it; and the extreme handiness of being able to cutoff a button, and with it buy provisions enough to load down a mule, would be all the better appreciated if one had just been released fromthe hands of the Philistines with nothing but his clothes - and buttons - andthe bicycle. With these things left to him, one could afford to regardthe whole matter as a joke, expensive, perhaps, but nevertheless a jokecompared with what might have been. The Constantinople papers haveadvertised me to start on Monday, August 10th, "direct from Scutari. "I have received friendly warnings from several Constantinople gentlemen, that a band of brigands, under the leadership of an enterprising chiefnamed Mahmoud Pehlivan, operating about thirty miles out of Scutari, have beyond a doubt received intelligence of this fact from spies herein the city, and, to avoid running direct into the lion's mouth, I decideto make the start from Ismidt, about twenty-five miles beyond theirrendezvous. A Greek gentleman, who is a British subject, a Mr. J. T. Corpi, whom I have met here, fell into the hands of this same gang, andbeing known to them as a wealthy gentleman, had to fork over 3, 000 ransom;and he says I would be in great danger of molestation in venturing fromScutari to Ismidt after my intention to do so has been published. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE START THROUGH ASIA. 

In addition to a cycler's ordinary outfit and the before-mentioned smallwedge tent I provide myself with a few extra spokes, a cake of tirecement, and an extra tire for the rear wheel. This latter, together withtwenty yards of small, stout rope, I wrap snugly around the front axle;the tent and spare underclothing, a box of revolver cartridges, and asmall bottle of sewing-machine oil are consigned to a luggage-carrierbehind; while my writing materials, a few medicines and small sundriesfind a repository in my Whitehouse sole-leather case on a Lamson carrier, which also accommodates a suit of gossamer rubber. 

The result of my study of the various routes through Asia is a determinationto push on to Teheran, the capital of Persia, and there spend theapproaching winter, completing my journey to the Pacific next season. 

Accordingly nine o'clock on Monday morning, August 10th, finds me aboardthe little Turkish steamer that plies semi-weekly between Ismidt and theOttoman capital, my bicycle, as usual, the centre of a crowd of wonderingOrientals. This Ismidt steamer, with its motley crowd of passengers, presents a scene that upholds with more eloquence than words Constantinople'sclaim of being the most cosmopolitan city in the world; and a casualobserver, judging only from the evidence aboard the boat, would pronounceit also the most democratic. There appears to be no first, second, orthird class; everybody pays the same fare, and everybody wanders at hisown sweet will into every nook and corner of the upper deck, percheshimself on top of the paddle-boxes, loafs on the pilot's bridge, orreclines among the miscellaneous assortment of freight piled up in aconfused heap on the fore-deck; in short, everybody seems perfectly freeto follow the bent of his inclinations, except to penetrate behind thescenes of the aftmost deck, where, carefully hidden from the rude gazeof the male passengers by a canvas partition, the Moslem ladies havetheir little world of gossip and coffee, and fragrant cigarettes. Everypublic conveyance in the Orient has this walled-off retreat, in whichOsmanli fair ones can remove their yashmaks, smoke cigarettes, and comportthemselves with as much freedom as though in the seclusion of theirapartments at home. 

Greek and Armenian ladies mingle with the main-deck passengers, however, the picturesque costumes of the former contributing not a little to thegeneral Oriental effect of the scene. The dress of the Armenian ladiesdiffers but little from Western costumes, and their deportment wouldwreathe the benign countenance of the Lord Chamberlain with a serenesmile of approval; but the minds and inclinations of the gentle Hellenicdames seem to run in rather a contrary channel. Singly, in twos, or incosey, confidential coteries, arm in arm, they promenade here and there, saying little to each other or to anybody else. By the picturesquenessof their apparel and their seemingly bold demeanor they attract tothemselves more than their just share of attention; but with well-feignedignorance of this they divide most of their time and attention betweenrolling cigarettes and smoking them. Their heads are bound with jauntysilk handkerchiefs; they wear rakish-looking short jackets, down theback of which their luxuriant black hair dangles in two tresses; but thecrowning masterpiece of their costume is that wonderful garment whichis neither petticoat nor pantaloons, and which can be most properlydescribed as "indescribable, " which tends to give the wearer rather anunfeminine appearance, and is not to be compared with the really sensibleand not unpicturesque nether garment of a Turkish lady. The male companionsof these Greek women are not a bit behind them in the matter of gaycolors and startling surprises of the Levantine clothier's art, for theylikewise are in all the bravery of holiday attire. There is quite anumber of them aboard, and they now appear at their best, for they aregoing to take part in wedding festivities at one of the little Greekvillages that nestle amid the vine-clad slopes along the coast - whitevillages, that from the deck of the moving steamer look as though theyhave been placed here and there by nature's artistic hand for the solepurpose of embellishing the lovely green frame-work that surrounds theblue waters of the Ismidt Gulf. Several of these merry-makers enliventhe passing hours with music and dancing, to the delight of a numerousaudience, while a second ever-changing but never-dispersing audience isgathered around the bicycle. The verbal comments and Solomon-like opinions, given in expressive pantomime, of this latter garrulous gatheringconcerning the machine and myself, I can of course but partly understand;but occasionally some wiseacre suddenly becomes inflated with the ideathat he has succeeded in unravelling the knotty problem, and forthwithproceeds to explain, for the edification of his fellow-passengers, themodus operandi of riding it, supplementing his words by the mostextraordinary gestures. The audience is usually very attentive and highlyinterested in these explanations, and may be considerably enlightenedby their self-constituted tutors, whose sole advantage over their auditors, so far as bicycles are concerned, consists simply in a belief in thesuperiority of their own particular powers of penetration. But to theonly person aboard the steamer who really does know anything at all aboutthe subject, the chief end of their exposition seems to be gained whenthey have duly impressed upon the minds of their hearers that the bicycleis to ride on, and that it goes at a rate of speed quite beyond thecomprehension of their - the auditors' - minds; "Bin, bin, bin. Chu, chu, chu. Haidi, haidi, haidi. " being repeated with a vehemence that isintended to impress upon them little less than flying-Dutchman speed. 

The deck of a Constantinople steamer affords splendid opportunity forcharacter study, and the Ismidt packet is no exception. Nearly everyperson aboard has some characteristic, peculiar and distinct from anyof the others. At intervals of about fifteen minutes a couple of Armenians, bare-footed, bare-legged, and ragged, clamber with much difficulty andscraping of shins over a large pile of empty chicken-crates to visit oneparticular crate. Their collective baggage consists of a thin, half-grownchicken tied by both feet to a small bag of barley, which is to prepareit for the useful but inglorious end of all chickendom. They haveimprisoned their unhappy charge in a crate that is most difficult to getat. Why they didn't put it in one of the nearer crates, what their objectis in climbing up to visit it so frequently, and why they always gotogether, are problems of the knottiest kind. 

A far less difficult riddle is the case of a middle-aged man, whosecostume and avocation explain nothing, save that he is not an Osmanli. He is a passenger homeward bound to one of the coast villages, andhe constantly circulates among the crowd with a basket of water-melons, which he has brought aboard "on spec, " to vend among his fellow-passengers, hoping thereby to gain sufficient to defray the cost of his passage. Seated on whatever they can find to perch upon, near the canvas partition, all unmoved by the gay and stirring scenes before them, is a group ofMussulman pilgrims from some interior town, returning from a pilgrimageto Stamboul - fine-looking Osmanli graybeards, whose haughty reserve noteven the bicycle is able to completely overcome, although it proves moreefficacious in subduing it and waking them out of their habitualcontemplative attitude than anything else aboard. Two of these men areof magnificent physique; their black eyes, rather full lips, and swarthyskins betraying Arab blood. In addition to the long daggers and antiquatedpistols so universally worn in the Orient, they are armed with fine, large, pearl-handled revolvers, and they sit cross-legged, smokingcigarette after cigarette in silent meditation, paying no heed even tothe merry music and the dancing of the Greeks. 

At Jelova, the first village the steamer halts at, a coupleof zaptiehscome aboard with two prisoners whom they are conveying to Ismidt. Thesemen are lower-class criminals, and their wretched appearance betrays theutter absence of hygienic considerations on the part of the Turkishprison authorities; they evidently have had no cause to complain of anyharsh measures for the enforcement of personal cleanliness. Their foot-gearconsists of pieces of rawhide, fastened on with odds and ends of string;and pieces of coarse sacking tacked on to what were once clothes barelysuffice to cover their nakedness; bare-headed - their bushy hair has notfor months felt the smoothing influence of a comb, and their hands andfaces look as if they had just endured a seven-years' famine of soap andwater. This latter feature is a sure sign that they are not Turks, forprisoners are most likely allowed full liberty to keep themselves clean, and a Turk would at least have come out into the world with a clean face. 

The zaptiehs squat down together and smoke cigarettes, and allow theircharges full liberty to roam wheresoever they will while on board, andthe two prisoners, to all appearances perfectly oblivious of their rags, filth, and the degradation of their position, mingle freely with thepassengers; and, as they move about, asking and answering questions, Ilook in vain among the latter for any sign of the spirit of socialPharisaism that in a Western crowd would have kept them at a distance. Both these men have every appearance of being the lowest of criminals -men capable of any deed in the calendar within their mental and physicalcapacities; they may even be members of the very gang I am taking thissteamer to avoid; but nobody seems to either pity or condemn them;everybody acts toward them precisely as they act toward each other. Perhaps in no other country in the world does this social and moralapathy obtain among the masses to such a degree as in Turkey. 

While we lie to for a few minutes to disembark passengers at the villagewhere the before-mentioned wedding festivities are in progress, four ofthe seven imperturbable Osmanlis actually arise from the one positionthey have occupied unmoved since coming aboard, and follow me to theforedeck, in order to be present while I explain the workings and mechanismof the bicycle to some Arnienian students of Roberts College, who canspeak a certain amount of English. Having listened to my explanationswithout understanding a word, and, without condescending to question theArmenians, they survey the machine some minutes in silence and thenreturn to their former positions, their cigarettes, and their meditations, paying not the slightest heed to several caique loads of Greek merry-makerswho have rowed out to meet the new arrivals, and are paddling around thesteamer, filling the air with music. Finding that there is someone aboardthat can converse with me, the Greeks, desirous of seeing the bicyclein action, and of introducing a novelty into the festivities of theevening, ask me to come ashore and be their guest until the arrival ofthe next Ismiclt boat - a matter of three days. Offer declined with thanks, but not without reluctance, for these Greek merry-makings are well worthseeing. The Ismidt packet, like everything else in Turkey, moves at asnail's pace, and although we got under way in something less than anhour after the advertised starting-time, which, for Turkey, is quitecommendable promptness, and the distance is but fifty-five miles, wecall at a number of villages en route, and it is 6 P. M. When we tie upat the Ismidt wharf. 

"Five piastres, Effendi, " says the ticket-collector, as, after waitingtill the crowd has passed the gang-plank, I follow with the bicycle andhand him my ticket. 

"What are the five piastres for. " I ask. For answer, he points' to mywheel. "Baggage, " I explain. 

"Baggage yoke, cargo, " he replies; and I have to pay it. The fact is, that, never having seen a bicycle before, he don't know whether it iscargo or baggage; but whenever a Turkish official has no precedent tofollow, he takes care to be on the right side in case there is any moneyto be collected; otherwise he is not apt to be so particular. This is, however, rather a matter of private concern than of zealousness in theperformance of his official duties; the possibilities of peculation areever before him. 

While satisfying the claim of the ticket-collector a deck-hand comesforward and, pointing to the bicycle, blandly asks me for backsheesh. He asks, not because he has put a finger to the machine, or been askedto do so, but, being a thoughtful, far-sighted youth, he is looking outfor the future. The bicycle is something he never saw on his boat before;but the idea that these things may now become common among the passengerswanders through his mind, and that obtaining backsheesh on this particularoccasion will establish a precedent that may be very handy hereafter;so he makes a most respectful salaam, calls me "Bey Effendi, " andsmilingly requests two piastres backsheesh. After him comes the passportofficer, who, besides the teskeri for myself, demands a special passportfor the machine. He likewise is in a puzzle (it don't take much, by theby, to puzzle the brains of a Turkish official), because the bicycle issomething he has had no previous dealings with; but as this is a matterin which finances play no legitimate part - though probably his demand fora passport is made for no other purpose than that of getting backsheesh - avigorous protest, backed up by the unanimous, and most certainly vociferous, support of a crowd of wharf-loafers, and my fellow-passengers, who, having disembarked, are waiting patiently for me to come and ride downthe street, either overrules or overawes the officer and secures myrelief. Impatient at consuming a whole day in reaching Ismidt, I havebeen thinking of taking to the road immediately upon landing, andcontinuing till dark, taking my chances of reaching some suitable stopping-place for the night. But the good people of Ismidt raise their voicesin protest against what they professedly regard as a rash and dangerousproposition. As I evince a disposition to override their well-meantinterference and pull out, they hurriedly send for a Frenchman, who canspeak sufficient English to make himself intelligible. Speaking forhimself, and acting as interpreter in echoing the words and sentimentsof the others, the Frenchman straightway warns me not to start into theinterior so late in the day, and run the risk of getting benighted inthe brush; for "Much very bad people, very bad people! are betweenIsmidt and Angora; Circassians plenty, " he says, adding that the worstcharacters are near Ismidt, and that the nearer I get to Angora thebetter I shall find the people. As by this time the sun is already settingbehind the hills, I conclude that an early start in the morning will, after all, be the most sensible course. 

During the last Russo-Turkish war thousands of Circassian refugeesmigrated to this part of Asia Minor. Having a restless, roving disposition, that unfits them for the laborious and uneventful life of a husbandman, many of them remain even to the present day loafers about the villages, maintaining themselves nobody seems to know how. The belief appears tobe unanimous, however, that they are capable of any deviltry under thesun, and that, while their great specialty and favorite occupation isstealing horses, if this becomes slack or unprofitable, or even for thesake of a little pleasant variety, these freebooters from the Caucasushave no hesitation about turning highwaymen whenever a tempting occasionoffers. All sorts of advice about the best way to avoid being robbed isvolunteered by the people of Ismidt. My watch-chain, L. A. W. Badge, andeverything that appears of any value, they tell me, must be kept strictlyout of sight, so as not to excite the latent cupidity of such Circassiansas I meet on the road or in the villages. Some advocate the plan ofadorning my coat with Turkish official buttons, shoulder-straps, andtrappings, to make myself, look like a government officer; others thinkit would be best to rig myself up as a full-blown zaptieh, with whom, of course, neither Circassian nor any other guilty person would attemptto interfere. To these latter suggestions I point out that, while theyare very good, especially the zaplieh idea, so far as warding offCircassians is concerned, my adoption of a uniform would most certainlyget me into hot water with the military authorities of every town andvillage, owing to my ignorance of the vernacular, and cause me no endof vexatious delay. To this the quick-witted Frenchman replies by atonce offering to go with me to the resident pasha, explain the matterto him, and get a letter permitting me to wear the uniform; which offerI gently but firmly decline, being secretly of the opinion that theseexcessive precautions are all unnecessary. From the time I left HungaryI have been warned so persistently of danger ahead, and have so far metnothing really dangerous, that I am getting sceptical about there beinganything like the risk people seem to think. Without being blind to thefact that there is a certain amount of danger in travelling alone througha country where it is the universal custom either to travel in companyor to take a guard, I feel quite confident that the extreme novelty ofmy conveyance will make so profound an impression on the Asiatic mindthat, even did they know that my buttons are gold coins of the realm, they would hesitate seriously to molest me. From past observations amongpeople seeing the bicycle ridden for the first time, I believe that witha hundred yards of smooth road it is quite possible for a cycler to ridehis way into the good graces of the worst gang of freebooters in Asia. 

Having decided to remain here over-night, I seek the accommodation of arudely comfortable hotel, kept by an Armenian, where, at the supper-table, I am first made acquainted with the Asiatic dish called "pillau, " thatis destined to form no inconsiderable part of my daily bill of fare forseveral weeks. Pillau is a dish that is met - with in one disguise oranother all over Asia. With a foundation of boiled rice, it receives avariety of other compounds, the nature of which will appear as they enterinto my daily experiences. In deference to the limited knowledge of eachother's language possessed by myself and the proprietor, I am invitedinto the cookhouse and permitted to take a peep at the contents of severaldifferent pots and kettles simmering over a slow fire in a sort of bricktrench, to point out to the waiter such dishes as I think I shall like. Failing to find among the assortment any familiar acquaintances, I trythe pillau, and find it quite palatable, preferring it to anything elsethe house affords. 

Our friend the Frenchman is quite delighted at the advent of a bicyclein Ismidt, for in his younger days, he tells me with much enthusiasm, he used to be somewhat partial to whirling wheels himself; and when hefirst came here from France, some eighteen years ago, he actually broughtwith him a bone-shaker, with which, for the first summer, he was wontto surprise the natives. This relic of by-gone days has been stowed awayamong a lot of old traps ever since, all but forgotten; but the appearanceof a mounted wheelman recalls it to memory, and this evening, in honorof my visit, it is brought once more to light, its past history explainedby its owner, and its merits and demerits as a vehicle in comparisonwith my bicycle duly discussed. The bone-shaker has wheels heavy enoughfor a dog-cart; the saddle is nearly all gnawed away by mice, and itpresents altogether so antiquated an appearance that it seems a relicrather of a past century than of a past decade. Its owner assays to takea ride on it; but the best he can do is to wabble around a vacant spacein front of the hotel, the awkward motions of the old bone-shaker affordingintense amusement to the crowd. After supper this chatty and entertaininggentleman brings his wife, a rotund, motherly-looking person, to see thebicycle; she is a Levantine Greek, and besides her own lingua franca, her husband has improved her education to the extent of a smattering ofrather misleading English. Desiring to be complimentary in return formy riding back and forth a few times for her special benefit, the ladycomes forward as I dismount and, smiling complacently upon me, remarks, "How very grateful you ride, monsieur!" and her husband and tutor, desiring also to say something complimentary, echoes, " Much grateful - very. "

The Greeks seem to be the life and poetry of these sea-coast places onthe Ismidt gulf. My hotel faces the water; and for hours after dark ahalf-dozen caique-loads of serenaders are paddling about in front of thetown, making quite an entertaining concert in the silence of the night, the pleasing effect being heightened by the well-known softening influenceof the water, and not a little enhanced by a display of rockets and Romancandles. Earlier in the evening, while taking a look at Ismidt and thesurrounding scenery, in company with a few sociable natives, who pointout beauty-spots in the surrounding landscape with no little enthusiasm, I am impressed with the extreme loveliness of the situation. The townitself, now a place of thirteen thousand inhabitants, is the Nicomediaof the ancients. It is built in the form of a crescent, facing the sea;the houses, many of them painted white, are terraced upon the slopes ofthe green hills, whose sides and summits are clothed with verdure, andwhose bases are laved by the blue waves of the gulf, which here, at theupper extremity, narrows to about a mile and a half in width; whitevillages dot the green mountain-slopes on the opposite shore, prominentamong them being the Armenian town of Bahgjadjik, where for a number ofyears has been established an American missionary-school, a branch, Ithink, of Roberts College. Every mile of visible country, whether gentlysloping or more rugged and imposing, is green with luxuriant vegetation, and the waters of the gulf are of that deep-blue color peculiar tomountain-locked inlets; the bright green hills, the dancing blue waters, and the white painted villages combine to make a scene so lovely in thechastened light of early eventide that, after the Bosporus, I think Inever saw a place more beautiful. Besides the loveliness of the situation, the little mountain-sheltered inlet makes an excellent anchorage forshipping; and during the late war, at the well-remembered crisis whenthe Russian armies were bearing down on Constantinople and the Britishfleet received the famous order to pass through the Dardanelles with orwithout the Sultan's permission, the head-waters of the Ismidt gulfbecame, for several months, the rendezvous of the ships. 

CHAPTER XI. 

ON THROUGH ASIA. 

Early dawn on Tuesday morning finds me already astir and groping aboutthe hotel in search of some of the slumbering employees to let me out. Pocketing a cold lunch in lieu of eating breakfast, I mount and wheeldown the long street leading out of the eastern end of town. On the wayout I pass a party of caravan-teamsters who have just arrived with acargo of mohair from Angora; their pack-mules are fairly festooned withstrings of bells of all sizes, from a tiny sleigh-bell to a solemn-voicedsheet-iron affair the size of a two-gallon jar. These bells make an awfuldin; the men are unpacking the weary animals, shouting both at the mulesand at each other, as if their chief object were to create as much noiseas possible; but as I wheel noiselessly past, they cease their unpackingand their shouting, as if by common consent, and greet me with thatsilent stare of wonder that men might be supposed to accord to anapparition from another world. For some few miles a rough macadam roadaffords a somewhat choppy but nevertheless ridable surface, and furtherinland it develops into a fairly good roadway, where a dismount isunnecessary for several miles. The road leads along a depression betweena continuation of the mountain-chains that inclose the Ismidt gulf, whichnow run parallel with my road on either hand at the distance of a coupleof miles, some of the spurs on the south range rising to quite an imposingheight. For four miles out of Ismidt the country is flat and swampy;beyond that it changes to higher ground; and the swampy flat, the higherground, and the mountain-slopes are all covered with timber and a densegrowth of underbrush, in which wild-fig shrubs and the homely but beautifulferns of the English commons, the Missouri Valley woods, and the Californiafoot-hills, mingle their respective charms, and hob-nob with scrub-oak, chestnut, walnut, and scores of others. The whole face of the countryis covered with this dense thicket, and the first little hamlet I passon the road is nearly hidden in it, the roofs of the houses being barelyvisible above the green sea of vegetation. Orchards and little patchesof ground that have been cleared and cultivated are hidden entirely, andone cannot help thinking that if this interminable forest of brushwoodwere once to get fairly ablaze, nothing could prevent it from destroyingeverything these villagers possess. 

A foretaste of what awaits me farther in the interior is obtained evenwithin the first few hours of the morning, when a couple of horsemencanter at my heels for miles; they seem delighted beyond measure, andtheir solicitude for my health and general welfare is quite affecting. When I halt to pluck some blackberries, they solemnly pat their stomachsand shake their heads in chorus, to make me understand that blackberriesare not good things to eat; and by gestures they notify me of bad placesin the road which are yet out of sight ahead. Eude mehanax, now calledkhans, occupy little clearings by the roadside, at intervals of a fewmiles; and among the habitues congregated there I notice several of theCircassian refugees on whose account friends at Ismidt and Constantinoplehave shown themselves so concerned for my safety. 

They are dressed in the long Cossack coats of dark cloth peculiar to theinhabitants of the Caucasus; two rows of bone or metal cartridge-casesadorn their breast, being fitted into flutes or pockets made for them;they wear either top boots or top bootlegs, and the counterpart of myown moccasins; and their headdress is a tall black lamb's-wool turban, similar to the national headgear of the Persians. They are by far thebest-dressed and most respectable-looking men one sees among the groups;for while the majority of the natives are both ragged and barefooted, Idon't remember ever seeing Circassians either. To all outward appearancesthey are the most trustworthy men of them all; but there is really moredeviltry concealed beneath the smiling exterior of one of these homelessmountaineers from Circassia than in a whole village of the less likely-looking natives here, whose general cutthroat appearance - an effectproduced, more than anything else, by the universal custom of wearingall the old swords, knives, anil pistols they can get hold of-reallycounts for nothing. In picturesqueness of attire some of these khanloafers leave nothing to be desired; and although I am this morningwearing Igali's cerulean scarf as a sash, the tri-colored pencil stringof Servia around my neck, and a handsome pair of Circassian moccasins, I ain absolutely nowhere by the side of many a native here whose entirewardrobe wouldn't fetch half a mcdjedie in a Galata auction-room. Thegreat light of Central Asian hospitality casts a glimmer even up intothis out-of-the-way northwestern corner of the continent, though it seemsto partake more of the Nevada interpretation of the word than fartherin the interior. Thrice during the forenoon I am accosted with theinvitation "mastic? cogniac? coffee. " by road-side klian-jees or theircustomers who wish me to stop and let them satisfy their consumingcuriosity at my novel bagar (horse), as many of them jokingly allude toit. Beyond these three beverages and the inevitable nargileh, thesewayside khans provide nothing; vishner syrup (a pleasant extract of thevishner cherry; a spoonful in a tumbler of water makes a most agreeableand refreshing sherbet), which is my favorite beverage on the road, beingan inoffensive, non-intoxicating drink, is not in sufficient demand amongthe patrons of the khans to justify keeping it in stock. An ancientbowlder causeway traverses the route I am following, hut the blocks ofstone composing it have long since become misplaced and scattered aboutin confusion, making it impassable for wheeled vehicles; and the naturaldirt-road alongside it is covered with several inches of dust which iscontinually being churned up by mule-caravans bringing mohair from Angoraand miscellaneous merchandise from Ismidt. Camel-caravans make smoothtracks, but they seldom venture to Ismidt at this time of the year, Iam told, on account of the bellicose character of the mosquitoes thatinhabit this particular region; their special mode of attack being toinvade the camels' sensitive nostrils, which drives these patient beastsof burden to the last verge of distraction, sometimes even worrying themto death. Stopping for dinner at the village of Sabanja, the scenesfamiliar in connection with a halt for refreshments in the Balkan Peninsulaare enacted; though for bland and childlike assurance there is nocomparison between the European Turk and his brother in Asia Minor. Morethan one villager approaches me during the few minutes I am engaged ineating dinner, and blandly asks me to quit eating and let him see meride; one of them, with a view of putting it out of my power to refuse, supplements his request with a few green apples which no European couldeat without bringing on an attack of cholera morbus, but which Asiaticsconsume with impunity. After dinner I request the proprietor to save mefrom the madding crowd long enough to round up a few notes, which heattempts to do by locking me in a room over the stable. In less than tenminutes the door is unlocked, and in walks the headman of the village, making a most solemn and profound salaam as he enters. He has searchedout a man who fought with the English in the Crimea, according to his- the man's-own explanation, and who knows a few words of Frank languageand has brought him along to interpret. Without the slightest hesitationhe asks me to leave off writing and come down and ride, in order thathe may see the performance, and - he continues, artfully - that he may judgeof the comparative merits of a horse and a bicycle. 

This peculiar trait of the Asiatic character is further illustratedduring the afternoon in the case of a caravan leader whom I meet on anunridable stretch of road. "Bin! bin!" says this person, as soon ashis mental faculties grasp the idea that the bicycle is something toride on. "Mimlcin, deyil; fenna yole; duz yolo lazim " (impossible; badroad; good road necessary), I reply, airing my limited stock of Turkish. Nothing daunted by this answer, the man blandly requests me to turn aboutand follow his caravan until ridable road is reached - a good mile - inorder that he may be enlightened. It is, perhaps, superfluous to addthat, so far as I know, this particular individual's ideas of 'cyclingare as hazy and undefined to-day as they ever were. 

The principal occupation of the Sabanjans seems to be killing time; orperhaps waiting for something to turn up. Apple and pear-orchards arescattered about among the brush, looking utterly neglected; they are oldtrees mostly, and were planted by the more enterprising ancestors of thepresent owners, who would appear to be altogether unworthy of theirsires, since they evidently do nothing in the way of trimming and pruning, but merely accept such blessings as unaided nature vouchsafes to bestowupon them. Moss-grown gravestones are visible here and there amid thethickets; the graveyards are neither protected by fence nor shorn ofbrush; in short, this aggressive undergrowth appears to be altogethertoo much for the energies of the Sabanjans; it seems to be encroachingupon them from every direction, ruthlessly pursuing them even to theirvery door-sills; like Banquo's ghost, it will not down, and the peoplehave evidently retired discouraged from the contest. Higher up on themountain-slopes the underbrush gives place to heavier timber, and smallclearings abound, around which the unsubdued forest stands like a solidwall of green, the scene reminding one quite forcibly of backwoodsclearings in Ohio; and were it not for the ancient appearance of theSabanja minarets, the old bowlder causeway, and other evidences ofdeclining years, one might easily imagine himself in a new country insteadof the cradle of our race. 

At Sabanja the wagon-road terminates, and my way becomes execrable beyondanything I ever encountered; it leads over a low mountain-pass, followingthe track of the ancient roadway, that on the acclivity of the mountainhas been torn up and washed about, and the stone blocks scattered hereand piled up there by the torrents of centuries, until it would seem tohave been the sport and plaything of a hundred Kansas cyclones. Boundabout and among this disorganized mass, caravans have picked their wayover the pass from the first dawn of commercial intercourse; followingthe same trail year after year, the stepping-places have come to resemblethe steps of a rude stairway. From the summit of the pass is obtained acomprehensive view of the verdure-clad valley; here and there whiteminarets are seen protruding above the verdant area, like lighthousesfrom a green sea; villages dot the lower slopes of the mountains, whilea lake, covering half the width of the valley for a dozen miles, glimmersin the mid-day sun, making altogether a scene that in some countrieswould long since have been immortalized on canvas or in verse. The descentis even rougher, if anything, than the western side, but it leads downinto a tiny valley that, if situated near a large city, would resoundwith the voices of merry-makers the whole summer long. The undergrowthof this morning's observations has entirely disappeared; wide-spreadingchestnut and grand old sycamore trees shade a circumscribed area ofvelvety greensward and isolated rocks; a tiny stream, a tributary of theSackaria, meanders along its rocky bed, and forest-clad mountains toweralmost perpendicularly around the charming little vale save one narrowoutlet to the east. There is not a human being in sight, nor a sound tobreak the silence save the murmuring of the brook, as I fairly clamberdown into this little sylvan retreat; but a wreath of smoke curling abovethe trees some distance from the road betrays the presence of man. Thewhole scene vividly calls to mind one of those marvellous mountain-retreatsin which writers of banditti stories are wont to pitch their heroes'silken tent - no more appropriate rendezvous for a band of story-bookfree-booters could well be imagined. 

Short stretches of ridable mule-paths are found along this valley as Ifollow the course of the little stream eastward; they are by no meanscontinuous, by reason of the eccentric wanderings of the rivulet; butafter climbing the rough pass one feels thankful for even small favors, and I plod along, now riding, now walking, occasionally passing littleclusters of mud huts and meeting with pack animals en route to Ismidtwith the season's shearing of mohair. "Alia Franga!" is the greeting Iam now favored with, instead of the "Ah, I'Anglais. " of Europe, as Ipass people on the road; and the bicycle is referred to as an araba, thename the natives give their rude carts, and a name which they seem tothink is quite appropriate for anything with wheels. 

Following the course of the little tributary for several miles, crossingand recrossing it a number of times, I finally emerge with it into thevalley of Sackaria. There are some very good roads down this valley, which is narrow, and in places contracts to but little more than a mereneck between the mountains. At one of the narrowest points the mountainspresent an almost perpendicular face of rock and here are the remnantsof an ancient stonewall reputed to have been built by the Greeks, somewhereabout the twelfth century in anticipation of an invasion of the Turksfrom the south. The wall stretches across the valley from mountain toriver, and is quite a massive affair; an archway has been cut throughit for the passage of caravans. Soon after passing through this openingI am favored with the company of a horseman, who follows me for threeor four miles, and thoughtfully takes upon himself the office of tellingme when to bin and when not to bin, according as he thinks the roadsuitable for 'cycling or not, until he discovers that his gratuitousadvice produces no visible effect on my movements, when he desists andfollows along behind in silence like a sensible fellow. About five o'clockin the afternoon I cross the Sackaria on an old stone bridge, and halfan hour later roll into Geiveh, a large village situated in the middleof a triangular valley about seven miles in width. My cyclometer showsa trifle over forty miles from Ismidt; it has been a variable fortymiles; I shall never forget the pass over the old causeway, the view ofthe Sabanja Valley from the summit, nor the lovely little retreat on theeastern side. 

Trundling through the town in quest of a khan, I am soon surrounded bya clamorous crowd; and passing the house or office of the mudir or headmanof the place, that person sallies forth, and, after ascertaining thecause of the commotion, begs me to favor the crowd and himself by ridinground a vacant piece of ground hard by. After this performance, arespectable-looking man beckons me to follow him, and he takes me - notto his own house to be his guest, for Geiveh is too near Europe for thissort of thing - to a khan kept by a Greek with a mote in one eye, where a"shake down" on the floor, a cup of coffee or a glass of vishner isobtainable, and opposite which another Greek keeps an eating-house. Thereis no separate kitchen in this latter establishment as in the one atIsrnidt; one room answers for cooking, eating, nargileh-smoking, coffee-sipping, and gossiping; and while I am eating, a curious crowd watchesmy every movement with intense interest. Here, as at Ismidt, I am requestedto examine for myself the contents of several pots. Most of them containa greasy mixture of chopped meat and tomatoes stewed together, with novisible difference between them save in the sizes of the pieces of meat;but one vessel contains pillau, and of this and some inferior red wineI make my supper. Prices for eatables are ridiculously low; I hand hima cherik for the supper; he beckons me out of the back door, and there, with none save ourselves to witness the transaction, he counts me outtwo piastres change, which left him ten centa for the supper. He hasprobably been guilty of the awful crime of charging me about threefarthings over the regular price, and was afraid to venture upon soiniquitous a proceeding in the public room lest the Turks should perchancedetect him in cheating an Englishman, and revenge the wrong by makinghim feed me for nothing. It rains quite heavily during the night, andwhile waiting for it to dry up a little in the morning, the Geivehitesvoluntarily tender me much advice concerning the state of the road ahead, being governed in their ideas according to their knowledge of a 'cycler'smountain-climbing ability. By a round dozen of men, who penetrate intomy room in a body ere I am fairly dressed, and who, after solemnlysalaaming in chorus, commence delivering themselves of expressive pantomimeand gesticulations, I am led to understand that the road from Geiveh toTereklu is something fearful for a bicycle. One fat old Turk, undertakingto explain it more fully, after the others have exhausted their knowledgeof sign language, swells himself up like an inflated toad and imitatesthe labored respiration of a broken-winded horse in order to duly impressupon my mind the physical exertion I may expect to put forth in "riding"-healso paws the air with his right foot-over the mountain-range that loomsup like an impassable barrier three miles east of the town. The Turksas a nation have the reputation of being solemn-visaged, imperturbablepeople, yet one occasionally finds them quite animated and "Frenchy"in their behavior - the bicycle may, however, be in a measure responsiblefor this. The soil around Geiveh is a red clay that, after a shower, clings to the rubber tires of the bicycle as though the mere resemblancein color tended to establish a bond of sympathy between them that nothingcould overcome, I pass the time until ten o'clock in avoiding the crowdthat has swarmed the khan since early dawn, and has been awaiting withAsiatic patience ever since. At ten o'clock I win the gratitude of athousand hearts by deciding to start, the happy crowd deserting half-smokednargilehs, rapidly swallowing tiny cups of scalding-hot coffee in theiranxiety lest I vault into the saddle at the door of the khan and whiskout of their sight in a moment - an idea that is flitting through theimaginative mind of more than one Turk present, as a natural result ofthe stories his wife has heard from his neighbor's wife, whose sister, from the roof of her house, saw me ride around the vacant space at themudir's request yesterday. The Oriental imagination of scores of wonderingvillagers has been drawn upon to magnify that modest performance into afeat that fills the hundreds who didn't see it with the liveliestanticipations, and a murmuring undercurrent of excitement thrills thecrowd as the word goes round that I am about to start. A minority of thepeople learned yesterday that I wouldn't ride across the stones, water-ditches, and mud-holes of the village streets, and these at once leadthe way, taking upon themselves the office of conducting me to the roadleading to the Kara Su Pass; while the less enlightened majority presson behind, the more restless spirits worrying me to ride, those of morepatient disposition maintaining a respectful silence, but wondering whyon earth I am walking. 

The road they conduct me to is another of those ancient stone causewaysthat traverse this section of Asia Minor in all directions. This one andseveral others I happen to come across are but about three feet wide, and were evidently built for military purposes by the more enterprisingpeople who occupied Constantinople and the adjacent country before theTurks-narrow stone pathways built to facilitate the marching of armiesduring the rainy season when the natural ground hereabout is all butimpassable. These stone roads were probably built during the Byzantineoccupation. Fairly smooth mule-paths lead along-side this relic ofdeparted greatness and energy, and the warm sun having dried the surface, I mount and speed away from the wondering crowd, and in four miles reachthe foot of the Kara Su Pass. From this spot I can observe a smallcaravan, slowly picking its way down the mountain; the animals aresometimes entirely hidden behind rocks, as they follow the windings andtwistings of the trail down the rugged slope which the old Turk thismorning thought would make me puff to climb. 

A little stream called the Kara Su, or black water, comes dancing outof a rocky avenue near by; and while I am removing my foot-gear to fordit, I am joined by several herdsmen who are tending flocks of thecelebrated Angora goats and the peculiar fat-tailed sheep of the East, which are grazing on neighboring knolls. These gentle shepherds are notoverburdened with clothing, their nakedness being but barely covered;but they wear long sword-knives and old flint-lock, bell-mouthed horse-pistols that give them a ferocious appearance that seems strangely atvariance with their peaceful occupation. They gather about me with afamiliarity that impresses me anything but favorably toward them; theycritically examine my clothing from helmet to moccasins, eying my variousbelongings wistfully, tapping my leather case, and pinching the rearpackage to try and ascertain the nature of its contents. I gather fromtheir remarks about "para " (a term used in a general sense for money, as well as for the small coin of that name), as they regard the leathercase with a covetous eye, that they are inclined to the opinion that itcontains money; and there is no telling the fabulous wealth their untutoredminds are associating with the supposed treasure-chest of a Frank whorides a silver "araba. " Evidently these fellows have never heard of thetenth commandment; or, having heard of it, they have failed to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it for the improvement of their moralnatures; for covetousness beams forth from every lineament of their facesand every motion of their hands. Seeing this, I endeavor to win themfrom the moral shackles of their own gloomy minds by pointing out thebeautiful mechanism of my machine; I twirl the pedals and show them howperfect are the bearings of the rear wheel; I pinch the rubber tire toshow them that it is neither iron nor wood, and call their attention tothe brake, fully expecting in this usually winsome manner to fill themwith gratitude and admiration, and make them forget all about my baggageand clothes. But these fellows seem to differ from those of theircountrymen I left but a short time ago; my other effects interest themfar more than the wheel does, and one of them, after wistfully eying mymoccasins, a handsomer pair, perhaps, than he ever saw before, pointsruefully down to his own rude sandals of thong-bound raw-hide, and castsa look upon his comrades that says far more eloquently than words, "Whata shame that such lovely moccasins should grace the feet of a Frank andan unbeliever - ashes on his head - while a true follower of the Prophetlike myself should go about almost barefooted!" There is no mistakingthe natural bent of these gentle shepherds' inclinations, and as, in theabsence of a rusty sword and a seventeenth-century horse pistol, theydoubtless think I am unarmed, my impression from their bearing is thatthey would, at least, have tried to frighten me into making them a presentof my moccasins and perhaps a few other things. In the innocence of theirunsophisticated natures, they wist not of the compact little weaponreposing beneath my coat that is as superior to their entire armamentas is a modern gunboat to the wooden walls of the last century. Whatevertheir intentions may be, however, they are doomed never to be carriedout, for their attention is now attracted by the caravan, whose approachis heralded by the jingle of a thousand bells. 

The next two hours find me engaged in the laborious task of climbing amere bridle-path up the rugged mountain slope, along which no wheeledvehicle has certainly ever been before. There is in some places barelyroom for pack animals to pass between the masses of rocks, and at others, but a narrow ledge between a perpendicular rock and a sheer precipice. The steepest portions are worn into rude stone stairways by the feet ofpack animals that toiled over this pass just as they toiled before Americawas discovered and have been toiling ever since; and for hundreds ofyards at a stretch I am compelled to push the bicycle ahead, rear wheelaloft, in the well-known manner of going up-stairs. While climbing up arather awkward place, I meet a lone Arab youth, leading his horse by thebridle, and come near causing a serious accident. It was at the turningof a sharp corner that I met this swarthy-faced youth face to face, andthe sudden appearance of what both he and the horse thought was a beingfrom a far more distant sphere than the western half of our own sofrightened them both that I expected every minute to see them go topplingover the precipice. Reassuring the boy by speaking a word or two ofTurkish, and seeing the impossibility of either passing him or of hishorse being able to turn around, I turn about and retreat a short distance, to where there is more room. He is not quite assured of my terrestrialcharacter even yet; he is too frightened to speak, and he trembles visiblyas he goes past, greeting me with a leer of mingled fear and suspicion;at the same time making a brave but very sickly effort to ward off anyevil designs I might be meditating against him by a pitiful propitiatorysmile which will haunt my memory for weeks; though I hope by plenty ofexercise to escape an attack of the nightmare. 

This is the worst mountain climbing I have done with a bicycle; all theway across the Rockies there is nothing approaching this pass forsteepness; although on foot or horseback it would of course not appearso formidable. When part way up, a bank of low hanging clouds come rollingdown to meet me, enveloping the mountain in fog, and bringing on adisagreeable drizzle which scarcely improves the situation. 

Five miles from the bottom of the pass and three hours from Geiveh Ireach a small postaya-khan, occupied by one zaptieh and the station-keeper, where I halt for a half hour and get the zaptieh to brew me a cup ofcoffee, feeling the need of a, little refreshment after the stiff tuggingof the last two hours. Coffee is the only refreshment obtainable here, and, though the weather looks anything but propitious, I push aheadtoward a regular roadside khan, which I am told I shall come to at thedistance of another hour - the natives of Asia Minor know nothing of milesor kilometres, but reckon the distance from point to point by the numberof hours it usually takes to go on horseback. Reaching this khan at threeo'clock, I call for something to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and amforthwith confronted with a loaf of black bread, villanously heavy, andgiven a preliminary peep into a large jar of a crumbly white substanceas villanously odoriferous as the bread is heavy, and which I think theproprietor expects me to look upon as cheese. This native product seemsto be valued by the people here in proportion as it is rancid, beingregarded by them with more than affection when it has reached a degreeof rancidness and odoriferousness that would drive a European - barringperhaps, a Limburger - out of the house. These two delicacies, and theinevitable tiny cups of black bitter coffee make up all the edibles thekhan affords; so seeing the absence of any alternative, I order breadand coffee, prepared to make the most of circumstances. The proprietorbeing a kindly individual, and thinking perhaps that limited means forbidmy indulgence in such luxuries as the substance in the earthenware jar, in the kindness of his heart toward a lone stranger, scoops out a smallportion with his unwashed hand, puts it in a bowl of water and stirs itabout a little by way of washing it, drains the water off through hisfingers, and places it before me. While engaged in the discussion ofthis delectable meal, a caravan of mules arrives in charge of sevenrough-looking Turks, who halt to procure a feed of barley for theiranimals, the supplying of which appears to be the chief business of theklian-jee. No sooner have these men alighted and ascertained the use ofthe bicycle, than I am assailed with the usual importunities to ride fortheir further edification. It would be quite as reasonable to ask a manto fly as to ride a bicycle anywhere near the khan; but in the innocenceof their hearts and the dulness of their Oriental understandings theythink differently. They regard my objections as the result of a perverseand contrary disposition, and my explanation of mimkin deyil" as buta groundless excuse born of my unwillingness to oblige. One old gray-beard, after examining the bicycle, eyes me meditatively for a moment, and thencomes forward with a humorous twinkle in his eye, and pokes me playfullyin the ribs, and makes a peculiar noise with the mouth: " q-u-e-e-k, "in an effort to tickle me into good-humor and compliance with theirwishes; in addition to which, the artful old dodger, thinking thus towork on my vanity, calls me "Pasha Effendi. " Finding that toward theirentreaties I give but the same reply, one of the younger men coollyadvocates the use of force to coerce me into giving them an exhibitionof my skill on the araba. As far as I am able to interpret, this boldvisionary's argument is: "Behold, we are seven; Effendi is only one; weare good Mussulmans - peace be with us - he is but a Frank - ashes on hishead- let us make him bin. "

CHAPTER XII. 

THROUGH THE ANGORA GOAT COUNTRY. 

The other members of the caravan company, while equally anxious to seethe performance, and no doubt thinking me quite an unreasonable person, disapprove of the young man's proposition; and the Man-jee severelyreprimands him for talking about resorting to force, and turning to theothers, he lays his forefingers together and says something about Franks, Mussulmans, Turks, and Ingilis; meaning that even if we are Franks andMussulmans, we are not prevented from being at the same time allies andbrothers. From the khan the ascent is more gradual, though in placesmuddy and disagreeable from the drizzling rain which still falls, andabout 4 P. M. I arrive at the summit. The descent is smoother, and shorterthan the western slope, but is even more abrupt; the composition is aslaty, blue clay, in which the caravans have worn trails so deep inplaces that a mule is hidden completely from view. There is no room foranimals to pass each other in these deep trench-like trails, and wereany to meet, the only possible plan is for the ascending animals to bebacked down until a wider place is reached. There is little danger ofthe larger caravans being thus caught in these " traps for the unwary, "since each can hear the other's approach and take precautions; but singlehorsemen and small parties must sometimes find themselves obliged toeither give or take, in the depths of these queer highways of commerce. It is quite an awkward task to descend with the bicycle, as for much ofthe way the trail is not even wide enough to admit of trundling in theordinary manner, and I have to adopt the same tactics in going down asin coming up the mountain, with the difference, that on the eastern slopeI have to pull back quite as stoutly as I had to push forward on thewestern. In going down I meet a man with three donkeys, but fortunatelyI am able to scramble up the bank sufficiently to let him pass. Hisdonkeys are loaded with half-ripe grapes, which he is perhaps taking allthe way to Constantinople in this slow and laborious manner, and heoffers me some as an inducement for me to ride for his benefit. Somewheelmen, being possessed of a sensitive nature, would undoubtedly thinkthey had a right to feel aggrieved or insulted if offered a bunch ofunripe grapes as an inducement to go ahead and break their necks; butthese people here in Asia Minor are but simple-hearted, overgrown children;they will go straight to heaven when they die, every one of them. 

At six o'clock I roll into Tereklu, having found ridable road a mile orso before reaching town. After looking at the cyclometer I begin figuringup the number of days it is likely to take me to reach Teheran, ifyesterday and to-day have been expository of the country ahead; fortyand one-third miles yesterday and nineteen and a half to-day, thirtymiles a day-rather slow progress for a wheelman, I mentally conclude;but, although I would rather ride from " Land's End to John O'Groat's "for a task, than bicycle over the ground I have traversed between hereand Ismidt, I find the tough work interlarded with a sufficiency of noveland interesting phases to make the occupation congenial. Upon dismountingat Tereklu, I find myself but little fatigued with the day's exertions, and with a view to obtaining a little peace and freedom from importunitiesto ride after supper, I gratify Asiatic curiosity several times beforeundertaking to allay the pangs of hunger - a piece of self-denial quitecommendable, even if taken in connection with the idea of self-protection, when one reflects that I had spent the day in severe exercise, and hadeaten since morning only a piece of bread. 

Not long after my arrival at Tereklu I am introduced to another peculiarand not unknown phase of the character of these people, one that I havesometimes read of, but was scarcely prepared to encounter before beingon Asian soil three days. From some of them having received medicalfavors from the medicine chest of travellers and missionaries, theAsiatics have come to regard every Frank who passes through their countryas a skilful physician, capable of all sorts of wonderful things in theway of curing their ailments; and immediately after supper I am waitedupon by my first patient, the mulazim of the Tereklu zaptiehs. He is atall, pleasant-faced fellow, whom I remember as having been wonderfullycourteous and considerate while I was riding for the people before supper, and he is suffering with neuralgia in his lower jaw. He comes and seatshimself beside me, rolls a cigarette in silence, lights it, and handsit to me, and then, with the confident assurance of a child approachingits mother to be soothed and cured of some ailment, he requests me tocure his aching jaw, seemingly having not the slightest doubt of myability to afford him instant relief. I ask him why he don't apply tothe hakim (doctor) of his native town. He rolls another cigarette, makesme throw the half-consumed one away, and having thus ingratiated himselfa trifle deeper into my affections, he tells me that the Tereklu hakimis "fenna; " in other words, no good, adding that there is a duz hakimat Gieveh, but Gieveh is over the Kara Su dagh. At this juncture he seemsto arrive at the conclusion that perhaps I require a good deal of coaxingand good treatment, and, taking me by the hand, he leads me in thataffectionate, brotherly manner down the street and into a coffee-Maw, and spends the next hour in pressing upon me coffee and cigarettes, andreferring occasionally to his aching jaw. The poor fellow tries so hardto make himself agreeable and awaken my sympathies, that I really beginto feel myself quite an ingrate in not being able to afford him anyrelief, and slightly embarrassed by my inability to convince him thatmy failure to cure him is not the result of indifference to his sufferings. 

Casting about for some way of escape without sacrificing his good-will, and having in mind a box of pills I have brought along, I give him tounderstand that I am at the top of the medical profession as a stomach-achehakim, but as for the jaw-ache I am, unfortunately, even worse than hiscompatriot over the way. Had I attempted to persuade him that I was nota doctor at all, he would not have believed me; his mind being unableto grasp the idea of a Frank totally unacquainted with the noble AEsculapianart; but he seems quite aware of the existence of specialists in theprofession, and notwithstanding my inability to deal with his particularaffliction, my modest confession of being unexcelled in another branchof medicine seems to satisfy him. My profound knowledge of stomachicdisorders and their treatment excuses my ignorance of neuralgic remedies. 

There seems to be a larger proportion of superior dwelling-houses inTereklu than in Gieveh, although, to the misguided mind of an unbelieverfrom the West, they have cast a sort of a funereal shadow over thisotherwise desirable feature of their town by building their principalresidences around a populous cemetery, which plays the part of a largecentral square. The houses are mostly two-story frame buildings, and theomnipresent balconies and all the windows are faced with close lattice-work, so that the Osmanli ladies can enjoy the luxury of gazing contemplativelyout on the area of disorderly grave-stones without being subjected tothe prying eyes of passers-by. In the matter of veiling their faces thewomen of these interior towns place no such liberal - not to say coquettish -interpretation upon the office of the yashmak as do their sisters of thesame religion in and about Constantinople. The ladies of Tereklu, seemingly, have a holy horror of displaying any of their facial charms;the only possible opportunity offered of seeing anything, is to obtainan occasional glimpse of the one black eye with which they timidly surveyyou through a small opening in the folds of their shroud-like outergarment, that encases them from head to foot; and even this peepingwindow of their souls is frequently hidden behind the impenetrableyashmak. Mussulman women are the most gossipy and inquisitive creaturesimaginable; a very natural result, I suppose, of having had their femininerights divine under constant restraint and suppression by the peculiarsocial position women occupy in Mohammedan countries. When I have arrivedin town and am surrounded and hidden from outside view by a solid wallof men, it is really quite painful to see the women standing in smallgroups at a distance trying to make out what all the excitement is about. Nobody seems to have a particle of sympathy for their very naturalinquisitiveness, or even to take any notice of their presence. It isquite surprising to see how rapidly the arrival of the Frank with thewonderful araba becomes known among these women from one end of town toanother; in an incredibly short space of time, groups of shrouded formsbegin to appear on the housetops and other vantage-points, craning theirnecks to obtain a glimpse of whatever is going on. 

In the innocence of an unsophisticated nature, and a feeling of genuinesympathy for their position, I propose collecting these scattered groupsof neglected females together and giving an exhibition for their especialbenefit, but the men evidently regard the idea of going to any troubleout of consideration for them as quite ridiculous; indeed, I am inclinedto think they regard it as evidence that I am nothing less than a gayLothario, who is betraying altogether too much interest in their women;for the old school Osmanli encompasses those hapless mortals about witha green wall of jealousy, and regards with disapproval, even so much asa glance in their direction. While riding on one occasion, this evening, I noticed one over-inquisitive female become so absorbed in the proceedingsas to quite forget herself, and approach nearer to the crowd than theTereklu idea of propriety would seem to justify. In her absent-mindedness, while watching me ride slowly up and dismount, she allowed her yashmakto become disarranged and reveal her features. This awful indiscretionis instantly detected by an old Blue-beard standing by, who eyes theoffender severely, but says nothing; if she is one of his own wives, orthe wife of an intimate friend, the poor lady has perhaps earned forherself a chastisement with a stick later in the evening. 

Human nature is pretty much the same in the Orient as anywhere else; thedegradation of woman to a position beneath her proper level has borneits legitimate fruits; the average Turkish woman is said to be as coarseand unchaste in her conversation as the lowest outcasts of Occidentalsociety, and is given to assailing her lord and master, when angry, withlanguage anything but choice. 

It is hardly six o'clock when I issue forth next morning, but there areat least fifty women congregated in the cemetery, alongside which myroute leads. During the night they seem to have made up their minds tograsp the only opportunity of "seeing the elephant" by witnessing mydeparture; and as, "when a woman will she will, " etc. , applies to Turkishladies as well as to any others, in their laudable determination not tobe disappointed they have been patiently squatting among the graytombstones since early dawn. The roadway is anything but smooth, nevertheless one could scarce be so dead to all feelings of commiserationas to remain unmoved by the sight of that patiently waiting crowd ofshrouded females; accordingly I mount and pick my way along the streetand out of town. Modest as is this performance, it is the most marvellousthing they have seen for many a day; not a sound escapes them as I wheelby, they remain as silent as though they were the ghostly population ofthe graveyard they occupy, for I which, indeed, shrouded as they are inwhite from head to foot, they might easily be mistaken by the superstitious. My road leads over an undulating depression between the higher hills, aregion of small streams, wheat-fields, and irrigating ditches, amongwhich several trails, leading from Tereklu to numerous villages scatteredamong the mountains and neighboring small valleys, make it quite difficultto keep the proper road. Once I wander off my proper course for severalmiles; finding out my mistake I determine upon regaining the Torbalitrail by a short cut across the stubble-fields and uncultivated knollsof scrub oak. This brings me into an acquaintanceship with the shepherdsand husbandmen, and the ways of their savage dogs, that proves morelively than agreeable. Here and there I find primitive threshing-floors;they are simply spots of level ground selected in a central position andmade smooth and hard by the combined labors of the several owners of theadjoining fields, who use them in common. Rain in harvest is very unusual;therefore the trouble and expense of covering them is consideredunnecessary. At each of these threshing-centres I find a merry gatheringof villagers, some threshing out the grain, others winnowing it by tossingit aloft with wooden, flat-pronged forks; the wind blows the lighterchaff aside, while the grain falls back into the heap. When the soil issandy, the grain is washed in a neighboring stream to take out most ofthe grit, and then spread out on sheets, in the sun to dry before beingfinally stored away in the granaries. The threshing is done chiefly bythe boys and women, who ride on the same kind of broad sleigh-runner-shapedboards described in European Turkey. 

The sight of my approaching figure is, of course, the signal for a generalsuspension of operations, and a wondering as to what sort of being I am. If I am riding along some well-worn by-trail, the women and youngerpeople invariably betray their apprehensions of my unusual appearance, and seldom fail to exhibit a disposition to flee at my approach, but theconduct of their dogs causes me not a little annoyance. They have a noblebreed of canines throughout the Angora goat country - fine animals, aslarge as Newfoundlands, with a good deal the appearance of the mastiff;and they display their hostility to my intrusion by making straight atme, evidently considering me fair game. These dogs are invaluable friends, but as enemies and assailants they are not exactly calculated to win a'cycler's esteem. In my unusual appearance they see a strange, undefinableenemy bearing down toward their friends and owners, arid, like good, faithful dogs, they hesitate not to commence the attack; sometimes thereis a man among the threshers and winnowers who retains presence of mindenough to notice the dogs sallying forth to attack me, and to think ofcalling them back; but oftener I have to defend myself as best I can, while the gaping crowd, too dumfounded and overcome at my unaccountableappearance to think of anything else, simply stare as though expectingto see me sail up into space out of harm's way, or perform some othermiraculous feat. My general tactics are to dismount if riding, andmanoeuvre the machine- so as to keep it between myself and my savageassailant if there be but one; and if more than one, make feints withit at them alternately, not forgetting to caress them with a handy stonewhenever occasion offers. There is a certain amount of cowardice aboutthese animals notwithstanding their size and fierceness; they are afraidand suspicious of the bicycle as of some dreaded supernatural object;atnd although I am sometimes fairly at my wit's end to keep them at bay, I manage to avoid the necessity of shooting any of them. I have learnedthat to kill one of these dogs, no matter how great the provocation, would certainly get me into serious trouble with the natives, who valuethem very highly and consider the wilful killing of one little short ofmurder; hence my forbearance. When I arrive at a threshing-floor, andit is discovered that I am actually a human being and do not immediatelyencompass the destruction of those whose courage has been equal toawaiting my arrival, the women and children who have edged off to somedistance now approach, quite timidly though, as if not quite certain ofthe prudence of trusting their eyesight as to the peaceful nature of mymission; and the men vie with each other in their eagerness to give meall desired information about my course; sometimes accompanying me aconsiderable distance to make sure of guiding me aright. But theircontumacious canine friends seem anything but reassured of my characteror willing to suspend hostilities; in spite of the friendly attitude oftheir masters and the peacefulness of the occasion generally, they makefurtive dashes through the ranks of the spectators at me as I wheel roundthe small circular threshing-floor, and savagely snap at the revolvingwheels. Sometimes, after being held in check until I am out of sightbeyond a knoll, these vindictive and determined assailants will sneakaround through the fields, and, overtaking me unseen, make stealthyonslaughts upon me from the brush; my only safety is in unremittingvigilance. Like the dogs of most semi-civilized peoples, they are butimperfectly trained to obey; and the natives dislike checking them intheir attacks upon anybody, arguing that so doing interferes with thecourage and ferocity of their attack when called upon for a legitimateoccasion. 

It is very questionable, to say the least, if inoffensive wayfarersshould be expected to quietly submit to the unprovoked attack of ferociousanimals large enough to tear down a man, merely in view of possiblychecking their ferocity at some other time. When capering wildly aboutin an unequal contest with three or four of these animals, while consciousof having the means at hand to give them all their quietus, one feelsas though he were at that particular moment doing as the Romans do, witha vengeance; nevertheless, it has to be borne, and I manage to comethrough with nothing worse than a rent in the leg of my riding trousers. Finally, after fording several small streams, giving half a dozenthreshing-floor exhibitions, and running the gauntlet of no end of warlikecanines, I reach the lost Torbali trail, and, find it running parallelwith a range of hills, intersecting numberless small streams, acrosswhich are sometimes found precarious foot-bridges consisting of a tree-trunk felled across it from bank to bank, the work of some enterprisingpeasant for his own particular benefit rather than the outcome of publicspirit. Occasionally I bowl merrily along stretches of road which natureand the caravans together have made smooth enough even to justify aspurt; but like a fleeting dream, this favorable locality passes to therearward, and is followed by another mountain-slope whose steep gradeand rough surface reads " trundle only. "

They seem the most timid people hereabout I ever saw. Few of them butshow unmistakable signs of being frightened at my approach, even when Iam trundling-the nickel-plate glistening in the sunlight, I think, inspires them with awe even at a distance - and while climbing this hillI am the innocent cause of the ignominious flight of a youth riding adonkey. While yet two hundred yards away, he reins up and remainstransfixed for one transitory moment, as if making sure that his eyesare not deceiving him, or that he is really awake, and then hastily turnstail and bolts across the country, belaboring his long-eared chargerinto quite a lively gallop in his wild anxiety to escape from my awe-inspiring presence; and as he vanishes across a field, he looks backanxiously to reassure himself that I am not giving chase. Ere kind friendsand thoughtful well-wishers, with all their warnings of danger, are threedays' journey behind, I find myself among people who run away at myapproach. Shortly afterward I observe this bold donkey-rider half a mileto the left, trying to pass me and gain my rear unobserved. Others whomI meet this forenoon are more courageous; instead of resorting to flight, they keep boldly on their general course, simply edging off to a respectfuldistance from my road; some even venture to keep the road, taking careto give me a sufficiently large margin over and above my share of theway to insure against any possibility of giving offence; while otherswill even greet me with a feeble effort to smile, and a timid, hesitatinglook, as if undecided whether they are not venturing too far. SometimesI stop and ask these lion-hearted specimens whether I am on the rightroad, when they give a hurried reply and immediately take themselvesoff, as if startled at their own temerity. These, of course, are loneindividuals, with no companions to bolster up their courage or witnesstheir cowardice; the conduct of a party is often quite the reverse. Sometimes they seem determined not to let me proceed without riding forthem, whether rocky ridge, sandy depression, or mountain-slope characterizesour meeting-place, and it requires no small stock of forbearance andtact to get away from them without bringing on a serious quarrel. Theytake hold of the machine whenever I attempt to leave them, and give meto understand that nothing but a compliance with their wishes will securemy release; I have known them even try the effect of a little warlikedemonstration, having vague ideas of gaining their object by intimidation;and this sort of thing is kept up until their own stock of patience isexhausted, or until some more reasonable member of the company becomesat last convinced that it really must be "mimkin deyil, " after all;whereupon they let me go, ending the whole annoying, and yet reallyamusing, performance by giving me the most minute particulars of theroute ahead, and parting in the best of humor. To lose one's temper onthese occasions, or to attempt to forcibly break away, is quicklydiscovered to be the height of folly; they themselves are brimful ofgood humor, and from beginning to end their countenances are wreathedin smiles; although they fairly detain me prisoner the while, they wouldnever think of attempting any real injury to either myself or the bicycle. Some of the more enterprising even express their determination of tryingto ride the machine themselves; but I always make a firm stand againstany such liberties as this; and, rough, half-civilized fellows thoughthey often are, armed, and fully understanding the advantage of numbers, they invariably yield this point when they find me seriously determinednot to allow it. Descending into a narrow valley, I reach a road-sidekhan, adjoining a thrifty-looking melon-garden - this latter a welcomesight, since the day is warm and sultry; and a few minutes' quiet, soulfulcommunion with a good ripe water-melon, I think to myself, will be justabout the proper caper to indulge in after being worried with dogs, people, small streams, and unridable hills since six o'clock. "Carpoose?" I inquire, addressing the proprietor of the khan, who issues forthfrom the stable. 

" Peefci, effendi, " he answers, and goes off to the garden for the melon. Smiling sweetly at vacancy, in joyous anticipation of the coming feastand the soothing influence I feel sure of its exerting upon my feelings, somewhat ruffled by the many annoyances of the morning, I seek a quiet, shady corner, thoughtfully loosening my revolver-belt a couple of notchesere sitting down. In a minute the khan-jee returns, and hands me a"cucumber" about the size of a man's forearm. 

"That isn't a carpoose; I want a carpoose-a su carpoose. " I explain. 

"Su carpoose, yoke" he replies; and as I have not yet reached thatreckless disregard of possible consequences to which I afterward attain, I shrink from tempting Providence by trying conclusions with the overgrownand untrustworthy cucumber; so bidding the khan-jee adieu, I wheel offdown the valley. I find a fair proportion of good road along this valley;the land is rich, and though but rudely tilled, it produces wonderfullyheavy crops of grain when irrigated. Small villages, surrounded byneglected-looking orchards and vineyards, abound at frequent intervals. Wherever one finds an orchard, vineyard, or melon-patch, there is alsoalmost certain to be seen a human being evidently doing nothing butsauntering about, or perhaps eating an unripe melon. 

This naturally creates an unfavorable impression upon a traveller's mind;it means either that the kleptomaniac tendencies of the people necessitatestanding guard over all portable property, or that the Asiatic followsthe practice of hovering around all summer, watching and waiting fornature to bestow her blessings upon his undeserving head. Along thisvalley I meet a Turk and his wife bestriding the same diminutive donkey, the woman riding in front and steering their long-eared craft by theterror of her tongue in lieu of a bridle. The fearless lady halts hersteed as I approach, trundling my wheel, the ground being such thatriding is possible but undesirable. "What is that for, effendi. "inquires the man, who seems to be the more inquisitive of the two. "Why, to bin, of course! don't you see the saddle?" says the woman, withouta moment's hesitation; and she bestows a glance of reproach upon herworse half for thus betraying his ignorance, twisting her neck round inorder to send the glance straight at his unoffending head. This woman, I mentally conclude, is an extraordinary specimen of her race; I neversaw a quicker-witted person anywhere; and I am not at all surprised tofind her proving herself a phenomenon in other things. When a Turkishfemale meets a stranger on the road, and more especially a Frank, herfirst thought and most natural impulse is to make sure that no part ofher features is visible - about other parts of her person she is lessparticular. This remarkable woman, however, flings custom to the winds, and instead of drawing the ample folds of her abbas about her, uncoversher face entirely, in order to obtain a better view; and, being unawareof my limited understanding, she begins discussing bicycle in quite achatty manner. I fancy her poor husband looks a trifle shocked at thisoutrageous conduct of the partner of his joys and sorrows; but he remainsquietly and discreetly in the background; whereupon I register a silentvow never more to be surprised at anything, for that long-suffering andsubmissive being, the hen-pecked husband, is evidently not unknown evenin Asiatic Turkey. 

Another mountain-pass now has to be climbed; it is only a short distance-perhaps two miles - but all the way up I am subjected to the disagreeableexperience of having my footsteps dogged by two armed villagers. Thereis nothing significant or exceptional about their being armed, it istrue; but what their object is in stepping almost on my heels for thewhole distance up the acclivity is beyond my comprehension. Uncertainwhether their intentions are honest or not, it is anything but reassuringto have them following within sword's reach of one's back, especiallywhen trundling a bicycle up a lonely mountain-trail. I have no right toorder them back or forward, neither do I care to have them think Ientertain suspicions of their intentions, for in all probability theyare but honest villagers, satisfying their curiosity in their own peculiarmanner, and doubtless deriving additional pleasure from seeing one oftheir fellow-mortals laboriously engaged while they leisurely follow. We all know how soul-satisfying it is for some people to sit around andwatch their fellow-man saw wood. Whenever I halt for a breathing-spellthey do likewise; when I continue on, they promptly take up their lineof march, following as before in silence; and when the summit is reached, they seat themselves on a rock and watch my progress down the oppositeslope. 

A couple of miles down grade brings me to Torbali, a place of severalthousand inhabitants with a small covered bazaar and every appearanceof a thriving interior town, as thrift goes in Asia Minor. It is highnoon, and I immediately set about finding the wherewithal to make asubstantial meal. I find that upon arriving at one of these towns, thebest possible disposition to make of the bicycle is to deliver it intothe hands of some respectable Turk, request him to preserve it from themeddlesome crowd, and then pay no further attention to it until readyto start. Attempting to keep watch over it oneself is sure to result ina dismal failure, whereas an Osmanli gray-beard becomes an ever-willingcustodian, regards its safe-keeping as appealing to his honor, and willstand guard over it for hours if necessary, keeping the noisy and curiouscrowds of his townspeople at a respectful distance "by brandishing athick stick at anyone who ventures to approach too near. These men willnever accept payment for this highly appreciated service, it seems toappeal to the Osmanli's spirit of hospitality; they seem happy as clamsat high tide while gratuitously protecting my property, and I have knownthem to unhesitatingly incur the displeasure of their own neighbors byofficiously carrying the bicycle off into an inner room, not even grantingthe assembled people the harmless privilege of looking at it from adistance - for there might be some among the crowd possessed of the fennaghuz (evil eye), and rather than have them fix their baleful gaze uponthe important piece of property left under his charge by a stranger, hechivalrously braves the displeasure of his own people; smiling complacentlyat their shouts of disapproval, he triumphantly bears it out of theirsight and from the fell influence of the possible fenna ghuz. Anotherstrange and seemingly paradoxical phase of these occasions is that whenthe crowd is shouting out its noisiest protests against the withdrawalof the machine from popular inspection, any of the protestors will eagerlyvolunteer to help carry the machine inside, should the self-importantpersonage having it in custody condescend to make the slightest intimationthat such service would be acceptable. Handing over the bicycle, then, to the safe-keeping of a respectable kahuay-jee (coffee khan employee)I sally forth in quest of eatables. The kah vay-jee has it immediatelycarried inside and set up on one of the divans, in which elevated positionhe graciously permits it to be gazed upon by the people, who swarm intohis khan in such numbers as to make it impossible for him to transactany business. "Under the guidance of another volunteer, who, besidesacting the part of guide, takes particular care that I get lumping weight, etc. , I proceed to the ett-jees and procure some very good mutton-chops, and from there to the ekmek-jees for bread. This latter person straightwayvolunteers to cook my chops. Sending to his residence for a tin dish, some chopped onions and butter, he puts them in his oven, and in a fewminutes sets them before me, browned and buttered. Meanwhile, he hasdespatched a youth somewhere on another errand, who now returns andsupplements the savory chops with a small dish of honey in the comb andsome green figs. Seated on the generous-hearted ekmek-jee's dough-board, I make a dinner good enough for anybody. 

While discussing these acceptable viands, I am somewhat startled athearing one of the worst "cuss-words " in the English language repeatedseveral times by one of the two Turks engaged in the self-imposed dutyof keeping people out of the place while I am eating - a kindly piece ofcourtesy that wins for them my warmest esteem. The old fellow proves tobe a Crimean veteran, and, besides a much-prized medal he brought backwith him, he somehow managed to acquire this discreditable, perhaps, butnevertheless unmistakable, memento of having at some time or othercampaigned it with "Tommy Atkins. " I try to engage him in conversation, but find that he doesn't know another solitary word of English. He simplyrepeats the profane expression alluded to in a parrot-like manner withoutknowing anything of its meaning; has, in fact, forgotten whether it isEnglish, French, or Italian. He only knows it as a "Frank" expression, and in that he is perfectly right: it is a frank expression, a very frankexpression indeed. As if determined to do something agreeable in returnfor the gratifying interest I seem to be taking in him on account ofthis profanity, he now disappears, and shortly returns with a young man, who turns out to be a Greek, and the only representative of Christendomin Torbali. The old Turk introduces him as a "Ka-ris-ti-ahn " (Christian)and then, in reply to questioners, explains to the interested on-lookersthat, although an Englishman, and, unlike the Greeks, friendly to theTurks, I also am a " Ka-ris-ti-ahn; " one of those queer specimens ofhumanity whose perverse nature prevents them from embracing the religionof the Prophet, and thereby gaining an entrance into the promised landof the kara ghuz kiz (black-eyed houris). During this profound expositionof my merits and demerits, the wondering people stare at me with anexpression on their faces that plainly betrays their inability tocomprehend so queer an individual; they look as if they think me theoddest specimen they have ever met, and taking into due considerationmy novel mode of conveyance, and that many Torbali people never beforesaw an Englishman, this is probably not far from a correct interpretationof their thoughts. 

Unfortunately, the streets and environments of Torbali are in a mostwretched condition; to escape sprained ankles it is necessary to walkwith a great deal of caution, and the idea of bicycling through themis simply absurd. Nevertheless the populace turns out in high glee, andtheir expectations run riot as I relieve the kahvay-jee of his faithfulvigil and bring forth my wheel. They want me to bin in their stuffylittle bazaar, crowded with people and donkeys; mere alley-ways withscarcely a twenty yard stretch from one angle to another; the surfaceis a disorganized mass of holes and stones over which the wary andhesitative donkey picks his way with the greatest care; and yet thepopular clamor is "Bin, bin; bazaar, bazaar. " The people who have beenshowing me how courteously and considerately it is possible for Turksto treat a stranger, now seem to have become filled with a determinationnot to be convinced by anything I say to the contrary; and one of themost importunate and headstrong among them sticks his bearded face almostup against my own placid countenance (I have already learned to wear anunruffled, martyr-like expression on these howling occasions) and fairlyshrieks out, "Bin! bin!" as though determined to hoist me iuto the saddle, whether or no, by sheer force of his own desire to see me there. Thisperson ought to know better, for he wears the green turban of holiness, proving him to have made a pilgrimage to Mecca, but the universal desireto see the bicycle ridden seems to level all distinctions. All thistumult, it must not be forgotten, is carried on in perfect good humor;but it is, nevertheless, very annoying to have it seem that I am tooboorish to repay their kindness by letting them see me ride; even walkingout of town to avoid gratifying them, as some of them doubtless think. These little embarrassments are some of the penalties of not knowingenough of the language to be able to enter into explanations. Learningthat there is a piece of wagon-road immediately outside the town, Isucceed in silencing the clamor to so mo extent by promising to ridewhen the araba yole is reached; whereupon hundreds come flocking out oftown, following expectantly at my heels. Consoling myself with the thoughtthat perhaps I will be able to mount and shake the clamorous multitudeoff by a spurt, the promised araba yole is announced; but the fates areplainly against me to-day, for I find this road leading up a mountainslope from the very beginning. The people cluster expectantly around, while I endeavor to explain that they are doomed to disappointment - thatto be disappointed in their expectations to see the araba ridden isplainly their kismet, for the hill is too steep to be ridden. They laughknowingly and give me to understand that they are not quite such simpletonsas to think that an araba cannot be ridden along an araba yole. " Thisis an araba yole, " they argue, "you are riding an araba; we have seeneven our own clumsily-made arabas go up here time and again, thereforeit is evident that you are not sincere, " and they gather closer aroundand spend another ten minutes in coaxing. It is a ridiculous positionto be in; these people use the most endearing terms imaginable; some ofthem kiss the bicycle and would get down and kiss my dust-begrimedmoccasins if I would permit it; at coaxing they are the most perseveringpeople I ever saw. To. Convince them of the impossibility of riding upthe hill I allow a muscular young Turk to climb into the saddle and tryto propel himself forward while I hold him up. This has the desiredeffect, and they accompany me farther up the slope to where they fancyit to be somewhat less steep, a score of all too-willing hands beingextended to assist in trundling the machine. Here again I am subjectedto another interval of coaxing; and this same annoying programme iscarried out several times before I obtain my release. They are the mostheadstrong, persistent people I have yet encountered; the natural pig-headed disposition of the "unspeakable Turk" seems to fairly run riotin this little valley, which at the point where Torbali is situatedcontracts to a mere ravine between rugged heights. 

For a full mile up the mountain road, and with a patient insistence quitecommendable in itself, they persist in their aggravating attentions;aggravating, notwithstanding that they remain in the best of humor, andtreat me with the greatest consideration in every other respect, promptlyand severely checking any unruly conduct among the youngsters, whichonce or twice reveals itself in the shape of a stone pitched into thewheel, or some other pleasantry peculiar to the immature Turkish mind. At length one enterprising young man, with wild visions of a flyingwheelman descending the mountain road with lightning-like velocity, comesprominently to the fore, and unblushingly announces that they have beenbringing me along the wrong road; and, with something akin to exultationin his gestures, motions for me to turn about and ride back. Had theothers seconded this brilliant idea there was nothing to prevent me frombeing misled by the statement; but his conduct is at once condemned; forthough pig-headed, they are honest of heart, and have no idea of resortingto trickery to gain their object. It now occurs to me that perhaps if Iturn round and ride down hill a short distance they will see that mytrundling up hill is really a matter of necessity instead of choice, andthus rid me of their undesirable presence. Hitherto the slope has beentoo abrupt to admit of any such thought, but now it becomes more gradual. As I expected, the proposition is heralded with unanimous shouts ofapproval, and I take particular care to stipulate that after this theyare to follow me no farther; any condition is acceptable to them as longas it includes seeing how the thing is ridden. It is not without certainmisgivings that I mount and start cautiously down the declivity betweentwo rows of turbaned and fez-bedecked heads, for I have not yet forgottenthe disagreeable actions of the mob at Adrianople in running up behindand giving the bicycle vigorous forward pushes, a proceeding that wouldbe not altogether devoid of danger here, for besides the gradient, oneside of the road is a yawning chasm. These people, however, confinethemselves solely to howling with delight, proving themselves to be well-meaning and comparatively well-behaved after all. Having performed mypart of the compact, a few of the leading men shake hands, and expresstheir gratitude and well-wishes; and after calling back several youngsterswho seem unwilling to abide by the agreement forbidding them to followany farther, the whole noisy company proceed along footpaths leadingdown the cliffs to town, which is in plain view almost immediately below. 

The entire distance between Torbali and Keshtobek, where tomorrow forenoonI cross over into the vilayet of Angora, is through a rough country forbicycling. Forest-clad mountains, rocky gorges, and rolling hillscharacterize the landscape; rocky passes lead over mountains where thecaravans, engaged in the exportation of mohair ever since that valuablecommodity first began to be exported, have worn ditch-like trails throughridges of solid rock three feet in depth; over the less rocky andprecipitous hills beyond a comprehensive view is obtained of the countryahead, and these time-honored trails are seen leading in many directions, ramifying the country like veins of one common system, which are necessarilydrawn together wherever there is but one pass. Parts of these commercialby-ways are frequently found to be roughly hedged with wild pear andother hardy shrubs indigenous to the country-the relics of by-gone days, planted when these now barren hills were cultivated, to protect thegrowing crops from depredation. Old mill-stones with depressions in thecentre, formerly used for pounding corn in, and pieces of hewn masonryare occasionally seen as one traverses these ancient trails, marking thesite of a village in days long past, when cultivation and centres ofindustry were more conspicuous features of Asia Minor than they are to-day; lone graves and graves in clusters, marked by rude unchiselledheadstones or oblong mounds of bowlders, are frequently observed, completing the scene of general decay. While riding along these tortuousways, the smooth-worn camel-paths sometimes affording excellent wheeling, the view ahead is often obstructed by the untrimmed hedges on eitherside, and one sometimes almost comes into collision, in turning a bend, with horsemen, wild-looking, armed formidably in the manner peculiar tothe country, as though they were assassins stealing forth under cover. Occasionally a female bestriding a donkey suddenly appears but twentyor thirty yards ahead, the narrowness and the crookedness of the hedged-intrail favoring these abrupt meetings; shrouded perhaps in a white abbas, and not infrequently riding a white donkey, they seldom fail to inspirethoughts of ghostly equestriennes gliding silently along these now half-deserted pathways. Many a hasty but sincere appeal is made to Allah bythese frightened ladies as they fancy themselves brought suddenly faceto face with the evil one; more than once this afternoon I overhear thatagonizing appeal for providential aid and protection of which I am theinnocent cause. The second thought of the lady - as if it occurred to herthat with any portion of her features visible she would be adjudgedunworthy of divine interference in her behalf - is to make sure that heryashmak is not disarranged, and then comes a mute appeal to her attendant, if she have one, for some explanation of the strange apparition sosuddenly and unexpectedly confronting them. 

In view of the nature of the country and the distance to Keshtobek, Ihave no idea of being able to reach that place to-night, and when Iarrive at the ruins of an old mud-built khan, at dusk, I conclude to supoff the memories of my excellent dinner and a piece of bread I have inmy pocket, and avail myself of its shelter for the night. While eatingmy frugal repast, up ride three mule-teers, who, after consulting amongthemselves some minutes, finally picket their animals and prepare tojoin my company; whether for all night or only to give their animals afeed of grass, I am unable to say. Anyhow, not liking the idea of spendingthe whole night, or any part of it, in these unfrequented hills withthree ruffianly-looking natives, I again take up my line of march alongmountain mule-paths for some three miles farther, when I descend into asmall valley, and it being too dark to undertake the task of pitchingmy tent, I roll myself up in it instead. Soothed by the music of ababbling brook, I am almost asleep, when a glorious meteor shoots athwartthe sky, lighting up the valley with startling vividness for one briefmoment, and then the dusky pall of night descends, and I am gatheredinto the arms of Morpheus. Toward morning it grows chilly, and I am butfitfully dozing in the early gray, when I am awakened by the bleatingand the pattering feet of a small sea of Angora goats. Starting up, Idiscover that I am at that moment the mysterious and interesting subjectof conversation between four goatherds, who have apparently been quietlysurveying my sleeping form for some minutes. Like our covetous friendsbeyond the Kara Su Pass, these early morning acquaintances are unlovelyrepresentatives of their profession; their sword-blades are half naked, the scabbards being rudely fashioned out of two sections of wood, roughlyshaped to the blade, and bound together at top and bottom with twine;in addition to which are bell-mouthed pistols, half the size of a QueenBess blunderbuss. This villainous-looking quartette does not make "avery reassuring picture in the foreground of one's waking moments, butthey are probably the most harmless mortals imaginable; anyhow, afterseeing me astir, they pass onl with their flocks and herds without evensubmitting me to the customary catechizing. The morning light revealsin my surroundings a most charming little valley, about half a mile wide, walled in on the south by towering mountains covered with a forest ofpine and cedar, and on the north by low, brush-covered hills; a smallbrook dances along the middle, and thin pasturage and scattered clumpsof willow fringe the stream. Three miles down the valley I arrive at aroadside khan, where I obtain some hard bread that requires soaking inwater to make it eatable, and some wormy raisins; and from this choiceassortment I attempt to fill the aching void of a ravenous appetite;with what success I leave to the reader's imagination. Here the khan-jeeand another man deliver themselves of one of. Those strange requestspeculiar to the Asiatic Turk. They pool the contents of their respectivetreasuries, making in all perhaps, three medjedis, and, with the simplicityof children whose minds have not yet dawned upon the crooked ways of awicked world, they offer me the money in exchange for my Whitehouseleather case with its contents. They have not the remotest idea of whatthe case contains; but their inquisitiveness apparently overcomes allother considerations. Perhaps, however, their seemingly innocent way ofoffering me the money may be their own peculiar deep scheme of inducingme to reveal the nature of its contents. For a short distance down thevalley I find road that is generally ridable, when it contracts to amere ravine, and the only road is the bowlder strewn bed of the stream, which is now nearly dry, but in the spring is evidently a raging torrent. An hour of this delectable exercise, and I emerge into a region ofundulating hills, among which are scattered wheat-fields and clustersof mud-hovels which it would be a stretch of courtesy to term villages. Here the poverty of the soil, or of the water-supply, is heralded toevery observant eye by the poverty-stricken appearance of, the villagers. As I wheel along, I observe that these poor half-naked wretches aregathering their scant harvest by the laborious process of pulling it upby the roots, and carrying it to their common threshing-floor on donkeys'backs. Here, also, I come to a camp of Turkish gypsies; they are dark-skinned, with an abundance of long black hair dangling about theirshoulders, like our Indians; the women and larger girls are radiant inscarlet calico and other high-colored fabrics, and they wear a profusionof bead necklaces, armlets, anklets, and other ornaments dear to thesemi-savage mind; the younger children are as wild and as innocent ofclothing as their boon companions, the dogs. The men affect the fez andgeneral Turkish style of dress, with many unorthodox trappings andembellishments, however; and with their own wild appearance, their high-colored females, naked youngsters, wolfish-looking dogs, picketed horses, and smoke-browned tents, they make a scene that, for picturesqueness, can give odds even to the wigwam-villages of Uncle Sam's Crow scouts, on the Little Big Horn River, Montana Territory, which is saying a gooddeal. Twelve miles from my last night's rendezvous, I pass throughKeshtobek, a village that has evidently seen better days. The ruins ofa large stone khan take up all the central portion of the place; massivegateways of hewn stone, ornamented by the sculptor's chisel, are stillstanding, eloquent monuments of a more prosperous era. The unenterprisingdescendants of the men who erected this substantial and commodious retreatfor passing caravans and travellers are now content to house themselvesand their families in tumble-down hovels, and to drift aimlessly andunambitiously along on wretched fare and worse clothes, from the cradleto the grave. The Keshtobek people seem principally interested to knowwhy I am travelling without any zaptieh escort; a stranger travellingthrough these wooded mountains, without guard or guide, and not beingable to converse with the natives, seems almost beyond their belief. When they ask me why I have no zaptieh, I tell them I have one, and showthem the Smith & Wesson. They seem to regard this as a very witty remark, and say to each other: "He is right; an English effendi and an Americanrevolver don't require any zapliehs to take care of them, they are quiteable to look out for themselves. " From Keshtobek my road leads downanother small valley, and before long I find myself in the Angora vilayet, bowling briskly eastward over a most excellent road; not the mule-pathsof an hour ago, but a broad, well-graded highway, as good, clear intoNalikhan, as the roads of any New England State. This sudden transitionis not unnaturally productive of some astonishment on my part, andinquiries at Nalikhan result in the information that my supposed gradedwagon-road is nothing less than the bed of a proposed railway, thepreliminary grading for which has been finished between Keshtobek andAngora for some time. 

This valley seems to be the gateway into a country entirely differentfrom what I have hitherto traversed. Unlike the forest-crowned mountainsand shrubbery hills of this morning, the mountains towering aloft onevery hand are now entirely destitute of vegetation; but they are innowise objectionable to look upon on that account, for they have theirown peculiar features of loveliness. Various colored rocks and claysenter into their composition; their giant sides are fantastically streakedand seamed with blue, yellow, green, and red; these variegated massesencompassing one round about on every side are a glorious sight-they aremore interesting, more imposing, more grand and impressive even than thepiny heights of Kodjaili. Many of these mountains bear evidence of mineralformation, and anywhere in the Occident would be the scene of busyoperations. In Constantinople I heard an English mineralist, who haslived many years in the country, express the belief that there is moremineral buried in these Asia Minor hills than in a corresponding areain any other part of the world; that he knew people who for years havehad their eye on certain localities of unusual promise waiting patientlyfor the advantages of mineral development to dawn upon the sluggish mindof Osmanli statesmen. At present it is useless to attempt prospecting, for there is no guarantee of security; no sooner is anything of valuediscovered than the finder is embarrassed by imperial taxes, local taxes, backsheesh, and all manner of demands on his resources, often ending inhaving everything coolly confiscated by the government; which, like thedog in the manger, will do nothing with it, and is perfectly contentedand apathetic so long as no one else is reaping any benefit from it. 

The general ridableness of this chemin de fer, as the natives have beentaught to call it, proves not to be without certain disadvantages, forduring the afternoon I unwittingly manage to do considerable mischief. Suddenly meeting two horsemen, when bowling at a moderate pace around abend, the horse of one takes violent exception to my intrusion, and, inspite of the excellent horsemanship of his rider, backs down into a smallravine, both horse and rider coming to grief in some water at the bottom. Fortunately, neither man nor horse sustained any more serious injurythan a few scratches and bruises, though it might easily have resultedin broken bones. Soon after this affair, another donkey-rider takes tohis heels, or rather to his donkey's heels across country, and his long-eared and generally sure-footed charger ingloriously comes to earth; butI feel quite certain that no damage is sustained in this case, for bothsteed and rider are instantly on their feet; the bold steeple-chaserlooks wildly and apprehensively toward me, but observing that I am givingchase, it dawns upon his mind that I am perhaps after all a human being, whereupon he refrains from further flight. 

Wheeling down the gentle declivity of a broad, smooth road that almostdeserves the title of boulevard, leading through the vineyards and gardensof Nalikhan's environments, at quite a rattling pace, I startle a quarryof four dears (deers) robed in white mantles, who, the moment they observethe strange apparition approaching them at so vengeful a speed, boltacross a neighboring vineyard like the all-possessed. The rapidity oftheir movements, notwithstanding the impedimenta of their flowing shrouds, readily suggests the idea of a quarry of dears (deer), but whether theyare pretty dears or not, of course, their yashmaks fail to reveal; butin return for the beaming smile that lights up our usually solemn-lookingcountenance at their ridiculously hasty flight, as a reciprocation pureand simple, I suppose we ought to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

The evening at Nalikhan is a comparatively happy occasion; it is Friday, the Mussulman Sabbath; everybody seems fairly well-dressed for a Turkishinterior town; and, more important than all, there is a good, smoothroad on which to satisfy the popular curiosity; on 'this latter factdepends all the difference between an agreeable and a disagreeable time, and at Nalikhan everything passes off pleasantly for all concerned. Apartfrom the novelty of my conveyance, few Europeans have ever visited theseinterior places under the same conditions as myself. They have usuallyprovided themselves beforehand with letters of introduction to the pashasand mudirs of the villages, who have entertained them as their guestsduring their stay. On the contrary, I have seen fit to provide myselfwith none of these way-smoothing missives, and, in consequence of mylinguistic shortcomings, immediately upon reaching a town I have tosurrender myself, as it were, to the intelligence and good-will of thecommon people; to their credit be it recorded, I can invariably counton their not lacking at least the latter qualification. The little khanI stop at is, of course, besieged by the usual crowd, but they are ahappy-hearted, contented people, bent on lionizing me the best they knowhow; for have they not witnessed my marvellous performance of riding anaraba, a beautiful web-like araba, more beautiful than any makina theyever saw before, and in a manner that upsets all their previous ideasof equilibrium. Have I not proved how much I esteem them by riding overand over again for fresh batches of new arrivals, until the wholepopulation has seen the performance. And am I not hobnobbing and makingmyself accessible to the people, instead of being exclusive and goingstraightway to the pasha's, shutting myself up and permitting none buta few privileged persons to intrude upon my privacy . All these thingsappeal strongly to the better nature of the imaginative Turks, and nota moment during the whole evening am I suffered to be unconscious oftheir great appreciation of it all. A bountiful supper of scrambled eggsfried in butter, and then the miilazim of zaptiehs takes me under hisspecial protection and shows me around the town. He shows me where buta few days ago the Nalikhan bazaar, with all its multifarious merchandise, was destroyed by fire, and points out the temporary stalls, among theblack ruins, that have been erected by the pasha for the poor merchantswho, with heavy hearts and doleful countenance, are trying to recuperatetheir shattered fortunes. He calls my attention to two-story woodenhouses and other modest structures, which, in the simplicity of hisAsiatic soul, he imagines are objects of interest; and then he takes meto the headquarters of his men, and sends out for coffee in order tomake me literally his guest. Here, in his office, he calls my attentionto a chromo hanging on the wall, which he says came from Stamboul -Stamboul, where the Asiatic Turk fondly imagines all wonderful thingsoriginate. This chromo is certainly a wonderful thing in its way. Itrepresents an English trooper in the late Soudan expedition kneeling behindthe shelter of a dead camel, and with a revolver in each hand keeping atbay a crowd of Arab spearmen. The soldier is badly wounded, but withsmoking revolvers and an evident determination to die hard, he has checked, and is still checking, the advance of somewhere about ten thousand Arabtroops. No wonder the people of Keshtobek thought an Englishman and arevolver quite safe in travelling without zaptiehs; some of them hadprobably been to Nalikhan and seen this same chromo. 

When it grows dark the mulazim takes me to the public coffee-garden, near the burned bazaar, a place which ia really no garden at all onlysome broad, rude benches encircling a round water-tank or fountain, andwhich is fenced in with a low, wabbly picket-fence. Seated crossed-leggedon the benches are a score of sober-sided Turks, smoking nargilehs andcigarettes, and sipping coffee; the feeble light dispensed by a lanternon top of a pole in the centre of the tank makes the darkness of the"garden" barely visible; a continuous splashing of water, the result ofthe overflow from a pipe projecting three feet above the surface, furnishesthe only music; the sole auricular indication of the presence of patronsis when some customer orders "kahvay" or "nargileh" in a scarcelyaudible tone of voice; and this is the Turk's idea of an evening'senjoyment. 

Returning to the khan, I find it full of happy people looking at thebicycle; commenting on the wonderful marifet (skill) apparent in itsmechanism, and the no less marvellous marifet required in riding it. They ask me if I made it myself and hatch-lira ? (how many liras ?) andthen requesting the privilege of looking at my teskeri they find rareamusement in comparing my personal charms with the description of myform and features as interpreted by the passport officer in Galata. Twomen among them have in some manner picked up a sand from the sea-shoreof the English language. One of them is a very small sand indeed, thesolitary negative phrase, "no;" nevertheless, during the evening heinspires the attentive auditors with respect for his linguisticaccomplishments by asking me numerous questions, and then, anticipatinga negative reply, forestalls it himself by querying, "No?" The other"linguist" has in some unaccountable manner added the ability to say"Good morning " to his other accomplishments; and when about time toretire, and the crowd reluctantly bestirs itself to depart from themagnetic presence of the bicycle, I notice an extraordinary degree ofmysterious whispering and suppressed amusement going on among them, andthen they commence filing slowly out of the door with the "linguisticperson" at their head; as that learned individual reaches the thresholdhe turns toward we, makes a salaam and says, "Good-morning, " and everyoneof the company, even down to the irrepressible youngster who was cuffeda minute ago for venturing to twirl a pedal, and who now forms the rear-guard of the column, likewise makes a salaam and says, "Good-morning. "

Quilts are provided for me, and I spend the night on the divan of thekhan; a few roving mosquitoes wander in at the open window and sing theirsiren songs around my couch, a few entomological specimens sally forthfrom their permanent abode in the lining of the quilts to attack me anddisturb my slumbers; but later experience teaches me to regard my slumbersto-night as comparatively peaceful and undisturbed. In the early morningI am awakened by the murmuring voices of visitors gathering to see meoff; coffee is handed to me ere my eyes are fairly open, and the savoryodor of eggs already sizzling in the pan assail my olfactory nerves. Thekhan-jee is an Osmanli and a good Mussulman, and when ready to depart Icarelessly toss him my purse and motion for him to help himself-a thingI would not care to do with the keeper of a small tavern in any othercountry or of any other nation. Were he entertaining me in a privatecapacity he would feel injured at any hint of payment; but being a khan-jee, he opens the purse and extracts a cherik - twenty cents. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

BEY BAZAAR, ANGORA, AND EASTWARD. 

A Trundle of half an hour up the steep slopes leading out of another ofthose narrow valleys in which all these towns are situated, and thencomes a gentle declivity extending with but little interruption forseveral miles, winding in and out among the inequalities of an elevatedtable-land. The mountain-breezes blow cool and exhilarating, and justbefore descending into the little Charkhan Valley I pass some interestingcliffs of castellated rocks, the sight of which immediately wafts mymemory back across the thousands of miles of land and water to what theyare almost a counterpart of the famous castellated rocks of Green River, Wyo. Ter. Another scary youth takes to his heels as I descend into thevalley and halt at the village of Charkhan, a mere shapeless cluster ofmud-hovels. Before one of these a ragged agriculturist solemnly presidesover a small heap of what I unfortunately mistake at the time for pumpkins. I say "unfortunately, " because after-knowledge makes it highly probablethat they were the celebrated Charhkan musk-melons, famous far and widefor their exquisite flavor; the variety can be grown elsewhere, but, strange to say, the peculiar, delicate flavor which makes them socelebrated is absent when they vegetate anywhere outside this particularlocality. It is supposed to be owing to some peculiar mineral propertiesof the soil. The Charkhan Valley is a wild, weird-looking region, lookingas if it were habitually subjected to destructive downpourings of rain, that have washed the grand old mountains out of all resemblance toneighboring ranges round about. They are of a soft, shaly composition, and are worn by the elements into all manner of queer, fantastic shapes;this, together with the same variegated colors observed yesterdayafternoon, gives them a distinctive appearance not easily forgotten. They are " grand, gloomy, and peculiar; " especially are they peculiar. The soil of the valley itself seems to be drift-mud from the surroundinghills; a stream furnishes water sufficient to irrigate a number of rice-fields, whose brilliant emerald hue loses none of its brightness frombeing surrounded by a framework of barren hills. 

Ascending from this interesting locality my road now traverses a dreary, monotonous district of whitish, sun-blistered hills, water-less andverdureless for fourteen miles. The cool, refreshing breezes of earlymorning have been dissipated by the growing heat of the sun; the roadcontinues fairly good, and while riding I am unconscious of oppressiveheat; but the fierce rays of the sun blisters my neck and the backs ofmy hands, turning them red and causing the skin to peel off a few daysafterward, besides ruining a section of my gossamer coat exposed on topof the Lamson carrier. The air is dry and thirst-creating, there isconsiderable hill-climbing to be done, and long ere the fourteen milesare covered I become sufficiently warm and thirsty to have little thoughtof anything else but reaching the means of quenching thirst. Away offin the distance ahead is observed a dark object, whose character isindistinct through the shimmering radiation from the heated hills, butwhich, upon a nearer approach, proves to be a jujube-tree, a welcomesentinel in those arid regions, beckoning the thirsty traveller to anever-failing supply of water. At the jujube-tree I find a most magnificentfountain, pouring forth at least twenty gallons of delicious cold waterto the minute. The spring has been walled up and a marble spout inserted, which gushes forth a round, crystal column, as though endeavoring tocompensate for the prevailing aridness and to apologize to the thirstywayfarer for the inhospitableness of its surroundings. Miles away to thenorthward, perched high up among the ravines of a sun-baked mountain-spur, one can see a circumscribed area of luxuriant foliage. This conspicuousoasis in the desert marks the source of the beautiful road-side fountain, which traverses a natural subterranean passage-way between these twodistant points. These little isolated clumps of waving trees, rearingtheir green heads conspicuously above the surrounding barrenness, arean unerring indication of both water and human habitations. Often onesees them suddenly when least expected, nestling in a little depressionhigh up some mountain-slope far away, the little dark-green area lookingalmost black in contrast with the whitish color of the hills. These areliterally "oases in the desert, " on a small scale, and although from adistance no sign of human habitations appeal, since they are but mud-hovels corresponding in color to the hills themselves, a closer examinationinvariably reveals well-worn donkey-trails leading from differentdirections to the spot, and perchance a white-turbaned donkey-riderslowly wending his way along a trail. 

The heat becomes almost unbearable; the region of treeless, shelterlesshills continues to characterize my way, and when, at two o'clock P. M. , I reach the town of Bey Bazaar, I conclude that the thirty-nine milesalready covered is the limit of discretion to-day, considering theoppressive heat, and seek the friendly accommodation of a khan. There Ifind that while shelter from the fierce heat of the sun is obtainable, peace and quiet are altogether out of the question. Bey Bazaar is a placeof eight thousand inhabitants, and the khan at once becomes the objectivepoint of, it seems to me, half the population. I put the machine up ona barricaded yattack-divan, and climb up after it; here I am out of themeddlesome reach of the " madding crowd, " but there is no escaping fromthe bedlam-like clamor of their voices, and not a few, yielding to theiruncontrollable curiosity, undertake to invade my retreat; these invariably"skedaddle" respectfully at my request, but new-comers are continuallyintruding. The tumult is quite deafening, and I should certainly not besurprised to have the khan-jee request me to leave the place, on thereasonable ground that my presence is, under the circumstances, detrimentalto his interests, since the crush is so great that transacting businessis out of the question. The khan-jee, however, proves to be a speculativeindividual, and quite contrary thoughts are occupying his mind. Hissubordinate, the kahvay-jee, presents himself with mournful countenanceand humble attitude, points with a perplexed air to the surging mass offezzes, turbans, and upturned Turkish faces, and explains - what needs noexplanation other than the evidence of one's own eyes - that he cannottransact his business of making coffee. 

"This is your khan, " I reply; "why not turn them out. " "Mashallah, effendi. I would, but for everyone I turned out, two others would comein-the sons of burnt fathers. " he says, casting a reproachful look downat the straggling crowd of his fellow-countrymen. 

"What do you propose doing, then?" I inquire. "Katch para, effendi, "he answers, smiling approvingly at his own suggestion. 

The enterprising kahvay-jee advocates charging them an admission feeof five paras (half a cent) each as a measure of protection, both forhimself and me, proposing to make a "divvy" of the proceeds. Naturallyenough the idea of making a farthing show of either myself or the bicycleis anything but an agreeable proposition, but it is plainly the only wayof protecting the kahvay-jee and his khan from being mobbed all theafternoon and far into the night by a surging mass of inquisitive people;so I reluctantly give him permission to do whatever he pleases to protecthimself. I have no idea of the financial outcome of the speculative khan-jee's expedient, but the arrangement secures me to some extent from therabble, though not to any appreciable extent from being worried. Thepeople nearly drive me out of my seven senses with their peculiar ideasof making themselves agreeable, and honoring me; they offer me cigarettes, coffee, mastic, cognac, fruit, raw cucumbers, melons, everything, infact, but the one thing I should really appreciate - a few minutes quiet, undisturbed, enjoyment of my own company; this is not to be secured bylocking one's self in a room, nor by any other expedient I have yet triedin Asia. After examining the bicycle, they want to see my "Alla Franga"watch and my revolver; then they want to know how much each thingcosts, and scores of other things that appeal strongly to their excessivelyinquisitive natures. 

One old fellow, yearning for a closer acquaintance, asks me if I eversaw the wonderful "chu, chu, chu! chemin defer at Stamboul, " adding thathe has seen it and intends some day to ride on it; another hands me aCrimean medal, and says he fought against the Muscovs with the "Ingilis, "while a third one solemnly introduces himself as a "makinis " (machinist), fancying, I suppose, that there is some fraternal connection betweenhimself and me, on account of the bicycle being a makina. 

I begin to feel uncomfortably like a curiosity in a dime museum - aposition not exactly congenial to my nature; so, after enduring thissort of thing for an hour, I appoint the kahvay-jee custodian of thebicycle and sally forth to meander about the bazaar a while, where I canat least have the advantage of being able to move about. Upon returningto the khan, an hour later, I find there a man whom I remember passingon the road; he was riding a donkey, the road was all that could bedesired, and I swept past him at racing speed, purely on the impulse ofthe moment, in order to treat him to the abstract sensation of blankamazement. This impromptu action of mine is now bearing its legitimatefruit, for, surrounded by a most attentive audience, the wonder-struckdonkey-rider is endeavoring, by word and gesture, to impress upon themsome idea of the speed at which I swept past him and vanished round abend. The kahvay-jee now approaches me, puffing his cheeks out like apenny balloon and jerking his thumb in the direction of the street door. Seeing that I don't quite comprehend the meaning of this mysteriousfacial contortion, he whispers confidentially aside, "pasha, " and againgoes through the highly interesting performance of puffing out his cheeksand winking in a knowing manner; he then says-also confidentially andaside - "lira, " winking even more significantly than before. By all thistheatrical by-play, the kahvay-jee means that the pasha - a man ofextraordinary social, political, and, above all, financial importance - hasexpressed a wish to see the bicycle, and is now outside; and the kahvay-jee, with many significant winks and mysterious hints of " lira, " advises meto take the machine outside and ride it for the pasha's special benefit. A portion of the street near by is " ridable under difficulties; " so Iconclude to act on the kahvay-jee's suggestion, simply to see what comesof it. Nothing particular comes of it, whereupon the kahvay-jee and hispatrons all express themselves as disgusted beyond measure because thePasha failed-to give me a present. Shortly after this I find myselfhobnobbing with a small company of ex-Mecca pilgrims, holy personageswith huge green turbans and flowing gowns; one of them is evidently veryholy indeed, almost too holy for human associations one would imagine, for in addition to his green turban he wears a broad green kammer bundand a green undergarment; he is in fact very green indeed. Then a crazyperson pushes his way forward and wants me to cure him of his mentalinfirmity; at all events I cannot imagine what else he wants; the manis crazy as a loon, he cannot even give utterance to his own mother-tongue, but tries to express himself in a series of disjointed grunts besidewhich the soul-harrowing efforts of a broken-winded donkey are quitemelodious. Someone has probably told him that I am a hakim, or a wonderfulperson on general principles, and the fellow is sufficiently consciousof his own condition to come forward and endeavor to grunt himself intomy favorable consideration. 

Later in the evening a couple of young Turkish dandies come round to thekhan and favor me with a serenade; one of them twangs a doleful melodyon a small stringed instrument, something like the Slavonian tamborica, and the other one sings a doleful, melancholy song (nearly all songs andtunes in Mohammedan countries seem doleful and melancholy); afterwardsan Arab camel-driver joins in with a dance, and furnishes some genuineamusement with his hip-play and bodily contortions; this would scarcelybe considered dancing from our point of view, but it is according to theideas of the East. The dandies are distinguishable from the common runof Turkish bipeds, like the same species in other countries, by thefearful and wonderful cut of their garments. The Turkish dandy wears atassel to his fez about three times larger than the regulation size, andhe binds it carefully down to the fez with a red and yellow silkhandkerchief; he wears a jaunty-looking short jacket of bright bluecloth, cut behind so that it reaches but little below his shoulder-blades;the object of this is apparently to display the whole of the multifoldkammerbund, a wonderful, colored waist-scarf that is wound round andround the waist many times, and which is held at one end by an assistant, while the wearer spins round like a dancing dervish, the assistantadvancing gradually as the human bobbin takes up the length. The dandywears knee-breeches corresponding in color to his jacket, woollen stockingsof mingled red and black, and low, slipper-like shoes; he allows hishair to fall about his eyes a la negligee, and affects a reckless, love-lorn air. 

The last party of sight-seers for the day call around near midnight, some time after I have retired to sleep; they awaken me with theirgarrulous observations concerning the bicycle, which they are criticallyexamining close to my head with a classic lamp; but I readily forgivethem their nocturnal intrusion, since they awaken me to the firstopportunity of hearing women wailing for the dead. A dozen or so of womenare wailing forth their lamentations in the silent night but a shortdistance from the khan; I can look out of a small opening in the wallnear my shake-down, and see them moving about the house and premises bythe flickering glare of torches. I could never have believed the femaleform divine capable of producing such doleful, unearthly music; but thereis no telling what these shrouded forms are really capable of doing, since the opportunity of passing one's judgment upon their accomplishmentsis confined solely to an occasional glimpse of a languishing eye. Thekahvay-jee, who is acting the part of explanatory lecturer to thesenocturnal visitors, explains the meaning of the wailing by pantomimicallydescribing a corpse, and then goes on to explain that the smallestimaginable proportion of the lamentations that are making night hideousis genuine grief for the departed, most of the uproar being made by abody of professional mourners hired for the occasion. When I awake inthe morning the unearthly wailing is still going vigorously forward, from which I infer they have been keeping it up all night. Though graduallybecoming inured to all sorts of strange scenes and customs, the unitedwailing and lamentations of a houseful of women, awakening the echoesof the silent night, savor too much of things supernatural and unearthlynot to jar unpleasantly on the senses; the custom is, however, on theeve of being relegated to the musty past by the Ottoman Government. 

In the larger cities where there are corpses to be wailed over everynight, it has been found so objectionable to the expanding intellectsof the more enlightened Turks that it has been prohibited as a publicnuisance, and these days it is only in such conservative interior townsas Bey Bazaar that the custom still obtains. When about starting earlyon the following morning the khanjee begs me to be seated, and thenseveral men who have been waiting around since before daybreak vanishhastily through the door-way; in a few minutes I am favored with a smallcompany of leading citizens who, having for various reasons failed toswell yesterday's throng, have taken the precaution to post thesemessengers to watch my movements and report when I am ready to depart. Our grunting patient, the crazy man, likewise reappears upon the sceneof my departure from the khan, and, in company with a small but eminentlyrespectable following, accompanies me to the brow of a bluffy hill leadingout of the depression in which Bey Bazaar snugly nestles. On the way uphe constantly gives utterance to his feelings in guttural gruntings thatmake last night's lamentations seem quite earthly after all in comparison;and when the summit is reached, and I mount and glide noiselessly awaydown a gentle declivity, he uses his vocal organs in a manner that simplydefies chirographical description or any known comparison; it is thedespairing howl of a semi-lunatic at witnessing my departure withouthaving exercised my supposed extraordinary powers in some miraculousmanner in his behalf. The road continues as an artificial highway, butis not continuously ridable, owing to the rocky nature of the materialused in its construction and the absence of vehicular traffic to wearit smooth; but it is highly acceptable in the main. From Bey Bazaareastward it leads for several miles along a stony valley, and then througha region that differs little from yesterday's barren hills in generalappearance, but which has the redeeming feature of being traversed hereand there by deep canons or gorges, along which meander tiny streams, and whose wider spaces are areas of remarkably fertile soil. Whilewheeling merrily along the valley road I am favored with a "peace-offering"of a splendid bunch of grapes from a bold vintager en route, to BeyBazaar with a grape-laden donkey. When within a few hundred yards theman evinces unmistakable signs of uneasiness concerning my character, and would probably follow the bent of his inclinations and ingloriouslyflee the field, but his donkey is too heavily laden to accompany him:he looks apprehensively at my rapidly approaching figure, and then, asif a happy thought suddenly occurs to him, he quickly takes the finestbunch of grapes ready to hand and holds them, out toward me while I amyet a good fifty yards away. The grapes are luscious, and the bunchweighs fully an oke, but I should feel uncomfortably like a highwayman, guilty of intimidating the man out of his property, were I to acceptthem in the spirit in which they are offered; as it is, the honest fellowwill hardly fall to trembling in his tracks should he at any future timeagain descry the centaur-like form of a mounted wheelman approaching himin the distance. 

Later in the forenoon I descend into a canon-like valley where, among afew scattering vineyards and jujube-trees, nestles Ayash, a place whichdisputes with the neighboring village of Istanos the honor of being thetheatre of Alexander the Great's celebrated exploit of cutting the Gordianknot that disentangled the harness of the Phrygian king. Ayash is to becongratulated upon having its historical reminiscence to recommend itto the notice of the outer world, since it has little to attract attentionnowadays; it is merely the shapeless jumble of inferior dwellings thatcharacterize the average Turkish village. As I trundle through thecrooked, ill-paved alley-way that, out of respect to the historicalassociation referred to, may be called its business thoroughfare, withforethought of the near approach of noon I obtain some pears, and handan ekmek-jee a coin for some bread; he passes over a tough flat cake, abundantly sufficient for my purpose, together with the change. A zaptieh, looking on, observes that the man has retained a whole half-penny forthe bread, and orders him to fork over another cake; I refuse to takeit up, whereupon the zaptieh fulfils his ideas of justice by orderingthe ekmek-jae to give it to a ragged youth among the spectators. 

Continuing on my way I am next halted by a young man of the better class, who, together with the zaptieh, endeavors to prevail upon me to stop, going through the pantomime of writing and reading, to express some ideathat our mutual ignorance of each other's language prevents being expressedin words. The result is a rather curious intermezzo. Thinking they wantto examine my teskeri merely to gratify their idle curiosity, I refuseto be thus bothered, and, dismissing them quite brusquely, hurry alongover the rough cobble-stones in hopes of reaching ridable ground andescaping from the place ere the inevitable "madding crowd" becomegenerally aware of my arrival. The young man disappears, while the zaptiehtrots smilingly but determinedly by my side, several times endeavoringto coax me into making a halt; which is, however, promptly interpretedby myself into a paternal plea on behalf of the villagers - a desire tohave me stop until they could be generally notified and collected - thevery thing I am hurrying along to avoid, I am already clear of the villageand trundling up the inevitable acclivity, the zaptieh and a smallgathering still doggedly hanging on, when the young man reappears, hurriedly approaching from the rear, followed by half the village. Thezaptieh pats me on the shoulder and points back with a triumphant smile;thinking he is referring to the rabble, I am rather inclined to be angrywith him and chide him for dogging my footsteps, when I observe the youngman waving aloft a letter, and at once understand that I have been guiltyof an ungenerous misinterpretation of their determined attentions. Theletter is from Mr. Binns, an English gentleman at Angora, engaged in theexportation of mohair, and contains an invitation to become his guestwhile at Angora. A well-deserved backsheesh to the good-natured zaptiehand a penitential shake of the young man's hand silence the self-accusationsof a guilty conscience, and, after riding a short distance down the hillfor the satisfaction of the people, I continue on my way, trundling upthe varying gradations of a general acclivity for two miles. Away up theroad ahead I now observe a number of queer, shapeless objects, movingabout on the roadway, apparently descending the hill, and resemblingnothing so much as animated clumps of brushwood. Upon a closer approachthey turn out to be not so very far removed from this conception; theyare a company of poor Ayash peasant-women, each carrying a bundle ofcamel-thorn shrubs several times larger than herself, which they havebeen scouring the neighboring hills all morning to obtain for fuel. Thiscamel-thorn is a light, spriggy shrub, so that the size of their burthensis large in proportion to its weight. Instead of being borne on the head, they are carried in a way that forms a complete bushy background, againstwhich the shrouded form of the woman is undistinguishable a few hundredyards away. Instead of keeping a straightforward course, the women seemto be doing an unnecessary amount of erratic wandering about over theroad, which, until quite near, gives them the queer appearance of animatedclumps of brush dodging about among each other. I ask them whether thereis water ahead; they look frightened and hurry along faster, but onebrave soul turns partly round and points mutely in the direction I amgoing. Two miles of good, ridable road now brings me to the spring, whichis situated near a two-acre swamp of rank sword-grass and bulrushes sixfeet high and of almost inpenetrable thickness, which looks decidedlyrefreshing in its setting of barren, gray hills; and I eat my noon-tidemeal of bread and pears to the cheery music of a thousand swamp-frogbands which commence croaking at my approach, and never cease for amoment to twang their tuneful lyre until I depart. The tortuous windingsof the chemin de fer finally bring me to a cul-de-sac in the hills, terminating on the summit of a ridge overlooking a broad plain; and ahorseman I meet informs me that I am now mid way between Bey Bazaar andAngora. While ascending this ridge I become thoroughly convinced of whathas frequently occurred to me between here and Nalikhan - that if the roadI am traversing is, as the people keep calling it, a chemin de fer, thenthe engineer who graded it must have been a youth of tender age, andinexperienced in railway matters, to imagine that trains can ever roundhis curve or climb his grades. There is something about this broad, artificial highway, and the tremendous amount of labor that has beenexpended upon it, when compared with the glaring poverty of the countryit traverses, together with the wellnigh total absence of wheeled vehicles, that seem to preclude the possibility of its having been made for awagon-road; and yet, notwithstanding the belief of the natives, it isevident that it can never be the road-bed of a railway. We must inquireabout it at Angora. 

Descending into the Angora Plain, I enjoy the luxury of a continuouscoast for nearly a mile, over a road that is simply perfect for theoccasion, after which comes the less desirable performance of ploughingthrough a stretch of loose sand and gravel. While engaged in this latteroccupation I overtake a zaptieh, also en route to Angora, who is lettinghis horse crawl leisurely along while he concentrates his energies upona water-melon, evidently the spoils of a recent visitation to a melon-gardensomewhere not far off; he hands me a portion of the booty, and thenrequests me to bin, and keeps on requesting me to bin at regular three-minute intervals for the next half-hour. At the end of that time theloose gravel terminates, and I find myself on a level and reasonablysmooth dirt road, making a shorter cut across the plain to Angora thanthe chin de fer. The zaptieh is, of course, delighted at seeing me thusmount, and not doubting but that I will appreciate his company, givesme to understand that he will ride alongside to Angora. For nearly twomiles that sanguine but unsuspecting minion of the Turkish Governmentspurs his noble steed alongside the bicycle in spite of my determinedpedalling to shake him off; but the road improves; faster spins thewhirling wheels; the zaptieh begins to lag behind a little, though stillspurring his panting horse into keeping reasonably close behind; a bendnow occurs in the road, and an intervening knoll hides iis from eachother; I put on more steam, and at the same time the zaptieh evidentlygives it up and relapses into his normal crawling pace, for when threemiles or thereabout arc covered I look back and perceive him leisurelyheaving in sight from behind the knoll. 

Part way across the plain I arrive at a fountain and make a short halt, for the day is unpleasantly warm, and the dirt-road is covered with dust;the government postaya araba is also halting here to rest and refreshthe horses. I have not failed to notice the proneness of Asiatics tobase their conclusions entirely on a person's apparel and general outwardappearance, for the seeming incongruity of my "Ingilis" helmet and theCircassian moccasins has puzzled them not a little on more than oneoccasion. And now one wiseacre among this party at the road-side fountainstubbornly asserts that I cannot possibly be an Englishman because ofmy wearing a mustache without side whiskers-a feature that seems to haveimpressed upon his enlightened mind the unalterable conviction that Iam an "Austrian, " why an Austrian any more than a Frenchman or aninhabitant of the moon, I wonder ? and wondering, wonder in vain. FiveP. M. , August 16, 1885, finds me seated on a rude stone slab, one of thoseancient tombstones whose serried ranks constitute the suburban sceneryof Angora, ruefully disburdening my nether garments of mud and water, the results of a slight miscalculation of my abilities at leapingirrigating ditches with the bicycle for a vaulting-pole. While engagedin this absorbing occupation several inquisitives mysteriously collectfrom somewhere, as they invariably do whenever I happen to halt for aminute, and following the instructions of the Ayash letter I inquire theway to the "Ingilisin Adam" (Englishman's man). They pilot me througha number of narrow, ill-paved streets leading up the sloping hill whichAngora occupies - a situation that gives the supposed ancient capital ofGalatia a striking appearance from a distance - and into the premises ofan Armenian whom I find able to make himself intelligible in English, if allowed several minutes undisturbed possession of his own facultiesof recollection between each word - the gentleman is slow but not quitesure. From him I learn that Mr. Binns and family reside during the summermonths at a vineyard five miles out, and that Mr. Binns will not be intown before to-morrow morning; also that, "You are welcome to the humblehospitality of our poor family. "

This latter way of expressing it is a revelation to me, and the leaden-heeledand labored utterance, together with the general bearing of my volunteerhost, is not less striking; if meekness, lowliness, and humbleness, permeating a person's every look, word, and action, constitute worthiness, then is our Armenian friend beyond a doubt the worthiest of men. Laboringunder the impression that he is Mr. Binns' "Ingilisin Adam, " I have nohesitation about accepting his proffered hospitality for the night; andstoring the bicycle away, I proceed to make myself quite at home, inthat easy manner peculiar to one accustomed to constant change. Laterin the evening imagine my astonishment at learning that I have thusnonchalantly quartered myself, so to speak, not on Mr. Binns' man, buton an Armenian pastor who has acquired his slight acquaintance with myown language from being connected with the American Mission havingheadquarters at Kaisarieh. All the evening long, noisy crowds have beenbesieging the pastorate, worrying the poor man nearly out of his senseson my account; and what makes matters more annoying and lamentable, Ilearn afterward that his wife has departed this life but a short timeago, and the bereaved pastor is still bowed down with sorrow at theaffliction - I feel like kicking myself unceremoniously out of his house. Following the Asiatic custom of welcoming a stranger, and influenced, we may reasonably suppose, as much by their eagerness to satisfy theirconsuming curiosity as anything else, the people come flocking in swarmsto the pastorate again next morning, filling the house and grounds tooverflowing, and endeavoring to find out all about me and my unheard - ofmode of travelling, by questioning the poor pastor nearly to distraction. That excellent man's thoughts seem to run entirely on missionaries andmission enterprises; so much so, in fact, that several negative assertionsfrom me fail to entirely disabuse his mind of an idea that I am in someway connected with the work of spreading the Gospel in Asia Minor; andcoming into the room where I am engaged in the interesting occupationof returning the salaams and inquisitive gaze of fifty ceremoniousvisitors, in slow, measured words he asks, "Have you any words for thesepeople?" as if quite expecting to see me rise up and solemnly call uponthe assembled Mussulmans, Greeks, and Armenians to forsake the religionof the False Prophet in the one case, and mend the error of their waysin the other. I know well enough what they all want, though, and dismissthem in a highly satisfactory manner by promising them that they shallall have an opportunity of seeing the bicycle ridden before I leaveAngora. 

About ten o'clock Mr. Binns arrives, and is highly amused at the ludicrousmistake that brought me to the Armenian pastor's instead of to his man, with whom he had left instructions concerning me, should I arrive afterhis departure in the evening for the vineyard; in return he has an amusingstory to tell of the people waylaying him on his way to his office, telling him that an Englishman had arrived with a wonderful araba, whichhe had immediately locked up in a dark room and would allow nobody tolook at it, and begging him to ask me if they might come and see it. Wespend the remainder of the forenoon looking over the town and the bazaar, Mr. Binus kindly announcing himself as at my service for the day, andseemingly bent on pointing out everything of interest. One of the mostcurious sights, and one that is peculiar to Angora, owing to its situationon a hill where little or no water is obtainable, is the bewilderingswarms of su-katirs (water donkeys) engaged in the transportation ofthat important necessary up into the city from a stream that flows nearthe base of the hill. These unhappy animals do nothing from one end oftheir working lives to the other but toil, with almost machine-likeregularity and uneventfulness, up the crooked, stony streets with a dozenlarge earthen-ware jars of water, and down again with the empty jars. The donkey is sandwiched between two long wooden troughs suspended to arude pack-saddle, and each trough accommodates six jars, each holdingabout two gallons of water; one can readily imagine the swarms of thesenovel and primitive conveyances required to supply a population of thirty-five thousand people. Upon inquiring what they do in case of a fire, Ilearn that they don't even think of fighting the devouring element withits natural enemy, but, collecting on the adjoining roofs, they smotherthe flames by pelting the burning building with the soft, crumbly bricksof which Angora is chiefly built; a house on fire, with a swarm of half-naked natives on the neighboring housetops bombarding the leaping flameswith bricks, would certainly be an interesting sight. 

Other pity-exciting scenes besides the patient little water-carryingdonkeys are not likely to be wanting on the streets of an Asiatic city;one case I notice merits particular mention. A youth with both armsamputated at the shoulder, having not so much as the stump of an arm, is riding a donkey, and persuading the unwilling animal along quitebriskly - with a stick. All Christendom could never guess how a personthus afflicted could possibly wield a stick so as to make any impressionupon a donkey; but this ingenious person holds it quite handily betweenhis chin and right shoulder, and from constant practice has acquired theability to visit his long-eared steed with quite vigorous thwacks. 

Near noon we repair to the government house to pay a visit to SirraPasha, the Vali or governor of the vilayet, who, having heard of myarrival, has expressed a wish to have us call on him. We happen to arrivewhile he is busily engaged with an important legal decision, but uponour being announced he begs us to wait a few minutes, promising to hurrythrough with the business. We are then requested to enter an adjoiningapartment, where we find the Mayor, the Cadi, the Secretary of State, the Chief of the Angora zaptiehs, and several other functionaries, signingdocuments, affixing seals, and otherwise variously occupied. At ourentrance, documents, pens, seals, and everything are relegated to temporaryoblivion, coffee and cigarettes are produced, and the journey dunianin-athrafana (around the world) I am making with the wonderful araba becomesthe all-absorbing subject. These wise men of state entertain queer, Asiatic notions concerning the probable object of my journey; they cannotbring themselves to believe it possible that I am performing so great ajourney "merely as the Outing correspondent;" they think it more probable, they say, that my real incentive is to "spite an enemy" - that, havingquarrelled with another wheelman about our comparative skill as riders, I am wheeling entirely around the globe in order to prove my superiority, and at the same time leave no opportunity for my hated rival to performa greater feat - Asiatic reasoning, sure enough. Reasoning thus, andcommenting in this wise among themselves, their curiosity becomes workedup to the highest possible pitch, and they commence plying Mr. Binnswith questions concerning the mechanism and general appearance of thebicycle. To facilitate Mr. Binns in his task of elucidation, I producefrom my inner coat-pocket a set of the earlier sketches illustrating thetour across America, and for the next few minutes the set of sketchesare of more importance than all the State documents in the room. Curiouslyenough, the sketch entitled "A Fair Young Mormon " attracts more attentionthan any of the others. The Mayor is Suleiman Effendi, the same gentlemanmentioned at some length by Colonel Burnaby in his "On Horseback ThroughAsia Minor, " and one of his first questions is whether I am acquaintedwith "my friend Burnaby, whose tragic death in the Soudan will nevercease to make me feel unhappy. " Suleiman Effendi appears to be remarkablyintelligent, compared with many Asiatics, and, moreover, of quite apractical turn of mind; he inquires what I should do in case of a seriousbreak-down somewhere in the far interior, and his curiosity to see thebicycle is not a little increased by hearing that, notwithstanding theextreme airiness of my strange vehicle, I have had no serious mishap onthe whole journey across two continents. Alluding to the bicycle as thelatest product of that Western ingenuity that appears so marvellous tothe Asiatic mind, he then remarks, with some animation, "The next thingwe shall see will be Englishmen crossing over to India in balloons, anddropping down at Angora for refreshments. " A uniformed servant nowannounces that the Vali is at liberty, and waiting to receive us inprivate audience. Following the attendant into another room, we findSirra Pasha seated on a richly cushioned divan, and upon our entrancehe rises smilingly to receive us, shaking us both cordially by the hand. As the distinguished visitor of the occasion, I am appointed to the placeof honor next to the governor, while Mr. Binns, with whom, of course, as a resident of Angora, His Excellency is already quite well acquainted, graciously fills the office of interpreter, and enlightener of the Vali'sunderstanding concerning bicycles in general, and my own wheel and wheeljourney in particular. Sirra Pasha is a full-faced man of medium height, black-eyed, black-haired, and, like nearly all Turkish pashas, is ratherinclined to corpulency. Like many prominent Turkish officials, he hasdiscarded the Turkish costume, retaining only the national fez; a head-dress which, by the by, is without one single merit to recommend it saveits picturesqueness. In sunny weather it affords no protection to theeyes, and in rainy weather its contour conducts the water in a tricklingstream down one's spinal column. It is too thin to protect the scalpfrom the fierce sun-rays, and too close-fitting and close in texture toafford any ventilation, yet with all this formidable array of disadvantagesit is universally worn. 

I have learned during the morning that I have to thank Sirra Pasha'senergetic administration for the artificial highway from Keshtobek, andthat he has constructed in the vilayet no less than two hundred and fiftymiles' of this highway, broad and reasonably well made, and actuallymacadamized in localities where the necessary material is to be obtained. The amount of work done in constructing this road through so mountainousa country is, as before mentioned, plainly out of all proportion to thewealth and population of a second-grade vilayet like Angora, and itsaccomplishment has been possible only by the employment of forced labor. Every man in the whole vilayet is ordered out to work at the road-makinga certain number of days every year, or provide a substitute; thus, during the present summer there have been as many as twenty thousandmen, besides donkeys, working on the roads at one time. Unaccustomed topublic improvements of this nature, and, no doubt, failing to see theiradvantages in a country practically without vehicles, the people havesometimes ventured to grumble at the rather arbitrary proceeding ofmaking them work for nothing, and board themselves; and it has been foundexpedient to make them believe that they were doing the preliminarygrading for a railway that was shortly coming to make them all prosperousand happy; beyond being credulous enough to swallow the latter part ofthe bait, few of them have the least idea of what sort of a looking thinga railroad would be. 

When the Vali hears that the people all along the road have been tellingme it was a chemin de fer, he fairly shakes in his boots with laughter. Of course I point out that no one can possibly appreciate the roadimprovements any more than a wheelman, and explain the great differenceI have found between the mule-paths of Kodjaili and the broad highwayshe has made through Angora, and I promise him the universal good opinionof the whole world of 'cyclers. In reply, His Excellency hopes thisfavorable opinion will not be jeopardized by the journey to Yuzgat, butexpresses the fear that I shall find heavier wheeling in that direction, as the road is newly made, and there has been no vehicular traffic topack it down. 

The Governor invites me to remain over until Thursday and witness theceremony of laying the corner-stone of a new school, of the founding ofwhich he has good reason to feel proud, and which ought to secure himthe esteem of right-thinking people everywhere. He has determined it tobe a common school in which no question of Mohammedan, Jew, or Christian, will be allowed to enter, but where the young ideas of Turkish, Christian, and Jewish youths shall be taught to shoot peacefully and harmoniouslytogether. Begging to be excused from this, he then invites me to takedinner with him to-morrow evening: but this I also decline, excusingrnyself for having determined to remain over no longer than a day onaccount of the approaching rainy season and my anxiety to reach Teheranbefore it sets in. Yet a third time the pasha rallies to the charge, asthough determined not to let me off without honoring me in some way; andthis time he offers to furnish me a zaptieh escort, but I tell him ofthe zaptieh's inability to keep up yesterday, at which he is immenselyamused. His Excellency then promises to be present at the starting-pointto-morrow morning, asking me to name the time and place, after which wefinish the cigarettes and coffee and take our leave. We next take asurvey of the mohair caravansary, where buyers and sellers and exporterscongregate to transact business, and I watch with some interest the corpsof half-naked sorters seated before large heaps of mohair, assorting itinto the several classes ready for exportation. Here Mr. Binns' officeis situated, and we are waited upon by several of his business acquaintances;among them a member of the celebrated - celebrated in Asia Minor - Tif-ticjeeoghlou family, whose ancestors have been prominently engaged inthe mohair business for so long that their very name is significatoryof their profession - Tifticjee-oghlou, literally, "Mohair-dealer's son. "The Smiths, Bakers, and Hunters of Occidental society are not a whitmore significative than are many prominent names of the Orient. Prominentamong the Angorians is a certain Mr. Altentopoghlou, the literalinterpretation of which is, "Son of the golden ball, " and the originof whose family name Eastern tradition has surrounded by the followinglittle interesting anecdote: Ages ago it pleased one of the Sultans toissue a proclamation throughout the empire, promising to present a goldenball to whichever among all his subjects should prove himself the biggestliar, giving it to be understood beforehand that no "merely improbablestory" would stand the ghost of a chance of winning, since he himselfwas to be the judge, and nothing short of a story that was simplyimpossible would secure the prize. The proclamation naturally made quitea stir among the great prevaricators of the realm, and hundreds of storiescame pouring in from competitors everywhere, some even surreptitiouslyborrowing "whoppers" from the Persians, who are well known as thegreatest economizers of the truth in all Asia; but they were one and alladjudged by the astute monarch-who was himself a most experiencedprevaricator - probably the noblest Roman of them all - as containing incidentsthat might under extraordinary circumstances have been true. The covetedgolden ball still remained unawarded, when one day there appeared beforethe gate of the Sultan's palace, requesting an audience, an old man withtravel-worn appearance, as though from a long pilgrimage, and bearingon his stooping shoulders an immense earthen-ware jar. The Sultan receivedthe aged pilgrim kindly, and asked him what he could do for him. 

"Oh, Sultan, may you live forever!" exclaimed the old man, "for yourImperial Highness is loved and celebrated throughout all the empirefor your many virtues, but most of all for your wellknown love of justice. "

"Inshallah!" replied the monarch, reverently. "May it please YourImperial Majesty, " continued the old man, calling the monarch's attentionto the jar, "Your Highness' most excellent father - may his bones rest inpeace! - borrowed from my father this jar full of gold coins, the conditionsbeing that Your Majesty was to pay the same amount back to me. " "Absurd, impossible!" exclaimed the astonished Sultan, eying the huge vessel inquestion. 

"If the story be true, " gravely continued the pilgrim, "pay your father'sdebt; if it is as you say, impossible, I have fairly won the goldenball. " And the Sultan immediately awarded him the prize. 

In the cool of the evening we ride out on horseback through vineyardsand yellow-berry gardens to Mr. Binns' country residence, a place thatformerly belonged to an old pasha, a veritable Bluebeard, who built thehouse and placed the windows of his harem, even closely latticed as theyalways are, in a position that would not command so much as a glimpseof passers-by on the road, hundreds of yards away. He planted trees andgardens, and erected marble fountains at great cost. Surrounding thewhole with a wall, and purchasing three beautiful young wives, the oldTurk fondly fancied he had created for himself an earthly paradise; butas love laughs at locksmiths, so did these three frisky damea laugh atlatticed windows, and lay their heads together against being preventedfrom watching passers-by through the windows of the harem. With nothingelse to do, they would scheme and plot all day long against their misguidedhusband's tranquillity and peace of mind. One day, while sunning himselfin the garden, he discovered that they had managed to detach a sectionof the lattice-work from a window, and were in the habit of sticking outtheir heads - awful discovery. Flying into a righteous rage at this actof flagrant disobedience, he seized a thick stick and sought theirapartments, only to find the lattice-work skilfully replaced, and to beconfronted with a general denial of what he had witnessed with his owneyes. This did not prevent them from all three getting a severe chastisement;but as time wore on he found the life these three caged-up young womenmanaged to lead him anything but the earthly paradise he thought he wascreating, and, financial troubles overtaking him at the same time, theold fellow fairly died of a broken heart in less than twelve months afterhe had so hopefully installed himself in his self-created heaven. 

There is a moral in the story somewhere, I think, for anybody caring toanalyze it. Mr. Binns says the old Mussulman was also an inveterate haterof unbelievers, and that the old fellow's bones would fairly rattle inhis coffin were he conscious that a family of Christians are now actuallyoccupying the house he built with such careful regard for the Mussulman'sideas of a material heaven, with trees and fountains and black-eyedhouris. 

Near ten o'clock on Tuesday morning finds Angora the scene of moreexcitement than it has seen for some time. I am trundling through thenarrow streets toward the appointed starting-place, which is at thecommencement of a half-mile stretch of excellent level macadam, justbeyond the tombstone-planted suburbs of the city. Mr. Binns is with me, and a squad of zaptiehs are engaged in the lively occupation of protectingus from the crush of people following us out; they are armed especiallyfor the occasion with long switches, with which they unsparingly layabout them, seemingly only too delighted at the chance of making thedust fly from the shoulders of such unfortunate wights as the pressureof the throng forces anywhere near the magic cause of the commotion. Thetime and place of starting have been proclaimed by the Vali and havebecome generally noised abroad, and near three thousand people are alreadyassembled when we arrive; among them is seen the genial face of SuleimanEffendi, who, in his capacity of mayor, is early on the ground with aforce of zaptiehs to maintain order; and with a little knot of friends, behold, is also our humble friend the Armenian pastor, the irresistibleattractions of the wicked bicycle having temporarily overcome his contemptof the pomps and vanities of secular displays. 

"Englishmen are always punctual!" says Suleiman Effendi, looking at hiswatch; and, upon consulting our own, sure enough we have happened toarrive precisely to the minute. An individual named Mustapha, a blacksmithwho has acquired an enviable reputation for skill on account of thebeautiful horseshoes he turns out, now presents himself and begs leaveto examine the mechanism of the bicycle, and the question arises amongthe officers standing by as to whether Mustapha would be able to makeone; Mustapha himself thinks he could, providing he had mine always athand to copy from. 

"Yes, " suggests the practical-minded Suleiman Effendi, "yes, Mustapha, you may have mariftt enough to make one; but when you have finished it, who among all of us will have marifet enough to ride it?"

"True, effendi, " solemnly assents another, "we would have to send foran Englishman to ride it for us, after Mustapha had turned it out. "

The Mayor now requests me to ride along the road once or twice to appeasethe clamor of the multitude until the Vali arrives. The crowd along theroad is tremendous, and on a neighboring knoll, commanding a view of theproceedings, are several carriageloads of ladies, the wives and femalerelatives of the officials. The Mayor is indulgent to his people, allowingthem to throng the roadway, simply ordering the zaptiehs to keep my roadthrough the surging mass open. While on the home-stretch from the secondspin, up dashes the Vali in the state equipage with quite an imposingbodyguard of mounted zaptiehs, their chief being a fine military-lookingCircassian in the picturesque military costume of the Caucasus. Thesehorsemen the Governor at once orders to clear the people entirely offthe road-way - an order no sooner given than executed; and after thecustomary interchange of salutations, I mount and wheel briskly up thebroad, smooth macadam between two compact masses of delighted natives;excitement runs high, and the people clap their hands and howl approvinglyat the performance, while the horsemen gallop briskly to and fro to keepthem from intruding on the road after I have wheeled past, and obstructingthe Governor's view. After riding back and forth a couple of times, Idismount at the Vali's carriage; a mutual interchange of adieus and well-wishes all around, and I take my departure, wheeling along at a ten-milepace amid the vociferous plaudits of at least four thousand people, whowatch my retreating figure until I disappear over the brow of a hill. At the upper end of the main crowd are stationed the "irregular cavalry"on horses, mules, and donkeys; and among the latter I notice ouringenious friend, the armless youth of yesterday, whom I now make happyby a nod of recognition, having scraped up a backsheesh acquaintancewith him yesterday. 

For. Some miles the way continues fairly smooth and hard, leading througha region of low vineyard-covered hills, but ere long I arrive at thenewly made road mentioned by the Vali. After which, like the course oftrue love, my forward career seldom runs smooth for any length of time, though ridable donkey-trails occasionally run parallel with the boguschemin defer. For mile after mile I now alternately ride and trundlealong donkey-paths, by the side of an artificial highway that would bean enterprise worthy of a European State. The surface of the road iseither gravelled or of broken rock, and well rounded for self-drain-age; it is graded over the mountains, and wooden bridges, with substantialrock supports, are built across the streams; nothing is lacking exceptthe vehicles to utilize it. In the absence of these it would almost seemto have been an unnecessary and superfluous expenditure of the people'slabor to make such a road through a country most of which is fit forlittle else but grazing goats and buffaloes. Aside from some half-dozencarriages at Angora, and a few light government postaya arabas - aninnovation from horses for carrying the mail, recently introduced as aresult of the improved roads, and which make weekly trips between suchpoints as Angora, Yuzgat, and Tokat - the only vehicles in the country arethe buffalo-carts of the larger farmers, rude home made arabas with solidwooden wheels, whose infernal creaking can be heard for a mile, and whichthey seldom take any distance from home, preferring their pack-donkeysand cross-country trails when going to town with produce. Perhaps intime vehicular traffic may appear as a result of suitable roads; but thenatives are slow to adopt new improvements. 

About two hours from Angora I pass tbrough a swampy upland basin, containing several small lakes, and then emerge into a much less mountainouscountry, passing several mud villages, the inhabitants of which are adark-skinned people-Turkoman refugees, I think-who look several degreesless particular about their personal cleanliness than the villagers westof Angora. Their wretched mud hovels would seem to indicate the lastdegree of poverty, but numerous flocks of goats and herds of buffalograzing near apparently tell a somewhat different story. The women andchildren seem mostly engaged in manufacturing cakes of tezek (large flatcakes of buffalo manure mixed with chopped straw, which are "dobbed"on the outer walls to dry; it makes very good fuel, like the "buffalochips" of the far West), and stacking it up on the house-tops, withprovident forethought, for the approaching winter. 

Just as darkness is beginning to settle down over the landscape I arriveat one of these unpromising-looking clusters, which, it seems, are nowpeculiar to the country, and not characteristic of any particular race, for the one I arrive at is a purely Turkish village. After the usualpreliminaries of pantomime and binning, I am conducted to a capaciousflat roof, the common covering of several dwellings and stables bunchedup together. This roof is as smooth and hard as a native threshing-floor, and well knowing, from recent experiences, the modus operandi of capturingthe hearts of these bland and childlike villagers, I mount and straightwaysecure their universal admiration and applause by riding a few timesround the roof. I obtain a supper of fried eggs and yaort (milk souredwith rennet), eating it on the house-top, surrounded by the wholepopulation of the village, on this and adjoining roofs, who watch myevery movement with the most intense curiosity. It is the raggedestaudience I have yet been favored with. There are not over half a dozendecently clad people among them all, and two of these are horsemen, simply remaining over night, like myself. Everybody has a fearfully flea-bitten appearance, which augurs ill for a refreshing night's repose. 

Here, likewise I am first introduced to a peculiar kind of bread, thatI straightway condemn as the most execrable of the many varieties myeverchanging experiences bring me in contact with, and which I findmyself mentally, and half unconsciously, naming - " blotting-paper ekmek"-a not inappropriate title to convey its appearance to the civilizedmind; but the sheets of blotting-paper must be of a wheaten color andin circular sheets about two feet in diameter. This peculiar kind ofbread is, we may suppose, the natural result of a great scarcity of fuel, a handful of tezek, beneath the large, thin sheet-iron griddle, beingsufficient to bake many cakes of this bread. At first I start eating itsomething like a Shanty town goat would set about consuming a politicalposter, if it - not the political poster, but the Shanty town goat - had apair of hands. This outlandish performance creates no small merrimentamong the watchful on-lookers, who forthwith initiate me into the modeof eating it a la Turque, which is, to roll it up like a scroll of paperand bite mouthfuls off the end. I afterwards find this particular varietyof ekmek quite handy when seated around a communal bowl of yaort with adozen natives; instead of taking my turn with the one wooden spoon incommon use, I would form pieces of the thin bread into small handlelessscoops, and, dipping up the yaort, eat scoop and all. Besides sparingme from using the same greasy spoon in common with a dozen natives, noneof them overly squeamish as regards personal cleanliness, this gave methe appreciable advantage of dipping into the dish as often as I choose, instead of waiting for my regular turn at the wooden spoon. 

Though they are Osmanli Turks, the women of these small villages appearto make little pretence of covering their faces. Among themselves theyconstitute, as it were, one large family gathering, and a stranger isbut seldom seen. They are apparently simple-minded females, just a trifleshame-faced in their demeanor before a stranger, sitting apart bythemselves while listening to the conversation between myself and themen. This, of course, is very edifying, even apart from its pantomimicand monosyllabic character, for I am now among a queer people, a peoplethrough the unoccupied chambers of whose unsophisticated minds wanderstrange, fantastic thoughts. One of the transient horsemen, a contemplativeyoung man, the promising appearance of whose upper lip proclaims himsomething over twenty, announces that he likewise is on the way to Yuzgat;and after listening attentively to my explanations of how a wheelmanclimbs mountains and overcomes stretches of bad road, he solemnly inquireswhether a 'cycler could scurry up a mountain slope all right if some onewere to follow behind and touch him up occasionally with a whip, in thepersuasive manner required in driving a horse. He then produces a rawhide"persuader, " and ventures the opinion that if he followed close behindme to Yuzgat, and touched me up smartly with it whenever we came to amountain, or a sandy road, there would be no necessity of trundling anyof the way. He then asks, with the innocent simplicity of a child, whetherin case he made the experiment, I would get angry and shoot him. 

The other transient appears of a more speculative turn of mind, and drawslargely upon his own pantomimic powers and my limited knowledge ofTurkish, to ascertain the difference between the katch lira of a bicycleat retail, and the hatch lira of its manufacture. From the amount ofmental labor he voluntarily inflicts upon himself to acquire thisparticular item of information, I apprehend that nothing less than wildvisions of acquiring a rapid fortune by starting a bicycle factory atAngora, are flitting through his imaginative mind. The villagers themselvesseem to consider me chiefly from the standpoint of their own peculiarideas concerning the nature of an Englishman's feelings toward a Russian. My performance on the roof has put them in the best of humor, and hasevidently whetted their appetites for further amusement. Pointing to astolid-looking individual, of an apparently taciturn disposition, andwho is one of the respectably-dressed few, they accuse him of being aEussiau; and then all eyes are turned towards me, as though they quiteexpect to see me rise up wrathfully and make some warlike demonstrationagainst him. My undemonstrative disposition forbids so theatrical aproceeding, however, and I confine myself to making a pretence of fallinginto the trap, casting furtive glances of suspicion towards the supposedhated subject of the Czar, and making whispered inquiries of my immediateneighbors concerning the nature of his mission in Turkish territory. During this interesting comedy the "audience" are fairly shaking intheir rags with suppressed merriment; and when the taciturn individualhimself - who has thus far retained his habitual self-composure - growingrestive under the hateful imputation of being a Muscov and my supposedbellicose sentiments toward him in consequence, finally repudiates thepart thus summarily assigned him, the whole company bursts out into aboisterous roar of laughter. At this happy turn of sentiment I assumean air of intense relief, shake the taciturn man's hand, and, borrowingthe speculative transient's fez, proclaim myself a Turk, an act thatfairly "brings down the house. "

Thus the evening passes merrily away until about ten o'clock, when thepeople begin to slowly disperse to the roofs of their respectivehabitations, the whole population sleeping on the house-tops, with noroof over them save the star-spangled vault - the arched dome of the greatmosque of the universe, so often adorned with the pale yellow, crescent-shapedemblem of their religion. Several families occupy the roof which hasbeen the theatre of the evening's social gathering, and the men nowconsign me to a comfortable couch made up of several quilts, one of thetransients thoughtfully cautioning me to put my moccasins under my pillow, as these articles were the object of almost universal covetousness duringthe evening. No sooner am I comfortably settled down, than a wordy warfarebreaks out in my immediate vicinity, and an ancient female makes adetermined dash at my coverlet, with the object of taking forciblepossession; but she is seized and unceremoniously hustled away by themen who assigned me my quarters. It appears that, with an eye singly anddisinterestedly to my own comfort, and regardless of anybody else's, they have, without taking the trouble to obtain her consent, appropriatedto my use the old lady's bed, leaving her to shift for herself any wayshe can, a high-handed proceeding that naturally enough arouses hervirtuous indignation to the pitch of resentment. Upon this fact occurringto me, I of course immediately vacate the property in dispute, and, withtrue Western gallantry, arraign myself on the rightful owner's side bycarrying my wheel and other effects to another position; whereupon asatisfactory compromise is soon arranged between the disputants, by whichanother bed ia prepared for me, and the ancient dame takes triumphantpossession of her own. Peace and tranquillity being thus established ona firm basis, the several families tenanting our roof settle themselvessnugly down. The night is still and calm, and naught is heard save mynearer neighbors' scratching, scratching, scratching. This - not thescratching, but the quietness - doesn't last long, however, for it iscustomary to collect all the four-footed possessions of the villagetogether every night and permit them to occupy the inter-spaces betweenthe houses, while the humans are occupying the roofs, the horde of watch-dogs being depended upon to keep watch and ward over everything. Thehovels are more underground than above the surface, and often, when thevillage occupies sloping ground, the upper edge of the roof is practicallybut a continuation of the solid ground, or at the most there is but asingle step-up between them. The goats are of course permitted to wanderwhithersoever they will, and equally, of course, they abuse theirprivileges by preferring the roofs to the ground and wandering incessantlyabout among the sleepers. Where the roof comes too near the ground sometemporary obstruction is erected, to guard against the intrusion ofventuresome buffaloes. No sooner have the humans quieted down, thanseveral goats promptly invade the roof, and commence their usual nocturnalpromenade among the prostrate forms of their owners, and further indulgetheir well-known goatish propensities by nibbling away the edges of theroof. (They would, of course, prefer a square meal off a patchwork quilt, but from their earliest infancy they are taught that meddling with thebedclothes will bring severe punishment. ) A buffalo occasionally givesutterance to a solemn, prolonged " m-o-o-o;" now and then a baby wailsits infantile disapproval of the fleas, and frequent noisy squabblesoccur among the dogs. Under these conditions, it is not surprising thatone should woo in vain the drowsy goddess; and near midnight some personwithin a few yards of my couch begins groaning fearfully, as if in greatpain - probably a case of the stomach-ache, I mentally conclude, thoughthis hasty conclusion may not unnaturally result from an inner consciousnessof being better equipped for curing that particular affliction than anyother. From the position of the sufferer, I am inclined to think it isthe same ancient party that ousted me out of her possessions two hoursago, and I lay here as far removed from the realms of unconsciousnessas the moment I retired, expecting every minute to see her appear beforeme in a penitential mood, asking me to cure her, for the inevitable hakimquestion had been raised during the evening. She doesn't present herself, however; perhaps the self-accusations of her conscience, for having inthe moment of her wrath attempted to appropriate my coverlet in so rudea manner, prevent her appealing to me now in the hour of distress. Thesepeople are early risers; the women are up milking the goats and buffaloesbefore daybreak, and the men hieing them away to the harvest fields andthreshing-floors. I, likewise, bestir myself at daylight, intending toreach the next village before breakfast. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

ACROSS THE KIZIL IRMAK RIVER TO YUZGAT. 

The country continues much the same as yesterday, with the road indifferentfor wheeling. Reaching the expected village about eight o'clock, Ibreakfast off ekmek and new buffalo milk, and at once continue on myway, meeting nothing particularly interesting, save a lively boutoccasionally with goat-herds' dogs - the reminiscences of which are doubtlessmore vividly interesting to myself than they would be to the reader - untilhigh noon, when I arrive at another village, larger, but equally wretched-looking, on the Kizil Irmak River, called Jas-chi-khan. On the west bankof the stream are some ancient ruins of quite massive architecture, andstanding on the opposite side of the road, evidently having some timebeen removed from the ruins with a view to being transported elsewhere, is a couchant lion of heroic proportions, carved out of a solid blockof white marble; the head is gone, as though its would-be possessors, having found it beyond their power to transport the whole animal, havemade off with what they could. An old and curiously arched bridge ofmassive rock spans the river near its entrance to a wild, rocky gorgein the mountains; a primitive grist mill occupies a position to the left, near the entrance to the gorge, and a herd of camels are slaking theirthirst or grazing near the water's edge to the right - a genuine Easternpicture, surely, and one not to be seen every day, even in the land whereto see it occasionally is quite possible. 

Riding into Jas-chi-khan, I dismount at a building which, from thepresence of several "do-nothings, " I take to be a khan for the accommodationof travellers. In a partially open shed-like apartment are a number ofdemure looking maidens, industriously employed in weaving carpets byhand on a rude, upright frame, while two others, equally demure-looking, are seated on the ground cracking wheat for pillau, wheat being substitutedfor rice where the latter is not easily obtainable, or is too expensive. Waiving all considerations of whether I am welcome or not, I at onceenter this abode of female industry, and after watching the interestingprocess of carpet-weaving for some minutes, turn my attention to thepreparers of cracked wheat. The process is the same primitive one thathas been employed among these people from time immemorial, and the samethat is referred to in the passage of Scripture which says: "Two womenwere grinding corn in the field;" it consists of a small upper and nethermillstone, the upper one being turned round by two women sitting facingeach other; they both take hold of a perpendicular wooden handle withone hand, employing the other to feed the mill and rake away the crackedgrain. These two young women have evidently been very industrious thismorning; they have half-buried themselves in the product of their labors, and are still grinding away as though for their very lives, while theconstant "click-clack " of the carpet weavers prove them likewise theembodiment of industry. They seem rather disconcerted by the abruptintrusion and scrutinizing attentions of a Frank and a stranger; however, the fascinating search for bits of interesting experience forbids myretirement on that account, but rather urges me to make the mostof fleeting opportunities. Picking up a handful of the cracked wheat, Iinquire of one of the maidens if it is for pillau; the maiden blushesat being thus directly addressed, and with downcast eyes vouchsafes anaffirmative nod in reply; at the same time an observant eye happens todiscover a little brown big-toe peeping out of the heap of wheat, andbelonging to the same demure maiden with the downcast eyes. I know fullwell that I am stretching a point of Mohammedan etiquette, even by comingamong these industrious damsels in the manner I am doing, but the attentionof the men is fully concentrated on the bicycle outside, and thetemptation of trying the experiment of a little jocularity, just to seewhat comes of it, is under the circumstances irresistible. Conscious ofventuring where angels fear to tread. I stoop down, and take hold of thepeeping little brown big-toe, and addressing the demure maiden with thedowncast eyes, inquire, "Is this also for pillau. " This proves entirelytoo much for the risibilities of the industrious pillau grinders, andletting go the handle of the mill, they both give themselves up touncontrollable laughter; the carpet-weavers have been watching me outof the corners of their bright, black eyes, and catching the infection, the click clack of the carpet-weaving machines instantly ceases, andseveral of the weavers hurriedly retreat into an adjoining room to avoidthe awful and well-nigh unheard-of indiscretion of laughing in thepresence of a stranger. Having thus yielded to the temptation and witnessedthe results, I discreetly retire, meeting at the entrance a gray-beardedTurk coming to see what the merriment and the unaccountable stopping ofthe carpet-weaving frames is all about. A sheep has been slaughtered inJas-chi-khan this morning, and I obtain a nice piece of mutton, which Ihand to a bystander, asking him to go somewhere and cook it; in fiveminutes he returns with the meat burnt black outside and perfectly rawwithin. Seeing my evident disapproval of its condition, the same ancientperson who recently appeared upon the scene of my jocular experiment andwho has now squatted himself down close beside me, probably to make sureagainst any further indiscretions, takes the meat, slashes it across inseveral directions with his dagger, orders the afore-mentioned bystanderto try it over again, and then coolly wipes his blackened and greasyfingers on my sheet of ekmek as though it were a table napkin. I obtaina few mouthfuls of eatable meat from the bystander's second culinaryeffort, and then buy a water-melon from a man happening along with aladen donkey; cutting iuto the melon I find it perfectly green allthrough, and toss it away; the men look surprised, and some youngstersstraightway pick it up, eat the inside out until they can scoop out nomore, and then, breaking the rind in pieces, they scrape it out withtheir teeth until it is of egg-shell thinness. They seem to do thesethings with impunity in Asia. 

The grade and the wind are united against me on leaving Jas-chi-khan, but it is ridable, and having made such a dismal failure about gettingdinner, I push on toward a green area at the base of a rocky mountainspur, which I observed an hour ago from a point some distance west ofthe Kizil Irmak, and concluded to be a cluster of vineyards. Thisconjecture turns out quite correct, and, what is more, my experienceupon arriving there would seem to indicate that the good genii detailedto arrange the daily programme of my journey had determined to recompenseme to-day for having seen nothing of the feminine world of late butyashmaks and shrouds, and momentary monocular evidence; for here againam I thrown into the society of a bevy of maidens, more interesting, ifanything, than the nymphs of industry at Jas-chi-khan. There is apparentlysome festive occasion at the little vineyard-environed village, whichstands back a hundred yards or so from the road, and which ia approachedby a narrow foot-way between thrifty-looking vineyards. Three bloomingdamsels, in all the bravery of holiday attire, with necklaces and pendantsof jingling coins to distinguish them from the matrons, come hurryingdown the pathway toward the road at my approach. Seeing me dismount, upon arriving opposite the village, the handsomest and gayest dressedof the three goes into one of the vineyards, and with charming grace ofmanner, presents herself before me with both hands overflowing withbunches of luscious black grapes. Their abundant black tresses aregathered in one long plait behind; they wear bracelets, necklaces, pendants, brow-bands, head ornaments, and all sorts of wonderful articlesof jewelry, made out of the common silver and metallic coins of thecountry; they are small of stature and possess oval faces, large black eyes, and warm, dark complexions. Their manner and dress prove rather a puzzlein determining their nationality; they are not Turkish, nor Greek, norArmenian, nor Circassian; they may possibly be sedentary Turkomans; butthey possess rather a Jewish cast of countenance, and my first impressionof them is, that they are "Bible people, " the original inhabitants of thecountry, who have somehow managed to cling to their little possessions here, in spite of Greeks, Turks, and Persians, and other conquering races whohave at times overrun the country; perhaps they have softened the hearts ofeverybody undertaking to oust them by their graceful manners. 

Other villagers soon collect, making a picturesque and interesting grouparound the bicycle; but the maiden with the grapes makes too pretty andcomplete a picture, for any of the others to attract more than passingnotice. One of her two companions whisperingly calls her attention tothe plainly evident fact that she is being regarded with admiration bythe stranger. She blushes perceptibly through her nut-brown cheeks athearing this, but she is also quite conscious of her claims to admiration, and likes to be admired; so she neither changes her attitude of respectfulgrace, nor raises her long drooping eyelashes, while I eat and eat grapes, taking them bunch after bunch from her overflowing hands, until ashamedto eat any more. I confess to almost falling in love with that maiden, her manners were so easy and graceful; and when, with ever-downcast eyesand a bewitching manner that leaves not the slightest room for consideringthe doing so a bold or forward action, she puts the remainder of thegrapes in my coat pockets, a peculiar fluttering sensation - but I draw aveil over my feelings, they are too sacred for the garish pages of abook. I do not inquire about their nationality, I would rather it remaina mystery, and a matter for future conjecture; but before leaving I addsomething to her already conspicuous array of coins that have beenincreasing since her birth, and which will form her modest dowry atmarriage. The road continues of excellent surface, but rather hilly fora few miles, when it descends into the Valley of the Delijeh Irmak, wherethe artificial highway again deteriorates into the unpacked conditionof yesterday; the donkey trails are shallow trenches of dust, and areno longer to be depended upon as keeping my general course, but arerather cross-country trails leading from one mountain village to another. The well-defined caravan trail leading from Ismidt to Angora comes nofarther eastward than the latter city, which is the central point wherethe one exportable commodity of the vilayet is collected for barter andtransportation to the seaboard. The Delijeh Irmak Valley is under partialcultivation, and occasionally one passes through small areas of melongardens far away from any permanent habitations; temporary huts or dug-outs are, however, an invariable adjunct to these isolated possessionof the villagers, in which some one resides day and night during themelon season, guarding their property with gun and dog from unscrupulouswayfarers, who otherwise would not hesitate to make their visit to townprofitable as well as pleasurable, by surreptitiously confiscating adonkey-load of salable melons from their neighbor's roadside garden. Sometimes I essay to purchase a musk-melon from these lone sentinels, but it is impossible to obtain one fit to eat; these wretched prayerson Nature's bounty evidently pluck and devour them the moment they developfrom the bitterness of their earliest growth. No villages are passed onthe road after leaving the vintagers' cluster at noon, but bunches ofmud hovels are at intervals descried a few miles to the right, perchedamong the hills that form the southern boundary of the valley; being ofthe same color as the general surface about them, they are not easilydistinguishable at a distance. There seems to be a decided propensityamong the natives for choosing the hills as an habitation, even whentheir arable lands are miles away in the valley; the salubrity of themore elevated location may be the chief consideration, but a swiftlyflowing mountain rivulet near his habitation is to the Mohammedan asource of perpetual satisfaction. 

I travel along for some time after nightfall, in hopes of reaching avillage, but none appearing, I finally decide to camp out. Choosing aposition behind a convenient knoll, I pitch the tent where it will boinvisible from the road, using stones in lieu of tent-pegs; and inhabitingfor the first time this unique contrivance, I sup off the grapes remainingover from the bountiful feast at noon-and, being without any covering, stretch myself without undressing beside the upturned bicycle; notwithstandingthe gentle reminders of unsatisfied hunger, I am enjoying the legitimatereward of constant exercise in the open air ten minutes after pitchingthe tent. Soon after midnight I am awakened by the chilly influence ofthe "wee sma' hours, " and recognizing the likelihood of the tent provingmore beneficial as a coverlet than a roof, in the absence of rain, Itake it down and roll myself up in it; the thin, oiled cambric is farfrom being a blanket, however, and at daybreak the bicycle and everythingis drenched with one of the heavy dews of the country. Ten miles overan indifferent road is traversed next morning; the comfortless reflectionthat anything like a "square meal" seems out of the question anywherebetween the larger towns scarcely tends to exert a soothing influenceon the ravenous attacks of a most awful appetite; and I am beginning tothink seriously of making a detour of several miles to reach a mountainvillage, when I meet a party of three horsemen, a Turkish Bey - with anescort of two zaptiehs. I am trundling at the time, and without a moment'shesitancy I make a dead set at the Bey, with the single object ofsatisfying to some extent my gastronomic requirements. 

"Bey Effendi, have you any ekmek?" I ask, pointing inquiringly to hissaddle-bags on a zaptieh's horse, and at the same time giving him tounderstand by impressive pantomime the uncontrollable condition of myappetite. With what seems to me, under the circumstances, simply cold-blooded indifference to human suffering; the Bey ignores my inquiryaltogether, and concentrating his whole attention on the bicycle, asks, "What is that?" "An Americanish araba, Effendi; have you any ekmek ?"toying suggestively with the tell-tale slack of my revolver belt. 

"Where have you come from?" "Stamboul; have you ekmek in the saddle-bags, Effendi. " this time boldly beckoning the zaplieh with the Bey'seffects to approach nearer. 

"Where are you going?" "Yuzgat! ekmek! ekmek!" tapping the saddle-bagsin quite an imperative manner. This does not make any outward impressionupon the Bey's aggravating imperturbability, however; he is not soindifferent to my side of the question as he pretends; aware of hisinability to supply my want, and afraid that a negative answer wouldhasten my departure before he has fully satisfied his curiosity concerningme, he is playing a. Little game of diplomacy in his own interests. 

"What is it for. " he now asks, with soul-harrowing indifference to allmy counter inquiries. " To bin, " I reply, desperately, curt and indifferent, beginning to see through his game. " Bin, bin! bacalem. " he says;supplementing the request with a coaxing smile. At the same moment mylong-suffering digestive apparatus favors me with an unusually savagereminder, and nettled beyond the point where forbearance ceases to beany longer a virtue, I return an answer not exactly complimentary to theBey's ancestors, and continue my hungry way down the valley. A coupleof miles after leaving the Bey, I intercept a party of peasants traversinga cross-country trail, with a number of pack-donkeys loaded with rock-salt, from whom I am fortunately able to obtain several thin sheets of ekmek, which I sit down and devour immediately, without even water to moistenthe repast; it seems one of the most tasteful and soul-satisfyingbreakfasts I ever ate. 

Like misfortunes, blessings never seem to come singly, for, an hour afterthus breaking my fast I happen upon a party of villagers working on anunfinished portion of the new road; some of them are eating their morningmeal of ekmek and yaort, and no sooner do I appear upon the scene thanI am straightway invited to partake, a seat in the ragged circle congregatedaround the large bowl of clabbered milk being especially prepared witha bunch of pulled grass for my benefit. The eager hospitality of thesepoor villagers is really touching; they are working without so much as"thank you" for payment, there is not a garment amongst the gang fitfor a human covering; their unvarying daily fare is the "blotting-paperekmek" and yaort, with a melon or a cucumber occasionally as a luxury;yet, the moment I approach, they assign me a place at their "table, "and two of them immediately bestir themselves to make me a comfortableseat. Neither is there so much as a mercenary thought among them inconnection with the invitation; these poor fellows, whose scant rags itwould be a farce to call clothing, actually betray embarrassment at thebarest mention of compensation; they fill my pockets with bread, apologizefor the absence of coffee, and compare the quality of their respectivepouches of native tobacco in order to make me a decent cigarette. 

Never, surely, was the reputation of Dame Fortune for fickleness socompletely proved as in her treatment of me this morning - ten o'clockfinds me seated on a pile of rugs in a capacious black tent, "wrassling"with a huge bowl of savory mutton pillau, flavored with green herbs, asthe guest of a Koordish sheikh; shortly afterwards I meet a man takinga donkey-load of musk-melons to the Koordish camp, who insists onpresenting me with the finest melon I have tasted since leavingConstantinople; and high noon finds me the guest of another Koordishsheikh; thus does a morning, which commenced with a fair prospect of nobreakfast, following after yesterday's scant supply of unsuitable food, end in more hospitality than I know what to do with. These nomad tribesof the famous "black-tents " wander up toward Angora every summer withtheir flocks, in order to be near a market at shearing time; they arefamed far and wide for their hospitality. Upon approaching the greatopen-faced tent of the Sheikh, there is a hurrying movement among theattendants to prepare a suitable raised seat, for they know at a glancethat I am an Englishman, and likewise are aware that an Englishman cannotsit cross-legged like an Asiatic; at first, I am rather surprised attheir evident ready recognition of my nationality, but I soon afterwardsdiscover the reason. A hugh bowl of pillau, and another of excellentyaort is placed before me without asking any questions, while the dignifiedold Sheikh fulfils one's idea of a gray-bearded nomad patriarch toperfection, as he sits cross legged on a rug, solemnly smoking a nargileh, and watching to see that no letter of his generous code of hospitalitytoward strangers is overlooked by the attendants. These latter seem tobe the picked young men of the tribe; fine, strapping fellows, well-dresed, six-footers, and of athletic proportions; perfect specimens of semi-civilized manhood, that would seem better employed in a grenadier regimentthan in hovering about the old Sheikh's tent, attending to the fillingand lighting of his nargileh, the arranging of his cushions by day andhis bed at night, the serving of his food, and the proper reception ofhis guests; and yet it is an interesting sight to see these splendidyoung fellows waiting upon their beloved old chieftain, fairly bounding, like great affectionate mastiffs, at his merest look or suggestion. Mostof the boys and young men are out with the flocks, but the older men, the women and children, gather in a curious crowd before the open tent;they maintain a respectful silence so long as I am their Sheikh's guest, but they gather about me without reserve when I leave the hospitableshelter of that respected person's quarters. After examining my helmetand sizing up my general appearance, they pronounce me an "Englishzaptieh, " a distinction for which I am indebted to the circumstance ofCol. N--, an English officer, having recently been engaged in Koordistanorganizing a force of native zaptiehs. The women of this particular campseem, on the whole, rather unprepossessing specimens; some of them arehooked-nosed old hags, with piercing black eyes, and hair dyed to aflaming "carrotty" hue with henna; this latter is supposed to renderthem beautiful, and enhance their personal appearance in the eyes of themen; they need something to enhance their personal appearance, certainly, but to the untutored and inartistic eye of the writer it produces ahorrid, unnatural effect. According to our ideas, flaming red hair looksuncanny and of vulgar, uneducated taste, when associated with coal-blackeyes and a complexion like gathering darkness. These vain mortals seeminclined to think that in me they have discovered something to be pettedand made much of, treating me pretty much as a troop of affectionatelittle girls - would treat a wandering kitten that might unexpectedlyappear in their midst. Giddy young things of about fifty summers clusteraround me in a compact body, examining my clothes from helmet to moccasins, and critically feeling the texture of my coat and shirt, they take offmy helmet, reach over each other's shoulders to stroke my hair, and patmy cheeks in the most affectionate manner; meanwhile expressing themselvesin soft, purring comments, that require no linguistic abilities tointerpret into such endearing remarks as, "Ain't he a darling, though?""What nice soft hair and pretty blue eyes. " "Don't you wish thedear old Sheikh would let us keep him. "Considering the source whenceit comes, it requires very little of this to satisfy one, and as soonas I can prevail upon them to let me escape, I mount and wheel away, several huge dogs escorting me, for some minutes, in the peculiar mannerKoordish dogs have of escorting stray 'cyclers. 

CHAPTER XV. 

FROM THE KOORDISH CAMP TO YUZGAT. 

>From the Koordish encampment my route leads over a low mountain spur byeasy gradients, and by a winding, unridable trail down into the valleyof the eastern fork of the Delijah Irmak. The road improves as thisvalley is reached, and noon finds me the wonder and admiration of anotherKoordish camp, where I remain a couple of hours in deference to thepowers of the midday sun. One has no scruples about partaking of thehospitality of the nomad Koords, for they are the wealthiest people inthe country, their flocks covering the hills in many localities; theyare, as a general thing, fairly well dressed, are cleaner in their cookingthan the villagers, and hospitable to the last degree. Like the rest ofus, however, they have their faults as well as their virtues; they areborn freebooters, and in unsettled times, when the Turkish Government, being handicapped by weightier considerations, is compelled to relax itscontrol over them, they seldom fail to promptly respond to their plunderinginstincts and make no end of trouble. They still retain their hospitableness, but after making a traveller their guest for the night, and allowing himto depart with everything he has, they will intercept him on the roadand rob him. They have some objectionable habits, even in these peacefultimes, which will better appear when we reach their own Koordistan, wherewe shall, doubtless, have better opportunities for criticising them. Whatever their faults or virtues, I leave this camp, hoping that thetermination of the day may find me the guest of another sheikh for thenight An hour after leaving this camp I pass through an area of vineyards, out of which people come running with as many grapes among them as wouldfeed a dozen people; the road is ridable, and I hurry along to avoidtheir bother. Verily it would seem that I am being hounded down byretributive justice for sundry evil thoughts and impatient remarks, associated with my hungry experiences of early morning; then I waswondering where the next mouthful of food was going to overtake me, thisafternoon finds me pedalling determinedly to prevent being overtaken byit. 

The afternoon is hot and with scarcely a breath of air moving; the littlevalley terminates in a region of barren, red hills, on which the sunglares fiercely; some toughish climbing has to be accomplished in scalinga ridge, and then. I emerge into an upland lava plateau, where the onlyvegetation is sun-dried weeds and thistles. Here a herd of camels arecontentedly browsing, munching the dry, thorny herbage with a satisfactionthat is evident a mile away. From casual observations along the route, I am inclined to think a camel not far behind a goat in the depravityof its appetite; a camel will wander uneasily about over a greenswardof moist, succulent grass, scanning his surroundings in search of giantthistles, frost-bitten tumble-weeds, tough, spriggy camel thorns, andodds and ends of unpalatable vegetation generally. Of course, the "shipof the desert" never sinks to such total depravity as to hanker afterold gum overshoes and circus posters, but if permitted to forage aroundhuman habitations for a few generations, I think they would eventuallydegenerate to the goat's disreputable level. The expression of utterastonishment that overspreads the angular countenance of the camelsbrowsing near the roadside, at my appearance, is one of the most ludicroussights imaginable; they seem quite intelligent enough to recognize in awheelman and his steed something inexplicable and foreign to theircountry, and their look of timid inquiry seems ridiculously unsuited totheir size and the general ungainliness of their appearance, producinga comical effect that is worth going miles to see. It is approachingsun-down, when, ascending a ridge overlooking another valley, I amgratified at seeing it occupied by several Koordish camps, their clustersof black tents being a conspicuous feature of the landscape. With a fairprospect of hospitable quarters for the night before me, and there beingno distinguishable signs of a road, I make my way across country towardone of the camps that seems to be nearest my proper course. I have arrivedwithin a mile of my objective point, when I observe, at the base of amountain about half the distance to my right, a large, white two-storiedbuilding, the most pretentious structure, by long odds, that has beenseen since leaving Angora. My curiosity is, of course, aroused concerningits probable character; it looks like a bit of civilization that has insome unaccountable manner found its way to a region where no other humanhabitations are visible, save the tents of wild tribesmen, and I at onceshape my course toward it. It turns out to be a rock-salt mine or quarry, that supplies the whole region for scores of miles around with salt, rock-salt being the only kind obtainable in the country; it was fromthis mine that the donkey party from whom I first obtained bread thismorning fetched their loads. Here I am invited to remain over night, amprovided with a substantial supper, the menu including boiled mutton, with cucumbers for desert. The managers and employees of the, quarrymake their cucumbers tasteful by rubbing the end with a piece of rock-salteach time it is cut off or bitten, each person keeping a select littlesquare for the purpose. The salt is sold at the mine, and owners oftransportation facilities in the shape of pack animals make money bypurchasing it here at six paras an oke, and selling it at a profit indistant towns. 

Two young men seem to have charge of transacting the business; one ofthem is inordinately inquisitive, he even wants to try and unstick theenvelope containing a letter of introduction to Mr. Tifticjeeoghlou'sfather in Yuzgat, and read it out of pure curiosity to see what it says;and he offers me a lira for my Waterbury watch, notwithstanding its AllaFranga face is beyond his Turkish comprehension. The loud, confidenttone in which the Waterbury ticks impresses the natives very favorablytoward it, and the fact of its not opening at the back like other time-pieces, creates the impression that it is a watch that never gets crankyand out of order; quite different from the ones they carry, since theircuriosity leads them to be always fooling with the works. American clocksare found all through Asia Minor, fitted with Oriental faces and thereis little doubt but the Waterbury, with its resonant tick, if similiarlyprepared, would find here a ready market. The other branch of themanagerial staff is a specimen of humanity peculiarly Asiatic Turkish, a melancholy-faced, contemplative person, who spends nearly the wholeevening in gazing in silent wonder at me and the bicycle; now and thengiving expression to his utter inability to understand how such thingscan possibly be by shaking his head and giving utterance to a peculiarclucking of astonishment. He has heard me mention having come fromStamboul, which satisfies him to a certain extent; for, like a true Turk, he believes that at Stamboul all wonderful things originate; whether thebicycle was made there, or whether it originally came from somewhereelse, doesn't seem to enter into his speculations; the simple knowledgethat I have come from Stamboul is all-sufficient for him; so far as heis concerned, the bicycle is simply another wonder from Stamboul, anotherproof that the earthly paradise of the Mussulman world on the Bosphorusis all that he has been taught to believe it. When the contemplativeyoung man ventures away from the dreamy realms of his own imaginations, and from the society of his inmost thoughts, far enough to make a remark, it is to ask me something about Stamboul; but being naturally taciturnand retiring, and moreover, anything but an adept at pantomimic language, he prefers mainly to draw his own conclusions in silence. He manages tomake me understand, however, that he intends before long making a journeyto see Stamboul for himself; like many another Turk from the barren hillsof the interior, he will visit the Ottoman capital; he will recite fromthe Koran under the glorious mosaic dome of St. Sophia; wander aboutthat wonder of the Orient, the Stamboul bazaar; gaze for hours on thematchless beauties of the Bosphorus ; ride on one of the steamboats; seethe railway, the tramway, the Sultan's palaces, and the shipping, andreturn to his native hills thoroughly convinced that in all the worldthere is no place fit to be compared with Stamboul; no place so full ofwonders; no place so beautiful; and wondering how even the land of thekara ghuz kiz, the material paradise of the Mohammedans, can possiblybe more lovely. The contemplative young man is tall and slender, haslarge, dreamy, black eyes, a downy upper lip, a melancholy cast ofcountenance, and wears a long print wrapper of neat dotted pattern, gathered at the waist with a girdle a la dressing-gown. 

The inquisitive partner makes me up a comfortable bed of quilts on thedivan of a large room, which is also occupied by several salt tradersremaining over night, and into which their own small private apartmentsopen. A few minutes after they have retired to their respective rooms, the contemplative young man reappears with silent tread, and with ascornful glance at my surroundings, both human and inanimate, gathersup my loose effects, and bids me bring bicycle and everything into hisroom; here, I find, he has already prepared for my reception quite adowny couch, having contributed, among other comfortable things, hiswolf-skin overcoat; after seeing me comfortably established on a couchmore appropriate to my importance as a person recently from Stamboulthan the other, he takes a lingering look at the bicycle, shakes hishead and clucks, and then extinguishes the light. Sunrise on the followingmorning finds me wheeling eastward from the salt quarry, over a trailwell worn by salt caravans, to Yuzgat; the road leads for some distancedown a grassy valley, covered with the flocks of the several Koordishcamps round about; the wild herdsmen come galloping from all directionsacross the valley toward me, their uncivilized garb and long swordsgiving them more the appearance of a ferocious gang of cut-throatsadvancing to the attack than shepherds. Hitherto, nobody has seemed anyway inclined to attack me; I have almost wished somebody would undertakea little devilment of some kind, for the sake of livening things up alittle, and making my narrative more stirring; after venturing everything, I have so far nothing to tell but a story of being everywhere treatedwith the greatest consideration, and much of the time even petted. Ihave met armed men far away from any habitations, whose appearance wasequal to our most ferocious conception of bashi bazouks, and merely froma disinclination to be bothered, perhaps being in a hurry at the time, have met their curious inquiries with imperious gestures to be gone; andhave been guilty of really inconsiderate conduct on more than one occasion, but under no considerations have I yet found them guilty of anythingworse than casting covetous glances at my effects. But there is anapparent churlishness of manner, and an overbearing demeanor, as of menchafing under the restraining influences that prevent them gratifyingtheir natural free-booting instincts, about these Koordish herdsmen whomI encounter this morning, that forms quite a striking contrast to thealmost childlike harmlessness and universal respect toward me observedin the disposition of the villagers. It requires no penetrating scrutinyof these fellows' countenances to ascertain that nothing could be moreuncongenial to them than the state of affairs that prevents them stoppingine and looting me of everything I possess; a couple of them order mequite imperatively to make a detour from my road to avoid approachingtoo near their flock of sheep, and their general behavior is pretty muchas though seeking to draw me into a quarrel, that would afford them anopportunity of plundering me. Continuing on the even tenor of my way, affecting a lofty unconsciousness of their existence, and wonderingwhether, in case of being molested, it would be advisable to use my Smith& Wesson in defending my effects, or taking the advice received inConstantinople, offer no resistance whatever, and trust to being ableto recover them through the authorities, I finally emerge from theirvicinity. Their behavior simply confirms what I have previously understoodof their character; that while they will invariably extend hospitabletreatment to a stranger visiting their camps, like unreliable explosives, they require to be handled quite "gingerly" when encountered on theroad, to prevent disagreeable consequences. 

Passing through a low, marshy district, peopled with solemn-lookingstorks and croaking frogs, I meet a young sheikh and his personalattendants returning from a morning's outing at their favorite sport ofhawking; they carry their falcons about on small perches, fastened bythe leg with a tiny chain. I try to induce them to make a flight, butfor some reason or other they refuse; an Osmanli Turk would haveaccommodated me in a minute. Soon I arrive at another Koordish camp, fording a stream in order to reach their tents, for I have not yetbreakfasted, and know full well that no better opportunity of obtainingone will be likely to turn up. Entering the nearest tent, I make noceremony of calling for refreshments, knowing well enough that a heapingdish of pillau will be forthcoming, and that the hospitable Koords willregard the ordering of it as the most natural thing in the world. Thepillau is of rice, mutton, and green herbs, and is brought in a largepewter dish; and, together with sheet bread and a bowl of excellentyaort, is brought on a massive pewter tray, which has possibly belongedto the tribe for centuries. These tents are divided into severalcompartments; one end is a compartment where the men congregate in thedaytime, and the younger men sleep at night, and where guests are receivedand entertained; the central space is the commissary and female industrialdepartment; the others are female and family sleeping places. Eachcompartment is partitioned off with a hanging carpet partition; lightportable railing of small, upright willow sticks bound closely togetherprotects the central compartment from a horde of dogs hungrily nosingabout the camp, and small "coops" of the same material are usuallybuilt inside as a further protection for bowls of milk, yaort, butter, cheese, and cooked food; they also obtain fowls from the villagers, whichthey keep cooped up in a similar manner, until the hapless prisoners arerequired to fulfil their destiny in chicken pillau; the capacious coveringover all is strongly woven goats'-hair material of a black or smoky browncolor. In a wealthy tribe, the tent of their sheikh is often a capaciousaffair, twenty-five by one hundred feet, containing, among othercompartments, stabling and hay-room for the sheikh's horses in winter. My breakfast is brought in from the culinary department by a young womanof most striking appearance, certainly not less than six feet in height;she is of slender, willowy build, and straight as an arrow; a wealth ofauburn hair is surmounted by a small, gay-colored turban; her complexionis fairer than common among Koordish woman, and her features are thequeenly features of a Juno; the eyes are brown and lustrous, and, werethe expression but of ordinary gentleness, the picture would be perfect;but they are the round, wild-looking orbs of a newly-caged panther-grimalkin eyes, that would, most assuredly, turn green and luminous inthe dark. Other women come to take a look at the stranger, gatheringaround and staring at rne, while I eat, with all their eyes - and sucheyes. I never before saw such an array of "wild-animal eyes;" no, noteven in the Zoo. Many of them are magnificent types of womanhood in everyother respect, tall, queenly, and symmetrically perfect; but the eyes-oh, those wild, tigress eyes. Travellers have told queer, queer stories aboutbands of these wild-eyed Koordish women waylaying and capturing them onthe roads through Koordistan, and subjecting them to barbarous treatment. I have smiled, and thought them merely "travellers' tales;" but I cansee plain enough, this morning, that there is no improbability in thestories, for, from a dozen pairs of female eyes, behold, there gleamsnot one single ray of tenderness: these women are capable of anythingthat tigresses are capable of, beyond a doubt. Almost the first questionasked by the men of these camps is whether the English and Muscovs arefighting; they have either heard of the present (summer of 1885) crisisover the Afghan boundary question, or they imagine that the English andRussians maintain a sort of desultory warfare all the time. When I tellthem that the Muscov is fenna (bad) they invariably express their approvalof the sentiment by eagerly calling each other's attention to my expression. It is singular with what perfect faith and confidence these rude tribesmenaccept any statement I choose to make, and how eagerly they seem to dwellon simple statements of facts that are known to every school-boy inChristendom. I entertain them with my map, showing them the positionof Stamboul, Mecca, Erzeroum, and towns in their own Koordistan, whichthey recognize joyfully as I call them by name. They are profoundlyimpressed at the " extent of my knowledge, " and some of the more deeplyimpressed stoop down and reverently kiss Stamboul and Mecca, as I pointthem out. While thus pleasantly engaged, an aged sheikh comes to thetent and straightway begins "kicking up a blooming row" about me. Itseems that the others have been guilty of trespassing on the sheikh'sprerogative, in entertaining me themselves, instead of conducting me tohis own tent. After upbraiding them in unmeasured terms, he angrilyorders several of the younger men to make themselves beautifully scarceforthwith. The culprits - some of them abundantly able to throw the oldfellow over their shoulders - instinctively obey; but they move off at asnail's pace, with lowering brows, and muttering angry growls that betrayfully their untamed, intractable dispositions. 

A two-hours' road experience among the constantly varying slopes ofrolling hills, and then comes a fertile valley, abounding in villages, wheat-fields, orchards, and melon-gardens. These days I find it incumbenton me to turn washer-woman occasionally, and, halting at the first littlestream in this valley, I take upon myself the onerous duties of WallLung in Sacramento City, having for an interested and interesting audiencetwo evil-looking kleptomaniacs, buffalo-herders dressed in next tonothing, who eye my garments drying on the bushes with lingeringcovetousness. It is scarcely necessary to add that I watch them quiteas interestingly myself; for, while I pity the scantiness of theirwardrobe, I have nothing that I could possibly spare among mine. A networkof irrigating ditches, many of them overflowed, render this valleydifficult to traverse with a bicycle, and I reach a large village aboutnoon, myself and wheel plastered with mud, after traversing a, sectionwhere the normal condition is three inches of dust. 

Bread and grapes are obtained here, a light, airy dinner, that is seasonedand made interesting by the unanimous worrying of the entire population. Once I make a desperate effort to silence their clamorous importunities, and obtain a little quiet, by attempting to ride over impossible ground, and reap the well-merited reward of permitting my equanimity to be thusdisturbed in the shape of a header and a slightly-bent handle-bar. WhileI am eating, the gazing-stock of a wondering, commenting crowd, arespectably dressed man elbows his way through the compact mass of humansaround me, and announces himself as having fought under Osman Pasha atPlevna. What this has to do with me is a puzzler; but the man himself, and every Turk of patriotic age in the crowd, is evidently expecting tosee me make some demonstration of approval; so, not knowing what elseto do, I shake the man cordially by the hand, and modestly inform myattentively listening audience that Osman Pasha and myself are brothers, that Osman yielded only when the overwhelming numbers of the Muscovsproved that it was his kismet to do so; and that the Russians would neverbe permitted to occupy Constantinople; a statement, that probably makesmy simple auditors feel as though they were inheriting a new lease ofnational life; anyhow, they seem not a little gratified at what I amsaying. 

After this the people seem to find material for no end of amusement amongthemselves, by contrasting the marifet of the bicycle with the marifetof their creaking arabas, of which there seems to be quite a number inthis valley. They are used chiefly in harvesting, are roughly made, used, and worn out in these mountain-environed valleys without ever goingbeyond the hills that encompass them in on every side. From these villagesthe people begin to evince an alarming disposition to follow me out somedistance on donkeys. This undesirable trait of their character is, ofcourse, easily counteracted by a short spurt, where spurting is possible, but it is a soul-harrowing thing to trundle along a mile of unridableroad, in company with twenty importuning katir-jees, their diminutivedonkeys filling the air with suffocating clouds of dust. There is nothingon all this mundane sphere that will so effectually subdue the proud, haughty spirit of a wheelman, or that will so promptly and completelysnuff out his last flickering ray of dignity; it is one of the pleasantriesof 'cycling through a country where the people have been riding donkeysand camels since the flood. 

A few miles from the village I meet another candidate for medicaltreatment; this time it is a woman, among a merry company of donkey-riders, bound from Yuzgat to the salt-mines; they are laughing, singing, andotherwise enjoying themselves, after the manner of a New England berryingparty. The woman's affliction, she says, is "fenna ghuz, " which, itappears, is the term used to denote ophthalmia, as well as the "evil-eye;"but of course, not being a ghuz hakim, I can do nothing more than expressmy sympathy. The fertile valley gradually contracts to a narrow, rockydefile, leading up into a hilly region, and at five o'clock I reachTuzgat, a city claiming a population of thirty thousand, that is situatedin a depression among the mountains that can scarcely be called a valley. I have been three and a half days making the one hundred and thirty milesfrom Angora. 

Everybody in Yuzgat knows Youvanaki Effendi Tifticjeeoghlou, to whom Ihave brought a letter of introduction; and, shortly after reaching town, I find myself comfortably installed on the cushioned divan of honor inthat worthy old gentleman's large reception room, while half a dozenserving-men are almost knocking each other over in their anxiety tofurnish me coffee, vishnersu, cigarettes, etc. They seem determined uponinterpreting the slightest motion of my hand or head into some want whichI am unable to explain, and, fancying thus, they are constantly bobbingup before me with all sorts of surprising things. Tevfik Bey, generalsuperintendent of the Eegie (a company having the monopoly of the tobaccotrade in Turkey, for which they pay the government a fixed sum per annum), is also a guest of Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi's hospitable mansion, and heat once despatches a messenger to his Yuzgat agent, Mr. G. O. Tchetchian, a vivacious Greek, who speaks English quite fluently. After that gentleman'sarrival, we soon come to a more perfect understanding of each other allround, and a very pleasant evening is spent in receiving crowds ofvisitors in a ceremonious manner, in which I really seem to be holdinga sort of a levee, except that it is evening instead of morning. Opendoor is kept for everybody, and mine host's retinue of pages and servingmen are kept pretty busy supplying coffee right and left; beggars intheir rags are even allowed to penetrate into the reception-room, to sipa cup of coffee and take a curious peep at the Ingilisin and his wonderfularaba, the fame of which has spread like wildfire through the city. Minehost himself is kept pretty well occupied in returning the salaams ofthe more distinguished visitors, besides keeping his eye on the servants, by way of keeping them well up to their task of dispensing coffee in amanner satisfactory to his own liberal ideas of hospitality; but hepresides over all with a bearing of easy dignity that it is a pleasureto witness. The street in front of the Tifticjeeoghlou residence isswarmed with people next morning; keeping open house is, under thecircumstances, no longer practicable; the entrance gate has to be guarded, and none permitted to enter but privileged persons. During the forenoonthe Caimacan and several officials call round and ask me to favor themby riding along a smooth piece of road opposite the municipal konak;as I intend remaining over here today, I enter no objections, and accompanythem forthwith. The rabble becomes wildly excited at seeing me emergewith the bicycle, in company with the Caimacan and his staff, for theyknow that their curiosity is probably on the eve of being gratified. Itproves no easy task to traverse the streets, for, like in all Orientalcities, they are narrow, and are now jammed with people. Time and againthe Caimacan is compelled to supplement the exertions of an inadequateforce of zaptiehs with his authoritative voice, to keep down the excitementand the wild shouts of "Bin bacalem! bin bacalem. " (Hide, so that wecan see - an innovation on bin, bin, that has made itself manifest sincecrossing the Kizil Irmak Kiver) that are raised, gradually swelling intothe tumultuous howl of a multitude. The uproar is deafening, and, longbefore reaching the place, the Caimacan repents having brought me out. As for myself, I certainly repent having come out, and have still betterreasons for doing so before reaching the safe retreat of Tifticjeeo-ghlouEffendi's house, an hour afterward. The most that the inadequate squadof zaptiehs present can do, when we arrive opposite the muncipal konak, is to keep the crowd from pressing forward and overwhelming me and thebicycle. They attempt to keep open a narrow passage through the surgingsea of humans blocking the street, for me to ride down; but ten yardsahead the lane terminates in a mass of fez-crowned heads. Under theimpression that one can mount a bicycle on the stand, like mounting ahorse, the Caimacan asks me to mount, saying that when the people seeme mounted and ready to start, they will themselves yield a passage-way. Seeing the utter futility of attempting explanations under existingconditions, amid the defeaning clamor of " Bin bacalem! bin bacalem '"I mount and slowly pedal along a crooked "fissure" in the compact massof people, which the zaptiehs manage to create by frantically floggingright and left before me. Gaining, at length, more open ground, and thesmooth road continuing on, I speed away from the multitude, and theCaimacan sends one fleet-footed zaptieh after me, with instructions topilot me back to Tifticjeeoghlou's by a roundabout way, so as to avoidreturning through the crowds. The rabble are not to be so easily deceivedand shook off as the Caimacan thinks, however; by taking various shortcuts, they manage to intercept us, and, as though considering the havingdetected and overtaken us in attempting to elude them, justifies themin taking liberties, their "Bin bacalem!" now develops into the imperiouscry of a domineering majority, determined upon doing pretty much as theyplease. It is the worst mob I have seen on the journey, so far; excitementruns high, and their shouts of "Bin bacalem!" can, most assuredly, beheard for miles. We are enveloped by clouds of dust, raised by the feetof the multitude; the hot sun glares down savagely upon us; the poorzaptieh, in heavy top-boots and a brand-new uniform, heavy enough forwinter, works like a beaver to protect the bicycle, until, with perspirationand dust, his face is streaked and tattooed like a South Sea Islander's. Unable to proceed, we come to a stand-still, and simply occupy ourselvesin protecting the bicycle from the crush, and reasoning. With the mob;but the only satisfaction we obtain in reply to anything we say is " Binbacalem. " One or two pig-headed, obstreperous young men near us, emboldenedby our apparent helplessness, persist in handling the bicycle. Afterbeing pushed away several times, one of them even assumes a menacingattitude toward me the last time I thrust his meddlesome hand away. Undersuch circumstances retributive justice, prompt and impressive, is theonly politic course to pursue; so, leaving the bicycle to the zaptieh amoment, in the absence of a stick, I feel justified in favoring theculprit with, a brief, pointed lesson in the noble art of self-defence, the first boxing lesson ever given in Tuzgat. In a Western mob this wouldhave been anything but an act of discretion, probably, but with thesepeople it has a salutary effect; the idea of attempting retaliation isthe farthest of anything from their thoughts, and in all the obstreperouscrowd there is, perhaps, not one but what is quite delighted at eitherseeing or hearing of me having thus chastised one of their number, andinvoluntarily thanks Allah that it didn't happen to be himself. It wouldbe useless to attempt a description of how we finally managed, by theassistance of two more zaptiehs, to get back to Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi's, both myself and the zaptieh simply unrecognizable from dust and perspiration. The zaptieh, having first washed the streaks and tattooing off his face, now presents himself, with the broad, honest smile of one who knows hewell deserves what he is asking for, and says, "Effendi, backsheesh. "

There is nothing more certain than that the honest fellow merits backsheeshfrom somebody; it is also equally certain that I am the only person fromwhom he stands the ghost of a chance of getting any; nevertheless, theidea of being appealed to for backsheesh, after what I have just undergone, merely as an act of accommodation, strikes me as just a trifle ridiculous, and the opportunity of engaging the grinning, good-humored zaptieh in alittle banter concerning the abstract preposterousness of his expectationsis too good to be lost. So, assuming an air of astonishment, I reply:"Backsheesh! where is my backsheesh. I should think it's me that deservesbacksheesh if anybody does. " This argument is entirely beyond the zaplieh'schild-like comprehension, however; he only understands by my manner thatthere is a "hitch" somewhere; and never was there a more broadly good-humored countenance, or a smile more expressive of meritoriousness, noran utterance more coaxing in its modulations than his "E-f-fendi, backsheesh. " as he repeats the appeal; the smile and the modulation iswell worth the backsheesh. 

In the afternoon, an officer appears with a note saying that the Mutaserifand a number of gentlemen would like to see me ride inside the municipalkonak grounds. This I very naturally promise to do, only, under conditionsthat an adequate force of zaptiehs be provided. This the Mutaserif readilyagrees to, and once more I venture into the streets, trundling alongunder a strong escort of zaptiehs who form a hollow square around me. The people accumulate rapidly, as we progress, and, by the time we arriveat the konak gate there is a regular crush. In spite of the franticexertions of my escort, the mob press determinedly forward, in an attemptto rush inside when the gate is opened; instantly I find myself andbicycle wedged in among a struggling mass of natives; a cry of "Sakinaraba! sakin araba!" (Take care! the bicycle!) is raised; the zapliehsmake a supreme effort, the gate is opened, I am fairly carried in, andthe gate is closed. A couple of dozen happy mortals have gained admittancein the rush. Hundreds of the better class natives are in the inclosure, and the walls and neighboring house-tops are swarming with an interestedaudience. There is a small plat of decently smooth ground, upon which Icircle around for a few minutes, to as delighted an audience as evercollected in Bamum's circus. After the exhibition, the Mutaserif eyesthe swarming multitude on the roofs and wall, and looks perplexed; someone suggests that the bicycle be locked up for the present, and, whenthe crowds have dispersed, it can be removed without further excitement. The Mutaserif then places the municipal chamber at my disposal, orderingan officer to lock it up and give me the key. Later in the afternoon Iam visited by the Armenian pastor of Yuzgat, and another young Armenian, who can speak a little English, and together we take a strolling peepat the city. The American missionaries at Kaizarieh have a small bookstore here, and the pastor kindly offers me a New Testament to carryalong. We drop in on several Armenian shopkeepers, who are introducedas converts of the mission. Coffee is supplied wherever we call. Whilesitting down a minute in a tailor's stall, a young Armenian peeps in, smiles, and indulges in the pantomime of rubbing his chin. Asking themeaning of this, I am informed by the interpreter that the fellow belongsto the barber shop next door, and is taking this method of reminding methat I stand in need of his professional attentions, not having shavedof late. There appears to be a large proportion of Circassians in town;a group of several wild-looking bipeds, armed a la Anatolia, ragged andunkempt-haired for Circassians, who are generally respectable in theirpersonal appearance, approach us, and want me to show them the bicycle, on the strength of their having fought against the Russians in the latewar. "I think they are liars, " says the young Armenian, who speaksEnglish; "they only say they fought against the Russians because youare an Englishman, and they think you will show them the bicycle. " Someone comes to me with old coins for sale, another brings a stone withhieroglyphics on it, and the inevitable genius likewise appears; thistime it is an Armenian; the tremendous ovation I have received has filledhis mind with exaggerated ideas of making a fortune, by purchasing thebicycle and making a two-piastre show out of it. He wants to know howmuch I will take for it. Early daylight finds me astir on the followingmorning, for I have found it a desirable thing to escape from town erethe populace is out to crowd about me. Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi's betterhalf has kindly risen at an unusually early hour, to see me off, andprovides me with a dozen circular rolls of hard bread-rings the size ofrope quoits aboard an Atlantic steamer, which I string on Igali's ceruleanwaist-scarf, and sling over one shoulder. The good lady lets me out ofthe gate, and says, "Bin bacalem, Effendi. " She hasn't seen me ride yet. She is a motherly old creature, of Greek extraction, and I naturallyfeel like an ingrate of the meanest type, at my inability to grant hermodest request. Stealing along the side streets, I manage to reach ridableground, gathering by the way only a small following of worthy earlyrisers, and two katir-jees, who essay to follow me on their long-earedchargers; but, the road being smooth and level from the beginning, I atonce discourage them by a short spurt. A half-hour's trundling up a steephill, and then comes a coastable descent into lower territory. Aconscription party collected from the neighboring Mussulman villages, en route to Samsoon, the nearest Black Sea port, is met while ridingdown this declivity. In anticipation of the Sultan's new uniforms awaitingthem at Constantinople, they have provided themselves for the journeywith barely enough rags to cover their nakedness. They are in high gleeat their departure for Stamboul, and favor me with considerable good-naturedchaff as I wheel past. "Human nature is everywhere pretty much alike theworld over, " I think to myself. There is little difference between thisregiment of ragamuffins chaffing me this morning and the well-dressedtroopers of Kaiser William, bantering me the day I wheeled out ofStrassburg. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THROUGH THE SIVAS VILAYET INTO ARMENIA. 

It is six hours distant from Yuzgat to the large village of Koelme, asdistance is measured here, or about twenty-three English miles; but theroad is mostly ridable, and I roll into the village in about three hoursand a half. Just beyond Koehne, the roads fork, and the mudir kindlysends a mounted zaptieh to guide me aright, for fear I shouldn't quiteunderstand by his pantomimic explanations. I understand well enough, though, and the road just here happening to be excellent wheeling, tothe delight of the whole village, I spurt ahead, outdistancing thezaptieh's not over sprightly animal, and bowling briskly along the rightroad within their range of vision, for over a mile. Soon after leavingKoehne my attention is attracted by a small cluster of civilized-lookingtents, pitched on the bank of a running stream near the road, and fromwhence issues the joyous sounds of mirth and music. The road continuesridable, and I am wheeling leisurely along, hesitating about whether togo and investigate or not, when a number of persons, in holiday attire, present themselves outside the tents, and by shouting and gesturing, invite me to pay them a visit. It turns out to be a reunion of the Yuzgatbranch of the Pampasian-Pamparsan family - an Armenian name whoserepresentatives in Armenia and Anatolia, it appears, correspond incomparative numerical importance to the great and illustrious family ofSmiths in the United States. Following - or doubtless, more properly, setting - a worthy example, they likewise have their periodical reunions, where they eat, drink, spin yarns, sing, and twang the tuneful lyre infrolicsome consciousness of always having a howling majority over theirless prolific neighbors. 

Refreshments in abundance are tendered, and the usual pantomimicexplanations exchanged between us; some of the men have been honoringthe joyful occasion by a liberal patronage of the flowing bowl, and arealready mildly hilarious; stringed instruments are twanged by the musicalmembers of the great family, while several others, misinterpreting theinspiration of raki punch for terpsichorean talent are prancing wildlyabout the tent. Middle-aged matrons are here in plenty, housewifelypersons, finding their chief enjoyment in catering to the gastronomicpleasures of the others; while a score or two of blooming maidens standcoyly aloof, watching the festive merry-makings of the men; their headsand necks are resplendent with bands and necklaces of gold coins, itstill being a custom of the East to let the female members of a familywear the surplus wealth about them in the shape of gold ornaments andjewels, a custom resulting from the absence of safe investments and theunstability of national affairs. Yuzgat enjoys among neighboring citiesa reputation for beautiful women, and this auspicious occasion gives mean excellent opportunity for drawing my own conclusions. It is not fairperhaps to pass judgment on Yuzgat's pretensions, by the damsels of onefamily connection, not even the great and numerous Pampasian-Pamparsanfamily, but still they ought to be at least a fair average. They havebeautiful large black eyes, and usually a luxuriant head of hair; buttheir faces arc, on the whole, babyish and expressionless. The Yuzgatmaiden of "sweet sixteen" is a coy, babyish creature, possessedof a certain doll-like prettiness, but at twenty-three is a rapidlyfading flower, and at thirty is already beginning to get wrinkled andold. Happening to fall in with this festive gathering this morning isquite a gratifying and enlivening surprise; besides the music and dancingand a substantial breakfast of chicken, boiled mutton, and rice pillau, it gives me an opportunity of witnessing an Armenian family reunion underprimitive conditions. Watching over this peaceful and gambolling flockof Armenian lambkins is a lone Circassian watchdog; he is of a stalwart, warlike appearance; and although wearing no arms - except a cavalry sword, a shorter broad-sword, a dragoon revolver, a two-foot horse-pistol, anda double-barrelled shot-gun slung at his back - the Armenians seem to feelperfectly safe under his protection. They probably don'trequire any such protection really; they are nevertheless wise in employinga Circassian to guard them, if for nothing else for the sake of freeingtheir own unwarlike minds of all disquieting apprehensions, and enjoyingtheir family reunion in the calm atmosphere of perfect security; somelawless party passing along the road might peradventure drop in and abusetheir hospitality, or partaking too freely of raki, make themselvesobnoxious, were they unprotected; but with one Circassian patrolling thecamp, they are doubly sure against anything of the kind. 

These people invite me to remain with them until to-morrow; but of courseI excuse myself from this, and, after spending a very agreeable hour intheir company, take my departure. The country develops into an undulatingplateau, which is under general cultivation, as cultivation goes inAsiatic Turkey. A number of Circassian villages are scattered over thisupland plain; most of them are distant from my road, but many horsemenare encountered; they ride the finest animals in the country, and onenaturally falls to wondering how they manage to keep so well-dressed andwell-mounted, while rags and poverty and diminutive donkeys seem to bethe well-nigh universal rule among their neighbors. The Circassiansbetray more interest in my purely personal affairs - whether I am Russianor English, whither I am bound, etc. - and less interest in the bicycle, than either Turks or Armenians, and seem altogether of a more reserveddisposition; I generally have as little conversation with them as possible, confining myself to letting them know I am English and not Russian, andreplying "Turkchi binmus" (I don't understand) to other questions;they have a look about them that makes one apprehensive as to thedisinterestedness of their wanting to know whither I am bound - apprehensivethat their object is to find out where three or four of them could "seeme later. " I see but few Circassian women; what few I approach sufficientlynear to observe are all more or less pleasant-faced, prepossessingfemales; many have blue eyes, which is very rare among their neighbors;the men average quite as handsome as the women, and they have a peculiardare-devil expression of countenance that makes them distinguishableimmediately from either Turk or Armenian; they look like men who wouldn'thesitate about undertaking any devilment they felt themselves equal tofor the sake of plunder. They are very like their neighbors, however, in one respect; such among them as take any great interest in myextraordinary outfit find it entirely beyond their comprehension; thebicycle is a Gordian knot too intricate for their semi-civilized mindsto unravel, and there are no Alexanders among them to think of cuttingit. Before they recover from their first astonishment I have disappeared. 

The road continues for the most part ridable until about 2 P. M. , when Iarrive at a mountainous region of rocky ridges, covered chiefly with agrowth of scrub-oak. Upon reaching the summit of one of these ridges, Iobserve some distance ahead what appears to be a tremendous field oflarge cabbages, stretching away in a northeasterly direction almost tothe horizon of one's vision; the view presents the striking appearanceof large compact cabbage-heads, thickly dotting a well-cultivated areaof clean black loam, surrounded on all sides by rocky, uncultivatablewilds. Fifteen minutes later I am picking my way through this "cultivatedfield, " which, upon closer acquaintance, proves to be a smooth lava-bed, and the "cabbages" are nothing more or less than boulders of singularuniformity; and what is equally curious, they are all covered with agrowth of moss, while the volcanic bed they repose on is perfectly naked. Beyond this singular area, the country continues wild and mountainous, with no habitations near the road; and thus it continues until some timeafter night-fall, when I emerge upon a few scattering wheat-fields. Thebaying of dogs in the distance indicates the presence of a villagesomewhere around; but having plenty of bread on which to sup I once againdetermine upon studying astronomy behind a wheat-shock. It is a gloriousmoonlight night, but the altitude of the country hereabouts is not lessthan six thousand feet, and the chilliness of the atmosphere, alreadyapparent, bodes ill for anything like a comfortable night; but I scarcelyanticipate being disturbed by anything save atmospheric conditions. Iam rolled up in my tent instead of under it, slumbering as lightly asmen are wont to slumber under these unfavorable conditions, when, abouteleven o'clock, the unearthly creaking of native arabas approachingarouses me from my lethargical condition. Judging from the sounds, theyappear to be making a bee-line for my position; but not caring tovoluntarily reveal my presence, I simply remain quiet and listen. Itsoon becomes evident that they are a party of villagers, coming to loadup their buffalo arabas by moonlight with these very shocks of wheat. One of the arabas now approaches the shock which conceals my recumbentform, and where the pale moonbeams are coquettishly ogling the nickel-platedportions of my wheel, making it conspicuously sciutillant by theirattentions. Hoping the araba may be going to pass by, and that my presencemay escape the driver's notice, I hesitate even yet to reveal myself;but the araba stops, and I can observe the driver's frightened expressionas he suddenly becomes aware of the presence of strange, supernaturalobjects. At the same moment I rise up in my winding-sheet-like covering;the man utters a wild yell, and abandoning the araba, vanishes like adeer in the direction of his companions. It is an unenviable situationto find one's self in; if I boldly approach them, these people, not beingable to ascertain my character in the moonlight, would be quite likelyto discharge their fire-arms at me in their fright; if, on the contrary, I remain under cover, they might also try the experiment of a shot beforeventuring to approach the deserted buffaloes, who are complacently chewingthe cud on the spot where their chicken-hearted driver took to his heels. 

Under the circumstances I think it best to strike off toward the road, leaving them to draw their own conclusions as to whether I am Sheitanhimself, or merely a plain, inoffensive hobgoblin. But while gatheringup my effects, one heroic individual ventures to approach part way andopen up a shouting inquiry; my answers, though unintelligible to him inthe main, satisfy him that I am at all events a human being; there aresix of them, and in a few minutes after the ignominious flight of thedriver, they are all gathered around me, as much interested and nonplussedat the appearance of myself and bicycle as a party of Nebraska homesteadersmight be had they, under similar circumstances, discovered a turbanedold Turk complacently enjoying a nargileh. No sooner do their apprehensionsconcerning my probable warlike character and capacity become allayed, than they get altogether too familiar and inquisitive about my packages;and I detect one venturesome kleptomaniac surreptitiously unfastening astrap when he fancies I am not noticing. Moreover, laboring under theimpression that I don't understand a word they are saying, I observethey are commenting in language smacking unmistakably of covetousness, as to the probable contents of my Whitehouse leather case; some thinkit is sure to contain chokh para (much money), while others suggest thatI am a postaya (courier), and that it contains letters. Under thesealarming circumstances there is only one way to manage these overgrownchildren; that is, to make them afraid of you forthwith; so, shoving thestrap-unfastener roughly away, I imperatively order the whole covetouscrew to "haidi. " Without a moment's hesitation they betake themselvesoff to their work, it being an inborn trait of their character tomechanically obey an authoritative command. Following them to their otherarabas, I find that they have brought quilts along, intending, afterloading up to sleep in the field until daylight. Selecting a good heavyquilt with as little ceremony as though it were my own property, I takeit and the bicycle to another shock, and curl myself up warm andcomfortable; once or twice the owner of the coverlet approaches quietly, just near enough to ascertain that I am not intending making off withhis property, but there is not the slightest danger of being disturbedor molested in any way till morning; thus, in this curious round-aboutmanner, does fortune provide me with the wherewithal to pass a comparativelycomfortable night. "Rather arbitrary proceedings to take a quilt withoutasking permission, " some might think; but the owner thinks nothing ofthe kind; it is quite customary for travellers of their own nation tohelp themselves in this way, and the villagers have come to regard itas quite a natural occurrence. At daylight I am again on the move, andsunrise finds me busy making an outline sketch of the ruins of an ancientcastle, that occupies, I should imagine, one of the most impregnablepositions in all Asia Minor; a regular Gibraltar. It occupies the summitof a precipitous detached mountain peak, which is accessible only fromone point, all the other sides presenting a sheer precipice of rock; itforms a conspicuous feature of the landscape for many miles around, andsituated as it is amid a wilderness of rugged brush-covered heights, admirably suited for ambuscades, it was doubtless a very importantposition at one time. It probably belongs to the Byzantine period, andif the number of old graves scattered among the hills indicate anything, it has in its day been the theatre of stirring tragedy. An hour afterleaving the frowning battlements of the grim old relic behind, I arriveat a cluster of four rock houses, which are apparently occupied by asort of a patriarchal family consisting of a turbaned old Turk and histwo generations of descendants. The old fellow is seated on a rock, smoking a cigarette and endeavoring to coax a little comfort from theslanting rays of the morning sun, and I straightway approach him andbroach the all-important subject of refreshments. He turns out to be afanatical old gentleman, one of those old-school Mussulmans who haveneither eye nor ear for anything but the Mohammedan religion; I haveirreverently interrupted him in his morning meditations, it seems, andhe administers a rebuke in the form of a sidewise glance, such as aPharisee might be expected to bestow on a Cannibal Islander venturingto approach him, and delivers himself of two deep-fetched sighs of "Allah, Allah!"

Anybody would think from his actions that the sanctimonious old man-ikin(five feet three) had made the pilgrimage to Mecca a dozen times, whereashe has evidently not even earned the privilege of wearing a green turban;he has neither been to Mecca himself during his whole unprofitable lifenor sent a substitute, and he now thinks of gaining a nice numerousharem, and a walled-in garden, with trees and fountains, cucumbers andcarpooses, in the land of the hara fjhuz kiz, by cultivating the spiritof fanaticism at the eleventh hour. I feel too independent this morningto sacrifice any of the wellnigh invisible remnant of dignity remainingfrom the respectable quantity with which I started into Asia, for I stillhave a couple of the wheaten " quoits" I brought from Yuzgat; so, leavingthe ancient Mussulman to his meditations, I push on over the hills, when, coming to a spring, I eat my frugal breakfast, soaking the unbiteable"quoits" in the water. After getting beyond this hilly region, I emergeupon a level plateau of considerable extent, across which very fairwheeling is found; but before noon the inevitable mountains presentthemselves again, and some of the acclivities are trundleable only byrepeating the stair-climbing process of the Kara Su Pass. Necessityforces me to seek dinner at a village where abject poverty, beyondanything hitherto encountered, seems to exist. A decently large fig-leaf, without anything else, would be eminently preferable to the tatteredremnants hanging about these people, and among the smaller children purisnaturalis is the rule. It is also quite evident that few of them evertake a bath; as there is plenty of water about them, this doubtless comesof the pure contrariness of human nature in the absence of socialobligations. Their religion teaches these people that they ought to batheevery day; consequently, they never bathe at all. There is a smallthreshing-floor handy, and, taking pity on their wretched condition, Ihesitate not to "drive dull care away" from them for a few minutes, bygiving them an exhibition; not that there is any "dull care" amongthem, though, after all; for, in spite of desperate poverty, they knowmore contentment than the well-fed, respectably-dressed mechanic of theWestern World. It is, however, the contentment born of not realizingtheir own condition, the bliss that comes of ignorance. They search theentire village for eatables, but nothing is readily obtainable but bread. A few gaunt, angular fowls are scratching about, but they have a beruffled, disreputable appearance, as though their lives had been a continuousstruggle against being caught and devoured; moreover, I don't care towait around three hours on purpose to pass judgment on these people'scooking. Eggs there are none; they are devoured, I fancy, almost beforethey are laid. Finally, while making the best of bread and water, whichis hardly made more palatable by the appearance of the people watchingme feed - a woman in an airy, fairy costume, that is little better thanno costume at all, comes forward, and contributes a small bowl of yaort;but, unfortuntaely, this is old yaort, yaort that is in the sere andyellow stage of its usefulness as human food; and although these peopledoubtless consume it thus, I prefer to wait until something more acceptableand less odoriferous turns up. I miss the genial hospitality of thegentle Koords to-day. Instead of heaping plates of pillau, and bowls ofwholesome new yaort, fickle fortune brings me nothing but an exclusivediet of bread and water. My road, this afternoon, is a tortuous donkey-trail, intersecting ravines with well-nigh perpendicular sides, and rocky ridges, covered with a stunted growth of cedar and scrub-oak. The higher mountainsround about are heavily timbered with pine and cedar. A large forest ona mountain-slope is on fire, and I pass a camp of people who have beendriven out of their permanent abode by the flames. Fortunately, theyhave saved everything except their naked houses and their grain. Theycan easily build new houses, and their neighbors will give or lend themsufficient grain to tide them over till another harvest. Toward sundownthe hilly country terminates, and I descend into a broad cultivatedvalley, through which is a very good wagon-road; and I have the additionalsatisfaction of learning that it will so continue clear into Sivas, awagon-road having been made from Sivas into this forest to enable thepeople to haul wood and building-timber on their arabas. Arriving at agood-sized and comparatively well-to-do Mussulman village, I obtain anample supper of eggs and pillau, and, after binning over and over againuntil the most unconscionable Turk among them all can bring himself toimportune me no more, I obtain a little peace. Supper for two, togetherwith the tough hill-climbing to-day, and insufficient sleep last night, produces its natural effect; I quietly doze off to sleep while sittingon the divan of a small khan, which might very appropriately be calledan open shed. Soon I am awakened; they want me to accommodate them bybinning once more before they retire for the night. As the moon is shiningbrightly, I offer no objections, knowing that to grant the request willbe the quickest way to get rid of their worry. They then provide me withquilts, and I spend the night in the khan alone. I am soon asleep, butone habitually sleeps lightly under these strange and ever-varyingconditions, and several times I am awakened by dogs invading the khanand sniffing - about my couch. My daily experience among these people isteaching me the commendable habit of rising with the lark; not that Iam an enthusiastic student, or even a willing one - be it observed thatfew people are - but it is a case of either turning out and sneaking offbefore the inhabitants are astir, or to be worried from one's wakingmoments to the departure from the village, and of the two evils one comesfinally to prefer the early rising. One can always obtain something toeat before starting by waiting till an hour after sunrise, but I havehad quite enough of these people's importunities to make breakfastingwith them a secondary consideration, and so pull out at early daylight. The road is exceptionally good, but an east wind rises with the sun andquickly develops into a stiff breeze that renders riding against itanything but child's play; no rose is to be expected without a thorn, nevertheless it is rather aggravating to have the good road and thehowling head-wind happen together, especially in traversing a countrywhere good roads are the exception instead of the rule. About eighto'clock I reach a village situated at the entrance to a rocky defile, with a babbling brook dancing through the space between its two divisions. Upon inquiring for refreshments, a man immediately orders his wife tobring me pillau. For some reason or other - perhaps the poor woman hasnone prepared; who knows? - the woman, instead of obeying the commandlike a "guid wifey, " enters upon a wordy demurrer, whereupon her husbandborrows a hoe-handle from a bystander and advances to chastise her fordaring to thus hesitate about obeying his orders; the woman retreatsprecipitately into the house, heaping Turkish epithets on her devotedhusband's head. This woman is evidently a regular termagant, or she wouldnever have used such violent language to her husband in the presence ofa stranger and the whole village; some day, if she doesn't be morereasonable, her husband, instead of satisfying his outraged feelings bychastising her with a hoe-handle, will, in a moment of passion, bid herbegone from his house, which in Turkish law constitutes a legal separation;if the command be given in the presence of a competent witness it isirrevocable. Seeing me thus placed, as it were, in an embarrassingsituation, another woman - dear, thoughtful creature! - fetches me enoughwheat piilau to feed a mule, and a nice bowl of yaort, off which I makea substantial breakfast. Near by where I am eating are five industriousmaidens, preparing cracked or broken wheat by a novel and interestingprocess, that has hitherto failed to come under my observation; perhapsit is peculiar to the Sivas vilayet, which I have now entered. A largerock is hollowed out like a shallow druggist's mortar; wheat is put in, and several girls (sometimes as many as eight, I am told by the Americanmissionaries at Sivas) gather in a circle about it, and pound the wheatwith light, long-headed mauls or beetles, striking in regular succession, as the reader has probably seen a gang of circus roustabouts drivingtent-pins. When I first saw circus tent-pins driven in this manner, afew years ago, I remember hearing on-lookers remarking it as quite noveland wonderful how so many could be striking the same peg without theirswinging sledges coming into collision; but that very same performancehas been practised by the maidens hereabout, it seems, from time immemorial-another proof that there is nothing new under the sun. Ten miles of goodriding, and I wheel into the considerable town of Yennikhan, a placesufficiently important to maintain a public coffee-khan and several smallshops. Here I take aboard a pocketful of fine large pears, and afterwheeling a couple of miles to a secluded spot, halt for the purpose ofshifting the pears from my pocket to where they will be better appreciated. Ere I have finished the second pear, a gentle goatherd, who from anadjacent hill observed me alight, appears upon the scene and waits around, with the laudable intention of further enlightening his mind when Iremount. He is carrying a musical instrument something akin to a flute;it is a mere hollow tube with the customary finger-holes, but it is blownat the end; having neither reed nor mouth-piece of any description, itrequires a peculiar sidewise application of the lips, and is not to beblown readily by a novice. When properly played, it produces soft, melodious music that, to say nothing else, must exert a gentle soothinginfluence on the wild, turbulent souls of a herd of goats. The goatherdoffers me a cake of ekmek out of his wallet, as a sort of a I peace - offering, but thanks to a generous breakfast, music hath more charms at presentthan dry ekmek, and handing him a pear, I strike up a bargain by whichhe is to entertain me with a solo until I am ready to start, when ofcourse he will be amply recompensed by seeing me bin; the bargain isagreed to, and the solo duly played. East of Yennikhan, the road developsinto an excellent macadamized highway, on which I find plenty of genuineamusement by electrifying the natives whom I chance to meet or overtake. Creeping noiselessly up behind an unsuspecting donkey-driver, until quiteclose, I suddenly reveal my presence. Looking round and observing astrange, unearthly combination, apparently swooping down upon him, theaffrighted katir-jee's first impulse is to seek refuge in flight, notinfrequently bolting clear off the roadway, before venturing upon takinga second look. Sometimes I simply put on a spurt, and whisk past at afifteen mile pace. Looking back, the katir-jee generally seems rootedto the spot with astonishment, and his utter inability to comprehend. These men will have marvellous tales to tell in their respective villagesconcerning what they saw; unless other bicycles are introduced, the timethe "Ingilisiu" went through the country with his wonderful araba willbecome a red-letter event in the memory of the people along my routethrough Asia Minor. Crossing the Yeldez Irmak Eiver, on a stone bridge, I follow along the valley of the head-waters of our old acquaintance, the Kizil Irmak, and at three o'clock in the afternoon, roll into Sivas, having wheeled nearly fifty miles to-day, the last forty of which willcompare favorably in smoothness, though not in leveluess, with any forty-mile stretch I know of in the United States. Prom Angora I have broughta letter of introduction to Mr. Ernest Weakley, a young Englishman, engaged, together with Mr. Kodigas, a Belgian gentleman, for the OttomanGovernment, in collecting the Sivas vilayet's proportion of the Russianindemnity; and I am soon installed in hospitable quarters. Sivas artisansenjoy a certain amount of celebrity among their compatriots of otherAsia Minor cities for unusual skilfulness. Particularly in making filigreesilver work. Toward evening myself and Mr. Weakley take a stroll throughthe silversmiths' quarters. The quarters consist of twenty or thirtysmall wooden shops, surrounding an oblong court; spreading willows anda tiny rivulet running through it give the place a semi-rural appearance. In the little open-front workshops, which might more appropriately becalled stalls, Armenian silversmiths are seated cross-legged, some workingindustriously at their trade, others gossiping and sipping coffee withfriends or purchasers. 

"Doesn't it call up ideas of what you conceive the quarters of the oldalchemists to have been hundreds of years ago. " asks my companion. "Precisely what I was on the eve of suggesting to you, " I reply, and thenwe drop into one of the shops, sip coffee with the old silversmith, andexamine his filigree jewelry. There is nothing denoting remarkable skillabout any of it; an intricate pattern of their jewelry simply representsa great expenditure of time and Asiatic patience, and the finishing ofclasps, rivetting, etc. , is conspicuously rough. Sivas was also formerlya seat of learning; the imposing gates, with portions of the fronts ofthe old Arabic universities are still standing, with sufficient beautifularabesque designs in glazed tile-work still undestroyed, to proclaimeloquently of departed glories. The squalid mud hovels of refugees fromthe Caucasus now occupy the interior of these venerable edifices; raggedurchins romp with dogs and baby buffaloes where pashas' sons formerlycongregated to learn wisdom from the teachings of their prophet, and nowwhat remains of the intricate arabesque designs, worked out in small, bright-colored tiles, that once formed the glorious ceiling of the dome, seems to look down reproachfully, and yet sorrowfully, upon the wretchedheaps of tezek placed beneath it for shelter. 

I am remaining over one day at Sivas, and in the morning we call on theAmerican missionaries. Mr. Perry is at home, and hopes I am going tostay a week, so that they can "sort of make up for the discomforts ofjourneying through the country;" Mr. Hubbard and the ladies of theMission are out of town, but will be back this evening. After dinner wego round to the government konak and call on the Vali, Hallil EifaatPasha, whom Mr. Weakley describes beforehand as a very practical man, fond of mechanical contrivances; and who would never forgive him if heallowed me to leave Sivas with the bicycle without paying him a visit. The usual rigmarole of salaams, cigarettes, coffee, compliments, andquestioning are gone through with; the Vali is a jolly-faced, good-naturedman, and is evidently much interested in my companion's description ofthe bicycle and my journey. Of course I don't forget to praise theexcellence of the road from Yennikhan; I can conscientiously tell himthat it is superior to anything I have wheeled over south of the Balkans;the Pasha is delighted at hearing this, and beaming joyously over hisspectacles, his fat jolly face a rotund picture of satisfaction, he saysto Mr. Weakley: "You see, he praises up our roads; and he ought to know, he has travelled on wagon roads half way round the world. " The interviewends by the Vali inviting me to ride the bicycle out to his countryresidence this evening, giving the order for a squad of zaptiehs toescort me out of town at the appointed time. "The Vali is one of themost energetic pashas in Turkey, " says Mr. Weakley, as we take ourdeparture. "You would scarcely believe that he has established a smallweekly newspaper here, and makes it self-supporting into the bargain, would you. " "I confess I don't see how he manages it among thesepeople, " I reply, quite truthfully, for these are anything but newspaper-supporting people; "how does he manage to make it self-supporting?"Why, he makes every employe of the government subscribe for a certainnumber of copies, and the subscription price is kept back out of theirsalaries; for instance, the mulazim of zaptiehs would have to take halfa dozen copies, the mutaserif a dozen, etc. ; if from any unforeseen causethe current expenses are found to be more than the income, a few additionalcopies are saddled on each 'subscriber. ' "Before leaving Sivas, Iarrive at the conclusion that Hallil Eifaat Pasha knows just about what'swhat; while administering the affairs of the Sivas vilayet in a mannerthat has gained him the good-will of the population at large, he hasn'tneglected his opportunities at the Constantinople end of the rope; morethan one beautiful Circassian girl has, I am told, been forwarded to theSultan's harem by the enterprising and sagacious Sivas Vali; consequentlyhe holds "trump cards, " so to speak, both in the province and the palace. Promptly at the hour appointed the squad of zaptiehs arrive; Mr. Weakleymounts his servant on a prancing Arab charger, and orders him to manoeuvrethe horse so as to clear the way in front; the zaptiehs commence theirflogging, and in the middle of the cleared space I trundle the bicycle. While making our way through the streets, Mr. Hubbard, who, with theladies, has just returned to the city, is encountered on the way toinvite Mr. Weakley and myself to supper; as he pushes his way throughthe crowd and reaches my side, he pronounces it the worst rabble he eversaw in the streets of Sivas, and he has been stationed here over twelveyears. Once clear of the streets, I mount and soon outdistance the crowd, though still followed by a number of horsemen. Part way out we wait forthe Vali's state carriage, in which he daily rides between the city andhis residence. "While waiting, a terrific squall of wind and dust comeshowling from the direction we are going, and while it is still blowinggreat guns, the Vali and his mounted escort arrive. His Excellency alightsand examines the Columbia with much interest, and then requests me toride on immediately in advance of the carriage. The grade is slightlyagainst me, and the whistling wind seems to be shrieking a defiance; butby superhuman efforts, almost, I pedal ahead and manage to keep in frontof his horses all the way. The distance from Sivas is four and a quartermiles by the cyclometer; this is the first time it has ever been measured. We are ushered into a room quite elegantly furnished, and light refreshmentsserved. Observing my partiality for vishner-su, the Governor kindlyoffers me a flask of the syrup to take along; which I am, however, reluctantly compelled to refuse, owing to my inability to carry it. Here, also, we meet Djaved Bey, the Pasha's son, who has recently returnedfrom Constantinople, and who says he saw me riding at Prinkipo. The Valigets down on his hands and knees to examine the route of my journey ona map of the world which he spreads out on the carpet; he grows quiteenthusiastic, and exclaims, "Wonderful. " " Very wonderful!" says DjavedBey; "when you get back to America they will-build you a statue. " Mr. Hubbard has mounted a horse and followed us to the Vali's residence, andat the approach of dusk we take our departure; the wind is favorable forthe return, as is also the gradient; ere my two friends have unhitchedtheir horses, I mount and am scudding before the gale half a mile away. 

"Hi hi-hi-hi! you'll never overtake him. " the Vali shouts enthusiasticallyto the two horsemen as they start at full gallop after me, and whichthey laughingly repeat to me shortly afterward. A very pleasant eveningis spent at Mr. Hubbard's house; after supper the ladies sing "SweetBye and Bye, " "Home, Sweet Home, " and other melodious reminders of theland of liberty and song that gave them birth. Everything looks comfortableand homelike, and they have English ivy inside the dining-room trainedup the walls and partly covering the ceiling, which produces a wonderfullypleasant effect. The usual extraordinary rumors of my wonderful speedingability have circulated about the city during the day and evening, someof which have happened to come to the ears of the missionaries. One storyis that I came from the port of Samsoon, a distance of nearly threehundred miles, in six hours, while an imaginative katir-jee, whom Iwhisked past on the road, has been telling the Sivas people an exaggeratedstory of how a genii had ridden past him with lightning-like speed on ashining wheel; but whether it was a good or an evil genii he said hedidn't have time to determine, as I went past like a flash and vanishedin the distance. The missionaries have four hundred scholars attendingtheir school here at Sivas, which would seem to indicate a prettyflourishing state of affairs. Their recruiting ground is, of I course, among the Armenians, who, though professedly Christiana really stand inmore need of regeneration than their Mohammedan neighbors. Thecharacteristic condition of the average Armenian villager's mind is deep, dense ignorance and moral gloominess; it requires more patience andperseverance to ingraft a new idea on the unimpressionable trunk ofan Armenian villager's intellect than it does to put up second-handstove-pipe; and it is a generally admitted fact - i. E. , west of the MissouriElver - that anyone capable of setting up three joints of second-handstove-pipe without using profane language deserves a seat in Paradise. "Come in here a minute, " says Mr. Hubbard, just before our I departurefor the night, leading the way into an adjoining room. ; I "here's shirts, underclothing, socks, handkerchiefs-everything;. ! help yourself toanything you require; I know something about I travelling through thiscountry myself. " But not caring to impose too much on good nature, Icontent myself with merely pocketing a strong pair of socks, that Iknow will come in handy. I leave the bicycle at the mission over night, and in the morning, at Miss Chamberlain's request, I ride round theschool-house yard a few times for the edification of the scholars. Thegreatest difficulty, I am informed, with Armenian pupils is to get themto take sufficient interest in anything to ask questions; it is mainlybecause the bicycle will be certain to awaken interest, and excite thespirit of inquiry among them, that I am requested to ride for theirbenefit. Thus is the bicycle fairly recognized as a valuable aid tomissionary work. Moral: let the American and Episcopal boards providetheir Asia Minor and Persian missionaries with nickel-plated bicycles;let them wheel their way into the empty wilderness of the Armenian mind, and. Light up the impenetrable moral darkness lurking therein with theglowing and mist-dispelling orbs of cycle lamps. Messrs. Perry, Hubbard, and Weakley accompany me out some distance on horseback, and at partingI am commissioned to carry salaams to the brethren in China. This is thefirst opportunity that has ever presented of sending greetings overlandto far-off China, they say, and such rare occasions are not to be lightlyoverlooked. They also promise to send word to the Erzeroum mission toexpect me; the chances are, however, that I shall reach Erzeroum beforetheir letter; there are no lightning mail trains in Asia Minor. The roadeastward from Sivas is an artificial highway, and affords reasonablygood wheeling, but is somewhat inferior to the road from Yennikhau. Before long I enter a region of low hills, dales, and small lakes, beyondwhich the road again descends into the valley of the Kizil Irmak. Allday long the roadway averages better wheeling than I ever expected tofind in Asiatic Turkey; but the prevailing east wind offers strenuousopposition to my progress every inch of the way along the hundred milesor so of ridable road from Yennikhan to Zara, a town at which I arrivenear sundown. Zara is situated at the entrance to a narrow passage betweentwo mountain spurs, and although the road is here a dead level and thesurface smooth, the wind comes roaring from the gorge with such tremendouspressure that it is only by extraordinary exertions that I am able tokeep the saddle. 

Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi was a gentleman of Greek descent. At Zara I havean opportunity of seeing and experiencing something of what hospitalityis like among the better class Armenians, for I have brought from Sivasa letter of introduction to Kirkor-agha Tartarian, the most prominentArmenian gentleman in Zara. I have no difficulty whatever in finding thehouse, and am at once installed in the customary position of honor, whilefive serving-men hover about, ready to wait on me; some take a hand inthe inevitable ceremony of preparing and serving coffee and lightingcigarettes, while others stand watchfully by awaiting word or look frommyself or mine host, or from the privileged guests that immediately beginto arrive. The room is of cedar planking throughout, and is absolutelywithout furniture, save the carpeting and the cushioned divan on whichI am seated. Mr. Tartarian sits crossed-legged on the carpet to my left, smoking a nargileh; his younger brother occupies a similar position onmy right, rolling and smoking cigarettes; while the guests, as theyarrive, squat themselves on the carpet in positions varying in distancefrom the divan, according to their respective rank and social importance. No one ventures to occupy the cushioned divan alongside myself, althoughthe divan is fifteen feet long, and it makes me feel uncomfortably likethe dog in the manger to occupy its whole length alone. In a farthercorner, and off the slightly raised and carpeted floor on which areseated the guests, is a small brick fire-place, on which a charcoal fireis brightly burning, and here Mr. Vartarian's private kahvay-jee is keptbusily employed in brewing tiny cups of strong black coffee; anotherservant constantly visits the fire to ferret out pieces of glowingcharcoal with small pipe-lighting tongs, with which he circulates amongthe guests, supplying a light to the various smokers of cigarettes. Athird youth is kept pretty tolerably busy performing the same office forMr. Vartarian's nargileh, for the gentleman is an inveterate smoker, andin all Turkey there can scarcely be another nargileh requiring so muchtinkering with as his. All the livelong evening something keeps gettingwrong with that wretched pipe; mine host himself is continually rearrangingthe little pile of live coals on top of the dampened tobacco (the tobaccosmoked in a nargileh is dampened, and live coals are placed on top), taking off the long coiled tube and blowing down it, or prying aroundin the tobacco receptacle with an awl-like instrument in his efforts tomake it draw properly, but without making anything like a success; whilehis nargileh-boy is constantly hovering over it with a new supply oflive coals. "Job himself could scarcely have been possessed of morepatience, " I think at first; but before the evening is over I come tothe conclusion that my worthy host wouldn't exchange that particularhubble-bubble with its everlasting contrariness for the most perfectlydrawing nargileh in Turkey: like certain devotees of the weed amongourselves, who never seem to be happier than when running a broom-strawdown the stem of a pipe that chronically refuses to draw, so Kirkor-aghaVartarian finds his chief amusement in thus tinkering from one week'send to another with his nargileh. At the supper table mine host and hisbrother both lavish attentions upon me; knives and forks of course thereare none, these things being seldom seen in Asia Minor, and to a cyclerwho has spent the day in pedalling against a stiff breeze, their absenceis a matter of small moment. I am ravenously hungry, and they both winmy warmest esteem by transferring choice morsels from their own platesinto mine with their fingers. From what I know of strict haut ton Zaranetiquette, I think they should really pop these tid-bits in my mouth, and the reason they don't do so is, perhaps, because I fail to open itin the customary haut ton manner; however, it is a distasteful thing tobe always sticking up for one's individual rights. A pile of quilts andmattresses, three feet thick, and feather pillows galore are preparedfor me to sleep on. An attendant presents himself with a wonderful night-shirt, on the ample proportions of which are displayed bewildering colorsand figures; and following the custom of the country, shapes himself forundressing me and assisting me into bed. This, however, I prefer to dowithout assistance, owing to a large stock of native modesty. I neverfell among people more devoted in their attentions; their only thoughtduring my stay is to make me comfortable; but they are very ceremoniousand great sticklers for etiquette. I had intended making my usual earlystart, but mine host receives with open disapproval - I fancy even with ashowing of displeasure - my proposition to depart without first partakingof refreshments, and it is nearly eight o'clock before I finally getstarted. Immediately after rising comes the inevitable coffee and earlymorning visitors; later an attendant arrives with breakfast for myselfon a small wooden tray. Mr. Vartarian occupies precisely the same position, and is engaged in precisely the same occupation as yesterday evening, as is also his brother. No sooner does the hapless attendant make hisappearance with the eatables than these two persons spring simultaneouslyto their feet, apparently in a towering rage, and chase him back out ofthe room, meanwhile pursuing him with a torrent of angry words; theythen return to their respective positions and respective occupations. Ten minutes later the attendant reappears, but this time bringing alarger tray with an ample spread for three persons; this, it afterwardappears, is not because mine host and his brother intends partaking ofany, but because it is Armenian etiquette to do so, and Armenian etiquettetherefore becomes responsible for the spectacle of a solitary feederseated at breakfast with dishes and everything prepared for three, whileof the other two, one is smoking a nargileh, the other cigarettes, andboth of them regarding my evident relish of scrambled eggs and cold fowlwith intense satisfaction. 

Having by this time determined to merely drift with the current of minehost's intentions concerning the time of my departure, I resume myposition on the divan after breakfasting, simply hinting that I wouldlike to depart as soon as possible. To this Mr. Vartarian complacentlynods assent, and his brother, with equal complacency rolls me a cigarette, after which a good half-hour is consumed in preparing for me a letterof introduction to their friend Mudura Ghana in the village of Kachahurda, which I expect to reach somewhere near noon; mine host dictates whilehis brother writes. Visitors continue coming in, and I am beginning toget a trifle impatient about starting; am beginning in fact to wish alltheir nonsensical ceremoniousness at the bottom of tho deep blue sea orsome equally unfathomable quarter, when, at a signal from Mr. Vartarianhimself, his brother and tho whole roomful of visitors rise simultaneouslyto their feet, and equally simultaneously put their hands on theirrespective stomachs, and, turning toward me, salaam; mine host thencomes forward, shakes hands, gives me the letter to Mudura Ghana, andpermits me to depart. He has provided two zaptiehs to escort me outsidethe town, and in a few minutes I find myself bowling briskly along abeautiful little valley; the pellucid waters of a purling brook dancemerrily alongside an excellent piece of road; birds are singing merrilyin the willow-trees, and dark rocky crags tower skyward immediatelyaround. The lovely little valley terminates all too soon, for in fifteenminutes I am footing it up another mountain; but it proves to be theentrance gate of a region containing grander pine-clad mountain scenerythan anything encountered outside the Sierra Nevadas; in fact the famousscenery of Cape Horn, California, almost finds its counterpart at oneparticular point I traverse this morning; only instead of a CentralPacific Railway winding around the gray old crags and precipices, theenterprising Sivas Vali has built an araba road. One can scarce resistthe temptation of wheeling down some of the less precipitous slopes, butit is sheer indiscretion, for the roadway makes sharp turns at pointswhere to continue straight ahead a few feet too far would launch oneinto eternity; a broken brake, a wild "coast" of a thousand feet throughmid-air into the dark depths of a rocky gorge, and the "tour around theworld" would abruptly terminate. For a dozen miles I traverse a tortuousroad winding its way among wild mountain gorges and dark pine forests;Circassian horsemen are occasionally encountered: it seems the mostappropriate place imaginable for robbers, and I have again been cautionedagainst these freebooting mountaineers at Sivas. They eye me curiously, and generally halt after they have passed, and watch my progress forsome minutes. Once I am overtaken by a couple of them; they follow closebehind me up a mountain slope; they are heavily armed and look capableof anything, and I plod along, mentally calculating how to best encompasstheir destruction with the Smith & "Wesson, without coming to griefmyself, should their intentions toward me prove criminal. It is notexactly comfortable or reassuring to have two armed horsemen, of a peoplewho are regarded with universal fear and mistrust by everybody aroundthem, following close upon one's heels, with the disadvantage of notbeing able to keep an eye on their movements; however, they have littleto say; and as none of them attempt any interference, it is not for meto make insinuations against them on the barren testimony of their outwardappearance and the voluntary opinions of their neighbors. 

My route now leads up a rocky ravine, the road being fairly under coverof over-arching rocks at times, thence over a billowy region of mountainsummits-an elevated region of pine-clad ridges and rocky peaks-to descendagain into a cultivated country of undulating hills and dales, checkeredwith fields of grain. These low rolling hills appear to be in a higherstate of cultivation than any district I have traversed in Asia Minor;from points of vantage the whole country immediately around looks likea swelling sea of golden grain; harvesting is going merrily on; men andwomen are reaping side by side in the fields, and the songs of the womencome floating through the air from all directions. They are Armenianpeasants, for I am now in Armenia proper; the inhabitants of thisparticular locality impress me as a light hearted, industrious people;they have an abundant harvest, and it is a pleasure to stand and seethem reap, and listen to the singing of the women; moreover they aremore respectably clothed than the lower class natives round about them, barring, of course, our unfathomable acquaintances, the Circassians. 

Toward the eastern extremity of this peaceful, happy scene is the villageof Kachahurda, which I reach soon after noon, and where resides MfrduraGhana, to whom I bring a letter. Picturesquely speaking, Kachahurda isa disgrace to the neighborhood in which it stands; its mud hovels arecombined cow-pens, chicken-coops, and human habitations, and they arebunched up together without any pretence to order or regularity; yet thelight-hearted, decently-clad people, whose songs come floating from theharvest-fields, live contentedly in this and other equally wretchedvillages round about. Mudura Ghana provides me with a repast of breadand yaort, and endeavors to make my brief halt comfortable. While I amdiscussing these refreshments, himself and another unwashed, unkempt oldparty come to high, angry words about me; but whatever it is about Ihaven't the slightest idea. Mine host seems a regular old savage whenangry. He is the happy possessor of a pair of powerful lungs, which areably seconded by a foghorn voice, and he howls at the other man like anenraged bull. The other man doesn't seem to mind it, though, and keepsup his end of the controversy - or whatever it is - in a comparatively cooland aggravating manner, that seems to feed Mudura Ghana's righteouswrath, until I quite expect to see that outraged person reach down oneof the swords off the wall and hack his opponent into sausage-meat. OnceI venture to inquire, as far as one can inquire by pantomime, what theyare quarrelling so violently about me for, being really inquisitive tofind out They both immediately cease hostilities to assure me that itis nothing for which I am in any way personally responsible; and thenthey straightway fall to glaring savagely at each other again, and renewtheir vocal warfare more vigorously, if anything, from having just drawna peaceful breath. Mine host of Kachahurda can scarcely be called a verycivilized or refined individual; he has neither the gentle kindlinessof Kirkoragha Vartarian, nor the dignified, gentlemanly bearing ofTifticjeeoghlou Effendi; but he grabs a club, and roaring like the hoarsewhistle of a Mississippi steamboat, chases a crowd of villagers out ofthe room who venture to come in on purpose to stare rudely at his guest;and for this charitable action alone he deserves much credit; nothingis so annoying as to have these unwashed crowds standing gazing andcommenting while one is eating. A man is sent with me to direct me arightwhere the road forks, a mile or so from the village; from the forks itis a newly made road, in fact, unfinished; it resembles a ploughed fieldfor looseness and I depth; and when, in addition to this, one has toclimb a gradient of twenty metres to the hundred, a bicycle is anythingbut a comforting thing to possess. The country becomes broken and moremountainous than ever, and the road winds about fearfully. Often a partof the road that is but a mile away as the crow flies requires an hour'ssteady going to reach it; but the mountain scenery is glorious. OccasionallyI round a point, or reach a summit, from whence a magnificent andcomprehensive view bursts upon the vision, and it really requires aneffort to tear one's self away, realizing that in all probability I shallnever see it again. At one point I seem to be overlooking a vastamphitheatre which encompasses within itself the physical geography ofa continent. It is traversed by whole mountain-ranges of lesser degree;it contains tracts of stony desert and fertile valley, lakes, and ariver, not excepting even the completing element of a fine forest, andencompassing it round about, like an impenetrable palisade protectingit against invasion, are scores of grand old mountains - grim sentinelsthat nothing can overcome. The road, though still among the mountains, is now descending in a general way from the elevated divide, down towardEnderes and the valley of the Gevmeili Chai River; and toward evening Ienter an Armenian village. 

The custom from here eastward appears to be to have the threshing-floorsin or near the village; there are sometimes several different floors, and when they are winnowing the grain on windy days the whole villagebecomes covered with an inch or two of chaff. I am glad to find thesethreshing-floors in the villages, because they give me an excellentopportunity to ride and satisfy the people, thus saving me no end ofworry and annoyance. 

The air becomes chilly after sundown, and I am shown into a close roomcontaining one small air-hole, and am provided with a quilt and pillow. Later in the evening a Turkish Bey arrives with an escort of zaptiehsand occupies the same apartment, which would seem to be a room especiallyprovided for the accommodation of travellers. The moment the officerarrives, behold, there is a hurrying to and fro of the villagers to sweepout the room, kindle a fire to brew his coffee, and to bring him waterand a vessel for his ablutions before saying his evening prayers. Cringingsenility characterizes the demeanor of these Armenian villagers towardthe Turkish officer, and their hurrying hither and thither to supply himere they are asked looks to me wonderfully like a "propitiating of thegods. " The Bey himself seems to be a pretty good sort of a fellow, offering me a portion of his supper, consisting of bread, olives, andonions; which, however, I decline, having already ordered eggs and pillauof a villager. The Bey's company is highly acceptable, since it savesme from the annoyance of being surrounded by the usual ragged, unwashedcrowd during the evening, and secures me a refreshing sleep, undisturbedby visions of purloined straps or moccasins. He appears to be a verypious Mussulman; after washing his head, hands, and feet, he kneelstoward Mecca on the wet towel, and prays for nearly twenty minutes bymy timepiece; and his sighs of Allah! are wonderfully deep-fetched, coming apparently from clear down in his stomach. While he is thusdevotionally engaged, his two zaptiehs stand respectfully by, and dividetheir time between eying myself and the bicycle with wonder and the Beywith mingled reverence and awe. At early dawn I steal noiselessly away, to avoid disturbing the peaceful slumbers of the Bey. For several milesmy road winds around among the foot-hills of the range I crossed yesterday, but following a gradually widening depression, which finally terminatesin the Gevmeili Chai Valley; and directly ahead and below me lies theconsiderable town of Enderes, surrounded by a broad fringe of apple-orchards, and walnut and jujube groves. Here I obtain a substantial breakfast ofTurkish kabobs (tid-bits of mutton, spitted on a skewer, and broiledover a charcoal fire) at a public eating khan, after which the mudirkindly undertakes to explain to me the best route to Erzingan, givingme the names of several villages to inquire for as a guidance. Whiletalking to the mudir, Mr. Pronatti, an Italian engineer in the employof the Sivas Vali, makes his appearance, shakes hands, reminds me thatItaly has recently volunteered assistance to England in the Soudancampaign, and then conducts me to his quarters in another part of thetown. Mr. Pronatti can speak almost any language but English; I speaknext to nothing but English; nevertheless, we manage to converse quitereadily, for, besides proficiency in pantomimic language acquired bydaily practice, I have necessarily picked up a few scattering words ofthe vernacular of the several countries traversed on the tour. Whilediscussing a nice ripe water-melon with this gentleman, several respectable-looking people enter and introduce themselves through Mr. Pronatti asOsmanli Turks, not Armenians, expecting me to regard them more favorablyon that account. Soon afterward a party of Armenians arrive, and takelabored pains to impress upon me that they are not Turks, but ChristianArmenians. Both parties seem desirous of winning my favorable opinion. One party thinks the surest plan is to let me know that they are Turks;the others, to let me know that they are not Turks. "I have told bothparties to go to Gehenna, " says my Italian friend. "These people willworry you to death with their foolishness if you make the mistake oftreating them with consideration. "

Donning an Indian pith-helmet that is three sizes too large, and wellnighconceals his features, Mr. Pronatti orders his horse, and accompaniesme some distance out, to put me on the proper course to Erzingan. Myroute from Enderes leads along a lovely fertile valley, between loftymountain ranges; an intricate network of irrigating ditches, fed by, mountain streams, affords an abundance of water forwheat-fields, vineyards, and orchards; it is the best, and yet the worstwatered valley I ever saw - the best, because the irrigating ditches areso numerous; the worst, because most of them are overflowing and convertingmy road into mud-holes and shallow pools. In the afternoon I reachsomewhat higher ground, where the road becomes firmer, and I bowl merrilyalong eastward, interrupted by nothing save the necessity of dismountingand shedding my nether garments every few minutes to ford a broad, swiftfeeder to the lesser ditches lower down the valley. In this fructiferousvale my road sometimes leads through areas of vineyards surrounded bylow mud walls, where grapes can be had for the reaching, and where theproprietor of an orchard will shake down a shower of delicious yellowpears for whatever you like to give him, or for nothing if one wants himto. I suppose these villagers have established prices for their commoditieswhen dealing with each other, but they almost invariably refuse to chargeme anything; some will absolutely refuse any payment, and my only planof recompensing them is to give money to the children; others accept, with as great a show of gratitude as if I were simply giving it to themwithout having received an equivalent, whatever I choose to give. 

The numerous irrigating ditches have retarded my progress to an appreciableextent to-day, so that, notwithstanding the early start and the absenceof mountain-climbing, my cyclometer registers but a gain of thirty-sevenmiles, when, having continued my eastward course for some time afternightfall, and failing to reach a village, I commence looking around forsomewhere to spend the night. The valley of the Gevmeili Chai has beenleft behind, and I am again traversing a narrow, rocky pass between thehills. Among the rocks I discover a small open cave, in which I determineto spend the night. The region is elevated, and the night air chilly;so I gather together some dry weeds and rubbish and kindle a fire. Withsomething to cook and eat, and a pair of blankets, I could have spent areasonably comfortable night; but a pocketful of pears has to sufficefor supper, and when the unsubstantial fuel is burned away, my airychamber on the bleak mountain-side and the thin cambric tent affordslittle protection from the insinuating chilliness of the night air. Variety is said to be the spice of life; no doubt it is, under certainconditions, but I think it all depends on the conditions whether it isspicy or not spicy. For instance, the vicissitudes of fortune that favorme with bread and sour milk for dinner, a few pears for supper, and awakeful night of shivering discomfort in a cave, as the reward of wadingfifty irrigating ditches and traversing thirty miles of ditch-bedevilleddonkey-trails during the day, may look spicy, and even romantic, from adistance; but when one wakes up in a cold shiver about 1. 30A. M. Andrealizes that several hours of wretchedness are before him, his wakingthoughts are apt to be anything but thoughts complimentary of the spicinessof the situation. Inshallah! fortune will favor me with better dues to-morrow; and if not to-morrow, then the next day, or the next. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THROUGH ERZINGAN AND ERZEROUM. 

For mile after mile, on the following morning, my route leads throughbroad areas strewn with bowlders and masses of rock that appear to havebeen brought down from the adjacent mountains by the annual spring floods, caused by the melting winter's snows; scattering wheat-fields are observedhere and there on the higher patches of ground, which look like smallyellow oases amid the desert-like area of loose rocks surrounding them. Squads of diminutive donkeys are seen picking their weary way throughthe bowlders, toiling from the isolated fields to the village threshing-floorsbeneath small mountains of wheat-sheaves. Sometimes the donkeys themselvesare invisible below the general level of the bowlders, and nothing isto be seen but the head and shoulders of a man, persuading before himseveral animated heaps of straw. Small lakes of accumulated surface-waterare passed in depressions having no outlet; thickets and bulrushes aregrowing around the edges, and the surfaces of some are fairly black withmultitudes of wild-ducks. Soon I reach an Armenian village; aftersatisfying the popular curiosity by riding around their threshing-floor, they bring me some excellent wheat-bread, thick, oval cakes that arequite acceptable, compared with the wafer-like sheets of the past severaldays, and five boiled eggs. The people providing these will not acceptany direct payment, no doubt thinking my having provided them with theonly real entertainment most of them ever saw, a fair equivalent fortheir breakfast; but it seems too much like robbing paupers to acceptanything from these people without returning something, so I give moneyto the children. These villagers seem utterly destitute of manners, standing around and watching my efforts to eat soft-boiled eggs with apocket-knife with undisguised merriment. I inquire for a spoon, but theyevidently prefer to extract amusement from watching my interestingattempts with the pocket-knife. One of them finally fetches a clumsywooden ladle, three times broader than an egg, which, of course is worsethan nothing. I now traverse a mountainous country with a remarkablyclear atmosphere. The mountains are of a light creamcolored shalycomposition; wherever a living stream of water is found, there also isa village, with clusters of trees. From points where a comprehensiveview is obtainable the effect of these dark-green spots, scattered hereand there among the whitish hills, seen through the clear, rarefiedatmosphere, is most beautiful. It seems a peculiar feature of everythingin the East - not only the cities themselves, but even of the landscape -to look beautiful and enchanting at a distance; but upon a closer approachall its beauty vanishes like an illusory dream. Spots that from a distancelook, amid their barren, sun-blistered surroundings, like lovely bitsof fairyland, upon closer investigation degenerate into wretched habitationsof a ragged, poverty-stricken people, having about them a few neglectedorchards and vineyards, and a couple of dozen straggling willows andjujubes. 

For many hours again to-day I am traversing mountains, mountains, nothingbut mountains; following tortuous camel-paths far up their giant slopes. Sometimes these camel-paths are splendidly smooth, and make most excellentriding. At one place, particularly, where they wind horizontally aroundthe mountain-side, hundreds of feet above a village immediately below, it is as though the villagers were in the pit of a vast amphitheatre, and myself were wheeling around a semicircular platform, five hundredfeet above them, but in plain view of them all. I can hear the wonder-struckvillagers calling each other's attention to the strange apparition, andcan observe them swarming upon the house-tops. What wonderful storiesthe inhabitants of this particular village will have to recount to theirneighbors, of this marvellous sight, concerning which their own unaidedminds can give no explanation!

Noontide comes and goes without bringing me any dinner, when I emergeupon a small, cultivated plateau, and descry a coterie of industriousfemales reaping together in a field near by, and straightway turn myfootsteps thitherward with a view of ascertaining whether they happento have any eatables. No sooner do they observe me trundling toward themthan they ingloriously flee the field, thoughtlessly leaving bag andbaggage to the tender mercies of a ruthless invader. Among their effectsI find some bread and a cucumber, which I forthwith confiscate, leavinga two and a half piastre metallique piece in its stead; the affrightedwomen are watching me from the safe distance of three hundred yards;when they return and discover the coin they will wish some 'cycler wouldhappen along and frighten them away on similar conditions every day. Later in the afternoon I find myself wandering along the wrong trail;not a very unnatural occurrence hereabout, for since leaving the valleyof the Gevmeili Chai, it has been difficult to distinguish the Erzingantrail from the numerous other trails intersecting the country in everydirection. On such a journey as this one seems to acquire a certainamount of instinct concerning roads; certain it is, that I never traversea wrong trail any distance these days ere, without any tangible evidencewhatever, I feel instinctively that I am going astray. A party of camel-drivers direct me toward the lost Erzingan trail, and in an hour I amfollowing a tributary of the ancient Lycus River, along a valley whereeverything looks marvellously green and refreshing; it is as though Ihave been suddenly transferred into an entirely different country. 

This innovation from barren rocks and sun-baked shale to a valley wherethe principal crops seem to be alfalfa and clover, and which is flankedon the south by dense forests of pine, encroaching downward from themountain slopes clear on to the level greensward, is rather an agreeablesurprise; the secret of the magic change does not remain a secret long;it reveals itself in the shape of sundry broad snow-patches still lingeringon the summits of a higher mountain range beyond. These pine forests, the pleasant greensward, and the lingering snow-banks, tell an oft-repeatedtale; they speak eloquently of forests preserved and the winter snow-fallthereby increased; they speak all the more eloquently because of beingsurrounded by barren, parched-up hills which, under like conditions, might produce similar happy results, but which now produce nothing. Whiletraversing this smiling valley I meet a man asleep on a buffalo araba;an irrigating ditch runs parallel with the road and immediately alongside;the meek-eyed buffaloes swerve into the ditch in deference to their aweof tho bicycle, arid upset their drowsy driver into the water. The mailevidently stands in need of a bath, but somehow he doesn't seeiu toappreciate it; perhaps it happened a trifle too impromptu, as it were, to suit his easy-going Asiatic temperament. He returns my rude, unsympatheticsmile with a prolonged stare of bewilderment, but says nothing. 

Soon I meet a boy riding on a donkey, and ask him the postaya distanceto Erzingan; the youth looks frightened half out of his. Senses, butmanages to retain sufficient presence of mind to elevate one finger, bywhich I understand him to mean that it is one hour, or about four miles. Accordingly I pedal perseveringly ahead, hoping to reach the city beforedusk, at the same time feeling rather surprised at finding it so near, as I haven't been expecting to reach there before to-morrow. Five milesbeyond where I met the boy, and just after sundown, I overtake somekatir-jees en route to Erzingan with donkey-loads of grain, and ask themthe same question. From them I learn that instead of one, it is not lessthan twelve hours distant, also that the trail leads over a fearfullymountainous country. Nestling at the base of the mountains, a shortdistance to the northward, is the large village of Merriserriff, and notcaring to tempt the fates into giving me another supper-less night in acold, cheerless cave, I wend my way thither. 

Fortune throws me into the society of an Armenian whose chief anxietyseems to be, first, that I shall thoroughly understand that he is anArmenian, and not a Mussulman; and, secondly, to hasten me into thepresence of the mudir, who is a Mussulman, and a Turkish Bey, in orderthat he may bring himself into the mudir's favorable notice by personallyintroducing me as a rare novelty on to his (the mudir's) threshing-floor. The official and a few friends are sipping coffee in one corner of thethreshing floor, and, although I don't much relish my position of theArmenian's puppet-show, I give the mudir an exhibition of the bicycle'suse, in the expectation that he will invite me to remain his guest overnight. 

He proves uncourteous, however, not even inviting me to partake of coffee;evidently, he has become so thoroughly accustomed to the abject servilityof the Armenians about him - who would never think of expecting reciprocatingcourtesies from a social superior - that he has unconsciously come toregard everybody else, save those whom he knows as his official superiors, as tarred, more or less, with the same feather. In consequence of thisbelief I am not a little gratified when, upon the point of leaving thethreshing-floor, an occasion offers of teaching him different. 

Other friends of the mudir's appear upon the scene just as I am leaving, and he beckons me to come back and bin for the enlightenment of the newarrivals. The Armenian's countenance fairly beams with importance atthus being, as it were, encored, and the collected villagers murmur theirapproval; but I answer the mudir's beckoned invitation by a negativewave of the hand, signifying that I can't bother with him any further. The common herd around regard this self-assertive reply with open-mouthedastonishment, as though quite too incredible for belief; it seems tothem an act of almost criminal discourtesy, and those immediately aboutme seem almost inclined to take me back to the threshing-floor like aculprit. But the mudir himself is not such a blockhead but that herealizes the mistake he has made. He is too proud to acknowledge it, though; consequently his friends miss, perhaps, the only opportunity intheir uneventful lives of seeing a bicycle ridden. Owing to my ignoranceof the vernacular, I am compelled to drift more or less with the tideof circumstances about me, upon entering one of these villages, foraccommodation, and make the best of whatever capricious chance provides. My Armenian "manager " now delivers me into the hands of one of hiscompatriots, from whom I obtain supper and a quilt, sleeping, from a notover extensive choice, on some straw, beneath the broad eaves of a loggranary adjoining the house. 

I am for once quite mistaken in making an early, breakfastless start, for it proves to be eighteen weary miles over a rocky mountain passbefore another human habitation is reached, a region of jagged rocks, deep gorges, and scattered pines. Fortunately, however, I am not destinedto travel the whole eighteen miles in a breakfastless condition-not quitea breakfastless condition. Perhaps half the distance is traversed, when, while trundling up the ascent, I meet a party of horsemen, a turbanedold Turk, with an escort of three zaptiehs, and another traveller, whois keeping pace with them for company and safety. The old Turk asks meto bin bacalem, supplementing the request by calling my attention to histurban, a gorgeously spangled affair that would seem to indicate thewearer to be a personage of some importance; I observe, also that thebutt of his revolver is of pearl inlaid with gold, another indicationof either rank or opulence. Having turned about and granted his request, I in turn call his attention to the fact that mountain climbing on anempty stomach is anything but satisfactory or agreeable, and give him abroad hint by inquiring how far it is before ekmek is obtainable. Forreply, he orders a zaptieh to produce a wheaten cake from his saddle-bags, and the other traveller voluntarily contributes three apples, which heferrets out from the ample folds of his kammerbund and off this I makea breakfast. Toward noon, the highest elevation of the pass is reached, and I commence the descent toward the Erzingan Valley, following for anumber of miles the course of a tributary of the western fork of theEuphrates, known among the natives in a general sense as the "Frat;"this particular branch is locally termed the Kara Su, or black water. The stream and my road lead down a rocky defile between towering hillsof rock and slaty formation, whose precipitous slopes vegetable natureseems to shun, and everything looks black and desolate, as though someblighting curse had fallen upon the place. Up this same rocky passage-way, eight summers ago, swarmed thousands of wretched refugees from the seatof war in Eastern Armenia; small oblong mounds of loose rocks and bowldersare frequently observed all down the ravine, mournful reminders of oneof the most heartrending phases of the Armenian campaign; green lizardsare scuttling about among the rude graves, making their habitations inthe oblong mounds. About two o'clock I arrive at a road-side khan, wherean ancient Osmanli dispenses feeds of grain for travellers' animals, andbrews coffee for the travellers themselves, besides furnishing them withwhatever he happens to possess in the way of eatables to such as areunfortunately obliged to patronize his cuisine or go without anything;among this latter class belongs, unhappily, my hungry self. Upon inquiringfor refreshments the khan-jee conducts me to a rear apartment and exhibitsfor my inspection the contents of two jars, one containing the nativeidea of butter and the other the native conception of a soft variety ofcheese; what difference is discoverable between these two kindred productsis chiefly a difference in the degreeof rancidity and odoriferousuess, in which respect the cheese plainlycarries off the honors; in fact these venerable and esteemable qualitiesof the cheese are so remarkably developed that after one cautious peepinto its receptacle I forbear to investigate their comparative excellenciesany further; but obtaining some bread and a portion of the comparativelymild and inoffensive butter, I proceed to make the best of circumstances. The old khan-jee proves himself a thoughtful, considerate landlord, foras I eat he busies himself picking the most glaringly conspicuous hairsout of my butter with the point of his dagger. One is usually somewhatsqueamish regarding hirsute butter, but all such little refinements ofcivilized life as hairless butter or strained milk have to be winked atto a greater or less extent in Asiatic travelling, especially whendepending solely on what happens to turn up from one meal to another. The narrow, lonely defile continues for some miles eastward from thekhan, and ere I emerge from it altogether I encounter a couple of ill-starred natives, who venture upon an effort to intimidate me into yieldingup my purse. A certain Mahmoud Ali and his band of enterprising freebootershave been terrorizing the villagers and committing highway robberies oflate around the country; but from the general appearance of these two, as they approach, I take them to be merely villagers returning home fromErzingan afoot. They are armed with Circassian guardless swords andflint-lock horse-pistols; upon meeting they address some question to mein Turkish, to which I make my customary reply of Tarkchi binmus; oneof them then demands para (money) in a manner that leaves something ofa doubt whether he means it for begging, or is ordering me to deliver. In order to the better discover their intentions, I pretend not tounderstand, whereupon the spokesman reveals their meaning plain enoughby reiterating the demand in a tone meant to be intimidating, and halfunsheatns his sword in a significant manner. Intuitively the precisesituation of affairs seems to reveal itself in a moment; they are butordinarily inoffensive villagers returning from Erzingan, where theyhave sold and squandered even the donkeys they rode to town; meeting mealone, and, as they think in the absence of outward evidence that I amunarmed, they have become possessed ot tue idea of retrieving theirfortunes by intimidating me out of money. Never were men more astonishedand taken aback at finding me armed, and they both turn pale and fairlyshiver with fright as I produce the Smith & Wesson from its inconspicuousposition at my hip, and hold it on a level with the bold spokesman'shead; they both look as if they expected their last hour had arrived andboth seem incapable either of utterance or of running away; in fact, their embarrassment is so ridiculous that it provokes a smile and it iswith anything but a threatening or angry voice that I bid them haidy. The bold highwaymen seem only too thankful of a chance to "haidy, " andthey look quite confused, and I fancy even ashamed of themselves, asthey betake themselves off up the ravine. I am quite as thankful asthemselves at getting off without the necessity of using my revolver, for had I killed or badly wounded one of them it would probably havecaused no end of trouble or vexatious delay, especially in case theyprove to be what I take them for, instead of professional robbers;moreover, I might not have gotten off unscathed myself, for while theirancient flint-locks were in all probability not even loaded, being wornmore for appearances by the native than anything else, these fellowssometimes do desperate work with their ugly and ever-handy swords whencornered up, in proof of which we have the late dastardly assault on theBritish Consul at Erzeroum, of which we shall doubtless hear the particularsupon reaching that city. Before long the ravine terminates, and I emergeupon the broad and smiling Erzingan Valley; at the lower extremity ofthe ravine the stream has cut its channel through an immense depth ofconglomerate formation, a hundred feet of bowlders and pebbles cementedtogether by integrant particles which appear to have been washed downfrom the mountains-probably during the subsidence of the deluge, foreven if that great catastrophe were a comparatively local occurrence, instead of a universal flood, as some profess to believe, we are nowgradually creeping up toward Ararat, so that this particular region wasundoubtedly submerged. What appear to be petrified chunks of wood areinterspersed through the mass. There is nothing new under the sun, theysay; peradventure they may be sticks of cooking-stove wood indignantlycast out of the kitchen window of the ark by Mrs. Noah, because theabsent-minded patriarch habitually persisted in cutting them three inchestoo long for the stove; who knows. I now wheel along a smooth, levelroad leading through several orchard-environed villages; general cultivationand an atmosphere of peace and plenty seems to pervade the valley, which, with its scattering villages amid the foliage of their orchards, looksmost charming upon emerging from the gloomy environments of the rock-ribbedand verdureless ravine; a fitting background is presented on the southby a mountain-chain of considerable elevation, upon the highest peaksof which still linger tardy patches of snow. 

Since the occupation of Ears by the Russians, the military mantle of thatimportant fortress has fallen upon Erzeroum and Erzingan; the boomingof cannon fired in honor of the Sultan's birthday is awakening the echoesof the rock-ribbed mountains as I wheel eastward down the valley, andwithin about three miles of the city I pass the headquarters of thegarrison. Long rows of hundreds of white field-tents are ranged aboutthe position on the level greensward; the place presents an animatedscene, with the soldiers, some in the ordinary blue, trimmed with red, others in cool, white uniforms especially provided for the summer, butwhich they are not unlikely to be found also wearing in winter, owingto the ruinous state of the Ottoman exchequer, and one and all wearingthe picturesque but uncomfortable fez; cannons are booming, drums beating, and bugles playing. From the military headquarters to the city is asplendid broad macadam, converted into a magnificent avenue by rows oftrees; it is a general holiday with the military, and the avenue is alivewith officers and soldiers going and returning between Erzingan and thecamp. The astonishment of the valiant warriors of Islam as I wheel brisklydown the thronged avenue can be better imagined than described; thesoldiers whom I pass immediately commence yelling at their comrades aheadto call their attention, while epauletted officers forget for the momenttheir military dignity and reserve as they turn their affrighted chargersaround and gaze after me, stupefied with astonishment; perhaps they arewondering whether I am not some supernatural being connected in some waywith the celebration of the Sultan's birthday - a winged messenger, perhaps, from the Prophet. Upon reaching the city I repair at once to the largecustomhouse caravanserai and engage a room for the night. The proprietorof the rooms seems a sensible fellow, with nothing of the inordinateinquisitiveness of the average native about him, and instead of throwingthe weight of his influence and his persuasive powers on the side of theimportuning crowd, he authoritatively bids them "haidy!" locks thebicycle in my room, and gives me the key. The Erzingan caravanserai - andall these caravanserais are essentially similar - is a square court-yardsurrounded by the four sides of a two-storied brick building; the ground-floor is occupied by the offices of the importers of foreign goods andthe customhouse authorities; the upper floor is divided into small roomsfor the accommodation of travellers and caravan men arriving with goodsfrom Trebizond. Sallying forth in search of supper, I am taken in towby a couple of Armenians, who volunteer the welcome information thatthere is an "Americanish hakim" in the city; this intelligence is anagreeable surprise, for Erzeroum is the nearest place in which I havebeen expecting to find an English-speaking person. While searching aboutfor the hakim, we pass near the zaptieh headquarters; the officers areenjoying their nargileh in the cool evening air outside the building, and seeing an Englishman, beckon us over. They desire to examine myteskeri, the first occasion on which it has been officially demandedsince landing at Ismidt, although I have voluntarily produced it onprevious occasions, and at Sivas requested the Vali to attach his sealand signature; this is owing to the proximity of Erzingan to the Russianfrontier, and the suspicions that any stranger may be a, subject of theCzar, visiting the military centres for sinister reasons. They send anofficer with me to hunt up the resident pasha; that worthy and enlightenedpersonage is found busily engaged in playing a game of chess with amilitary officer, and barely takes the trouble to glance at the profferedpassport: "It is vised by the Sivas Vali, " he says, and lackadaisicallywaves us adieu. Upon returning to the zaptieh station, a quiet, unassumingAmerican comes forward and introduces himself as Dr. Van Nordan, aphysician formerly connected with the Persian mission. The doctor is aspare-built and not over-robust man, and would perhaps be considered bymost people as a trifle eccentric; instead of being connected with anymissionary organization, he nowadays wanders hither and thither, acquiringknowledge and seeking whom he can persuade from the error of their ways, meanwhile supporting himself by the practice of his profession. Amongother interesting things spoken of, he tells me something of his recentjourney to Khiva (the doctor pronounces it "Heevah"); he was surprised, he says, at finding the Khivans a mild-mannered and harmless sort ofpeople, among whom the carrying of weapons is as much the exception asit is the rule in Asiatic Turkey. Doubtless the fact of Khiva being underthe Russian Government has something to do with the latter otherwiseunaccountable fact. After supper we sit down on a newly arrived bale ofManchester calico in the caravanserai court, cross one knee and whittlechips like Michigan grangers at a cross-roads post-office, and spend twohours conversing on different topics. The good doctor's mind wanders asnaturally into serious channels as water gravitates to its level; whenI inquire if he has heard anything of the whereabout of Mahmoud Ali andhis gang lately, the pious doctor replies chiefly by hinting what aglorious thing it is to feel prepared to yield up the ghost at any moment;and when I recount something of my experiences on the journey, insteadof giving me credit for pluck, like other people, he merely inquires ifI don't recognize the protecting hand of Providence; native modestyprevents me telling the doctor of my valuable missionary work at Sivas. After the doctor's departure I wander forth into the bazaar to see whatit looks like after dark; many of the stalls are closed for the day, theprincipal places remaining open being kahvay-khans and Armenian wine-shops, and before these petroleum lamps are kept burning; the remainder of thebazaar is in darkness. I have not strolled about many minutes before Iam corralled as usual by Armenians; they straightway send off for ayouthful compatriot of theirs who has been to the missionary's schoolat Kaizareah and can speak a smattering of English. After the usualprogramme of questions, they suggest: "Being an Englishman, you are ofcourse a Christian, " by which they mean that I am not a Mussulman. "Certainly, " I reply; whereupon they lug me into one of their wine-shopsand tender me a glass of raki (a corruption of "arrack" - raw, fieryspirits of the kind known among the English soldiers in India by thesuggestive pseudonym of "fixed bayonets"). Smelling the raki, I make awry face and shove it away; thev look surprised and order the waiter tobring cognac; to save the waiter the trouble, I make another wry face, indicative of disapproval, and suggest that he bring vishner-su. "Vishner-su" two or three of them sing out in a chorus of blank amazement;"Ingilis. Christian? vishner-su. " they exclaim, as though such apreposterous and unaccountable thing as a Christian partaking of a non-intoxicating beverage like vishner-su is altogether beyond theircomprehension. The youth who has been to the Kaizareah school thenexplains to the others that the American missionaries never indulge inintoxicating beverages; this seems to clear away the clouds of theirmystification to some extent, and they order vishner-su, eying mecritically, however, as I taste it, as though expecting to observe memake yet another wry countenance and acknowledge that in refusing thefiery, throat-blistering raki I had made a mistake. 

Nothing in the way of bedding or furniture is provided in the caravanserairooms, but the proprietor gets me plenty of quilts, and I pass a reasonablycomfortable night. In the morning I obtain breakfast and manage to escapefrom town without attracting a crowd of more than a couple of hundredpeople; a remarkable occurrence in its way, since Erzingan contains apopulation of about twenty thousand. The road eastward from Erzingan islevel, but heavy with dust, leading through a low portion of the valleythat earlier in the season is swampy, and gives the city an unenviablereputation for malarial fevers. To prevent the travellers drinking theunwholesome water in this part of the valley, some benevolent Mussulmanor public-spirited pasha has erected at intervals, by the road side, compact mud huts, and placed there in huge earthenware vessels, holdingperhaps fifty gallons each; these are kept supplied with pure spring-waterand provided with a wooden drinking-scoop. Fourteen miles from Erzingan, at the entrance to a ravine whence flows the boisterous stream thatsupplies a goodly proportion of the irrigating water for the valley, issituated a military outpost station. My road runs within two hundredyards of the building, and the officers, seeing me evidently intendingto pass without stopping, motion for me to halt. I know well enough theywant to examine my passport, and also to satisfy their curiosity concerningthe bicycle, but determine upon spurting ahead and escaping their botheraltogether. This movement at once arouses the official suspicion as tomy being in the country without proper authority, and causes them toattach some mysterious significance to my strange vehicle, and severalsoldiers forthwith receive racing orders to intercept me. Unfortunately, my spurting receives a prompt check at the stream, which is not bridged, and here the doughty warriors intercept my progress, taking me intocustody with broad grins of satisfaction, as though pretty certain ofhaving made an important capture. Since there is no escaping, I concludeto have a little quiet amusement out of the affair, anyway, so I refusepoint-blank to accompany my captors to their officer, knowing full wellthat any show of reluctance will have the very natural effect of arousingtheir suspicions still further. The bland and childlike soldiers of theCrescent receive this show of obstinacy quite complacently, their swarthycountenances wreathed in knowing smiles; but they make no attempt atcompulsion, satisfying themselves with addressing me deferentially as"Effendi, " and trying to coax me to accompany them. Seeing that there issome difficulty about bringing me, the two officers come down, and I atonce affect righteous indignation of a mild order, and desire to knowwhat they mean by arresting my progress. They demand my tesskeri in amanner that plainly shows their doubts of my having one. The teskeri isproduced. One of the officers then whispers something to the other, andthey both glance knowingly mysterious at the bicycle, apologize forhaving detained me, and want to shake hands. Having read the passport, and satisfied themselves of my nationality, they attach some deepmysterious significance to my journey in this incomprehensible mannerup in this particular quarter; but they no longer wish to offer anyimpediment to my progress, but rather to render me assistance. Poorfellows! how suspicious they are of their great overgrown neighbor tothe north. What good-humored fellows these Turkish soldiers are! whatsimple-hearted, overgrown children. What a pity that they are the victimsof a criminally incompetent government that neither pays, feeds, norclothes them a quarter as well as they deserve. In the fearful wintersof Erzeroum, they have been known to have no clothing to wear but thelinen suits provided for the hot weather. Their pay, insignificant thoughit be, is as uncertain as gambling; but they never raise a murmur. Beingby nature and religion fatalists, they cheerfully accept these undeservedhardships as the will of Allah. To-day is the hottest I have experiencedin Asia Minor, and soon after leaving the outpost I once more encounterthe everlasting mountains, following now the Trebizond and Erzingancaravan trail. Once again I get benighted in the mountains, and pushahead for some time after dark. I am beginning to think of camping outsupperless again when I hear the creaking of a buffalo araba some distanceahead. Soon I overtake it, and, following it for half a mile off thetrail, I find myself before an enclosure of several acres, surroundedby a high stone wall with quite imposing gateways. It is the walledvillage of Housseubegkhan, one of those places built especially for theaccommodation of the Trebizond caravans in the winter. I am conductedinto a large apartment, which appears to be set apart for the hospitableaccommodation of travellers. The apartment is found already occupied bythree travellers, who, from their outward appearance, might well be takenfor cutthroats of the worst description; and the villagers swarming in, I am soon surrounded by the usual ragged, flea-bitten congregation. Thereare various arms and warlike accoutrements hanging on the wall, enoughof one kind or other to arm a small company. They all belong to the threetravellers, however; my modest little revolver seems really nothingcompared with the warlike display of swords, daggers, pistols and gunshanging around; the place looks like a small armory. The first questionis-as is usual of late - "Russ or Ingilis. " Some of the younger and lessexperienced men essay to doubt my word, and, on their own suppositionthat I am a Russian, begin to take unwarrantable liberties with my person;one of them steals up behind and commences playing a tattoo on my helmetwith two sticks of wood, by way of bravado, and showing his contempt fora subject of the Czar. Turning round, I take one of the sticks away andchastise him with it until he howls for Allah to protect him, and then, without attempting any sort of explanation to the others, resume my seat;one of the travellers then solemnly places his forefingers together andannounces himself as kardash (my brother), at the same time pointingsignificantly to his choice assortment of ancient weapons. I shake hands, with him and remind him that I am somewhat hungry; whereupon he ordersa villager to forthwith contribute six eggs, another butter to fry themin, and a third bread; a tezek fire is already burning, and with his ownhands he fries the eggs, and makes my ragged audience stand at a respectfuldistance while I eat; if I were to ask him, he would probably clear theroom of them instanter. About ten o'clock my impromptu friend and hiscompanion order their horses, and buckle their arms and accoutrementsabout them to depart; my "brother" stands before me and loads up hisflintlock rifle; it is a fearful and wonderful process; it takes him atleast two minutes; he does not seem to know on which particular part ofhis wonderful paraphernalia to find the slugs, the powder, or the patching, and he finishes by tearing a piece of rag off a by-standing villager toplace over the powder in the pan. While he is doing all this, andespecially when ramming home the bullet, he looks at me as though expectingme to come and pat him approvingly on the shoulder. When they are gone, the third traveller, who is going to remain over night, edges up besideme, and pointing to his own imposing armory, likewise announces himselfas my brother; thus do I unexpectedly acquire two brothers within thebrief space of an evening. The villagers scatter to their respectivequarters; quilts are provided for me, and a ghostly light is maintainedby means of a cup of grease and a twisted rag. In one corner of the roomis a paunchy youngster of ten or twelve summers, whom I noticed duringthe evening as being without a single garment to cover his nakedness;he has partly inserted himself into a largo, coarse, nose-bag, and liescurled up in that ridiculous position, probably imagining himself inquite comfortable quarters. "Oh, wretched youth. " I mentally exclaim, "what will you do when that nose-bag has petered out?" and soon afterwardI fall asleep, in happy consciousness of perfect security beneath theprotecting shadow of brother number two and his formidable armament ofancient weapons. Ten miles of good ridable road from Houssenbegkhan, andI again descend into the valley of the west fork of the Euphrates, crossing the river on an ancient stone bridge; I left Houssenbegkhanwithout breakfasting, preferring to make my customary early start andtrust to luck. I am beginning to doubt the propriety of having done so, and find myself casting involuntary glances toward a Koordish camp thatis visible some miles to the north of my route, when, upon rounding amountain-spur jutting out into the valley, I descry the minaret ofMamakhatoun in the distance ahead. A minaret hereabout is a sure indicationof a town of sufficient importance to support a public eating-khan, where, if not a very elegant, at least a substantial meal is to beobtained. I obtain an acceptable breakfast of kabobs and boiled sheeps'-trotters; killing two birds with one stone by satisfying my own appetiteand at the same time giving a first-class entertainment to a khan-fullof wondering-eyed people, by eating with the khan-jee's carving-knifeand fork in preference to my fingers. Here, as at Houssenbeg-khan, thereis a splendid, large caravanserai; here it is built chiefly of hewnstone, and almost massive enough for a fortress; this is a mountainous, elevated region, where the winters are stormy and severe, and thesecommodious and substantial retreats are absolutely necessary for thesafety of Erzingan and Trebizond caravans during the winter. The countrynow continues hilly rather than mountainous The road is generally tooheavy with sand and dust, churned up by the Erzingan mule-caravans, toadmit of riding wherever the grade is unfavorable; but much good wheelingsurface is encountered on long, gentle declivities and comparativelylevel stretches. 

During the forenoon I meet a company of three splendidly armed and mountedCircassians; they remain speechless with astonishment until I have passedbeyond their hearing; they then conclude among themselves that I amsomething needing investigation; they come galloping after me, and havingcaught up, their spokesman gravely delivers himself of the solitarymonosyllable, "Russ?" "Ingilis, " I reply, and they resume the even tenorof their way without questioning me further. Later in the day the hillycountry develops into a mountainous region, where the trail intersectsnumerous deep ravines whose sides are all but perpendicular. Betweenthe ravines the riding is ofttimes quite excellent, the composition beingsoft shale, that packs down hard and smooth beneath the animals' feet. Deliciously cool streams flow at the bottom of these ravines. At onecrossing I find an old man washing his feet, and mournfully surveyingsundry holes in the bottom of his sandals; the day is hot, and I likewisehalt a few minutes to cool my pedal extremities in the crystal water. With that childlike simplicity I have so often mentioned, and which isnowhere encountered as in the Asiatic Turk, the old fellow blandly asksme to exchange my comparatively sound moccasins for his worn-out sandals, at the same time ruefully pointing out the dilapidated condition of thelatter, and looking as dejected as though it were the only pair of sandalsin the world. 

This afternoon I am passing along the same road where Mahmoud Ali's gangrobbed a large party of Armenian harvesters who had been south to helpharvest the wheat, and were returning home in a body with the wagesearned during the summer. This happened but a few days before, andnotwithstanding the well-known saying that lightning never strikes twicein the same place, one is scarcely so unimpressionable as not to findhimself involuntarily scanning his surroundings, half expecting to beattacked. Nothing startling turns up, however, and at five o'clock Icome to a village which is enveloped in clouds of wheat chaff; being abreezy evening, winnowing is going briskly forward On several threshing-floors. After duly binning, I am taken under the protecting wing of a prominentvillager, who is walking about with his hand in a sling, the reasonwhereof is a crushed finger; he is a sensible, intelligent fellow, andaccepts my reply that I am not a crushed-finger hakim with all reasonableness;he provides a substantial supper of bread and yaort, and then installsme in a small, windowless, unventilated apartment adjoining the buffalo-stall, provides me with quilts, lights a primitive grease-lamp, andretires. During the evening the entire female population visit my dimly-lighted quarters, to satisfy their feminine curiosity by taking a timidpeep at their neighbor's strange guest and his wonderful araba. Theyimagine I am asleep and come on tiptoe part way across the room, craningtheir necks to obtain a view in the semi-darkness. 

An hour's journey from this village brings me yet again into the WestEuphrates Valley. Just where I enter the valley the river spreads itselfover a wide stony bed, coursing along in the form of several comparativelysmall streams. There is, of course, no bridge here, and in the chilly, almost frosty, morning I have to disrobe and carry clothes and bicycleacross the several channels. Once across, I find myself on the greatTrebizond and Persian caravan route, and in a few minutes am partakingof breakfast at a village thirty-five miles from Erzeroum, where I learnwith no little satisfaction that my course follows along the EuphratesValley, with an artificial wagon-road, the whole distance to the city. Not far from the village the Euphrates is recrossed on a new stone bridge. Just beyond the bridge is the camp of a road-engineer's party, who areputting the finishing touches to the bridge. A person issues from oneof the tents as I approach and begins chattering away at me in French. The face and voice indicates a female, but the costume consists of jack-boots, tight-fitting broadcloth pantaloons, an ordinary pilot-jacket, and a fez. Notwithstanding the masculine apparel, however, it turns outnot only to be a woman, but a Parisienne, the better half of the Erzeroumroad engineer, a Frenchman, who now appears upon the scene. They areboth astonished and delighted at seeing a "velocipede, " a reminder oftheir own far-off France, on the Persian caravan trail, and they urgeme to remain and partake of coffee. 

I now encounter the first really great camel caravans, en route to Persiawith tea and sugar and general European merchandise; they are all campedfor the day alongside the road, and the camels scattered about theneighboring hills in search of giant thistles and other outlandishvegetation, for which the patient ship of the desert entertains apartiality. Camel caravans travel entirely at night during the summer. Contrary to what, I think, is a common belief in the Occident, they canendure any amount of cold weather, but are comparatively distressed bythe heat; still, this may not characterize all breeds of camels any morethan the different breeds of other domesticated animals. During thesummer, when the camels are required to find their own sustenance alongthe road, a large caravan travels but a wretched eight miles a day, theremainder of the time being occupied in filling his capacious thistleand camel-thorn receptacle; this comes of the scarcity of good grazingalong the route, compared with the number of camels, and the consequentnecessity of wandering far and wide in search of pasturage, rather thanbecause of the camel's absorptive capacity, for he is a comparativelyabstemious animal. In the winter they are fed on balls of barley flour, called nawalla; on this they keep fat and strong, and travel three timesthe distance. The average load of a full-grown camel is about sevenhundred pounds. 

Before reaching Erzeroum I have a narrow escape from what might haveproved a serious accident. I meet a buffalo araba carrying a longprojecting stick of timber; the sleepy buffaloes pay no heed to thebicycle until I arrive opposite their heads, when they - give a suddenlurch side wise, swinging the stick of timber across my path; fortunatelythe road happens to be of good-width, and by a very quick swerve I avoida collision, but the tail end of the timber just brushes the rear wheelas I wheel past. Soon after noon I roll into Erzeroum, or rather, up tothe Trebizond gate, and dis-mount. Erzeroum is a fortified city ofconsiderable importance, both from a commercial and a military point ofview; it is surrounded by earthwork fortifications, from the parapetsof which large siege guns frown forth upon the surrounding country, andforts are erected in several commanding positions round about, likewatch-dogs stationed outside to guard the city. Patches of snow lingeron the Palantokan Moiintains, a few miles to the south; the Deve BoyuuHills, a spur of the greater Palantokans, look down on the city fromthe east; the broad valley of the West Euphrates stretches away westwardand northward, terminating at the north in another mountain range. 

Repairing to the English consulate, I am gratified at finding severalletters awaiting me, and furthermore by the cordial hospitality extendedby Yusuph Effendi, an Assyrian gentleman, the charg'e d'affaires of theconsulate for the time being, Colonel E--, the consul, having leftrecently for Trebizond and England, in consequence of numerous sword-woundsreceived at the hands of a desperado who invaded the consulate for plunderat midnight. The Colonel was a general favorite in Erzeroum, and is beingtenderly carried (Thursday, September 3, 1885) to Trebizond on a stretcherby relays of willing natives, no less than forty accompanying him on theroad. Yusuph Effendi tells me the story of the whole lamentable affair, pausing at intervals to heap imprecations on the head of the malefactor, and to bestow eulogies on the wounded consul's character. 

It seems that the door-keeper of the consulate, a native of a neighboringArmenian village, was awakened at midnight by an acquaintance from thesame village, who begged to be allowed to share his quarters till morning. No sooner had the servant admitted him to his room than he attacked himwith his sword, intending-as it afterward leaked out-to murder the wholefamily, rob the house, and escape. The servant's cries for assistanceawakened Colonel E--, who came to his rescue without taking the troubleto provide himself with a weapon. The man, infuriated at the detectionand the prospect of being captured and brought to justice, turned savagelyon the consul, inflicting several severe wounds on the head, hands, andface. The consul closed with him and threw him down, and called for hiswife to bring his revolver. The wretch now begged so piteously for hislife, and made such specious promises, that the consul magnanimously lethim up, neglecting-doubtless owing to his own dazed condition from thescalp wounds-to disarm him. Immediately he found himself released hecommenced the attack again, cutting and slashing like a demon, knockingthe revolver from the consul's already badly wounded hand while he yethesitated to pull the trigger and take his treacherous assailant's life. The revolver went off as it struck the floor and wounded the consulhimself in the leg-broke it. The servant now rallied sufficiently tocome to his assistance, and together they succeeded in disarming therobber, who, however, escaped and bolted up-stairs, followed by theservant with the sword. The consul's wife, with praiseworthy presenceof mind, now appeared with a second revolver, which her husband graspedin his left hand, the right being almost hacked to pieces. Dazed andfaint with the loss of blood, and, moreover, blinded by the blood flowingfrom the scalp-wounds, it was only by sheer strength of will that hecould keep from falling. At this juncture the servant unfortunatelyappeared on the stairs, returning from an unsuccessful pursuit of therobber. Mistaking the servant with the sword in his hand for the desperadoreturning to the attack, and realizing his own helpless condition, theconsul fired two shots at him, wounding him with both shots. The would-bemurderer is now (September 3, 1885), captured and in durance vile; theservant lies here in a critical condition, and the consul and his sorrowingfamily are en route to England. 

Having determined upon resting here until Monday, I spend a good partof Friday looking about the city. The population is a mixture of Turks, Armenians, Russians, Persians, and Jews. Here. I first make the acquaintanceof a Persian tchai-khan (tea-drinking shop). With the exception of thedifference in the beverages, there is little difference between a tchai-khan and a Icahvay-lchan, although in the case of a swell establishment, the tchai-khan blossoms forth quite gaudily with scores of colored lamps. The tea is served scalding hot in tiny glasses, which are first half-filledwith loaf-sugar. If the proprietor is desirous of honoring or pleasinga new or distinguished customer, he drops in lumps of sugar until itprotrudes above the glass. The tea is made in a samovar-a brass vessel, holding perhaps a gallon of water, with a hollow receptacle in the centrefor a charcoal fire. Strong tea is made in an ordinary queen's-wareteapot that fits into the hollow; a small portion of this is poured intothe glass, which is then filled up with hot water from a tap in thesamovar. 

There is a regular Persian quarter in Erzeroum, and I am not sufferedto stroll through it without being initiated into the fundamentaldifference between the character of the Persians and the Turks. When anOsmanli is desirous of seeing me ride the bicycle, he goes honestly andstraightforwardly to work at coaxing and worrying; except in very rareinstances they have seemed incapable of resorting to deceit or sharppractice to gain their object. Not so childlike and honest, however, areour new acquaintances, the Persians. Several merchants gather round me, and pretty soon they cunningly begin asking me how much I will sell thebicycle for. " Fifty liras, " I reply, seeing the deep, deep scheme hiddenbeneath the superficial fairness of their observations, and thinkingthis will quash all further commercial negotiations. But the wily Persiansare not so easily disposed of as this. "Bring it round and let us seehow it is ridden, " they say, " and if we like it we will purchase it forfifty liras, and perhaps make you a present besides. " A Persian wouldrather try to gain an end by deceit than by honest and above-boardmethods, even if the former were more trouble. Lying, cheating, anddeception is the universal rule among them; honesty and straightforwardnessare unknown virtues. Anyone whom they detect telling the truth or actinghonestly they consider a simpleton unfit to transact business. Themissionaries and their families are at present tenting out, five milessouth of the city, in a romantic little ravine called Kirk-dagheman, orthe place of the forty mills; and on Saturday morning I receive a pressinginvitation to become their guest during the remainder of my stay. TheErzeroum mission is represented by Mr. Chambers, his brother-now absenton a tour-their respective families, and Miss Powers. Yusuph Effendiaccompanies us out to the camp on a spendid Arab steed, that curvetsgracefully the whole way. Myself and the-other missionary people (bicyclework at Sivas, and again at Erzeroum) ride more sober and deco-ousanimals. Kirkdagheman is found to be near the entrance to a pass overthe Palantokan Mountains. Half a dozen small tents are pitched beneaththe only grove of trees for many a mile around. A dancing stream ofcrystal water furnishes the camp with an abundance of that necessary, as also a lavish supply of such music as babbling brooks coursing madlyover pebbly beds are wont to furnish. To this particular section of thelittle stream legendary lore has attached a story which gives the localityits name, Kirkdagheman. 

" Once upon a time, a worthy widow found herself the happy possessor ofno less than forty small grist-mills strung along this stream. Soon afterher husband's death, the lady's amiable qualities-and not unlikely herforty mills into the bargain-attracted the admiration of a certain wealthyowner of flocks in the neighborhood, and he sought her hand in marriage. 'No, ' said the lady, who, being a widow, had perhaps acquired wisdom; 'no; I have forty sons, each one faithfully laboring and contributingcheerfully toward my support; therefore, I have no use for a husband. '' I will kill your forty sons, and compel you to become my wife, ' repliedthe suitor, in a huff at being rejected. And he went and sheared all hissheep, and, with the multitudinous fleeces, dammed up the stream, causedthe water to flow into other channels, and thereby rendered the widow'sforty mills useless and unproductive. With nothing but ruination beforeher, and seeing no alternative, the widow's heart finally softened, andshe suffered herself to be wooed and won. The fleeces were removed, thestream returned to its proper channel, and the merry whir of the fortymills henceforth mingled harmoniously with tlie bleating of the sheep. "Two days are spent at the quiet missionary camp, and thoroughly enjoyed. It seems like an oasis of home life in the surrounding desert of uncongenialsocial conditions. I eagerly devour the contents of several Americannewspapers, and embrace the opportunities of the occasion, even to theextent of nursing the babies (missionaries seem rare folks for babies), of which there are three in camp. The altitude of Erzeroum is betweensix thousand and seven thousand feet; the September nights are delightfullycool, and there are no blood-thirsty mosquitoes. I am assigned a sleeping-tent close alongside a small waterfall, whose splashing music is asoporific that holds me in the bondage of beneficial repose until breakfastis announced both mornings; and on Monday morning I feel as though thehunger, the irregular sleep, and the rough-and-tumble dues generally ofthe past four weeks were but a troubled dream. Again the bicycle contributesits curiosity-quickening and question-exciting powers for the benefitof the sluggish-minded pupils of the mission school. The Persian consuland his sons come to see me ride ; he is highly interested upon learningthat I am travelling on the wheel to the Persian capital, and he visesmy passport and gives me a letter of introduction to the Pasha Khan ofOvahjik, the first village I shall come to beyond the frontier. 

It is nearly 3 P. M. , September 7th, when I bid farewell to everybody, and wheel out through the Persian Gate, accompanied by Mr. Chambers onhorseback, who rides part way to the Deve Boyun (camel's neck) Pass. Onthe way out he tells me that he has been intending taking a journeythrough the Caucasus this autumn, but the difficulties of obtainingpermission, on account of his being a clergyman, are so great-a specialpermission having to be obtained from St. Petersburg-that he has aboutrelinquished the idea for the present season. Deve Boyun Pass leads overa comparatively low range of hills. It was here where the Turkish army, in November, 1877, made their last gallant attempt to stem the tide ofdisaster that had, by the fortunes of war and the incompeteucy of theircommanders, set in irresistibly against them, before taking refuge insidethe walls of the city. An hour after parting from Mr. Chambers I amwheeling briskly down the same road on the eastern slope of the passwhere Mukhtar Pasha's ill-fated column was drawn into the fatal ambuscadethat suddenly turned the fortunes of the day against them. While rapidlygliding down the gentle gradient, I fancy I can see the Cossack regiments, advancing toward the Turkish position, the unwary and over-confidentOsmanlis leaping from their intrenchments to advance along the road anddrive them back; now I come to the Nabi Tchai ravines, where the concealedmasses of Eussian infantry suddenly sprang up and cut off their retreat;I fancy I can see- chug! wh-u-u-p! thud!-stars, and see them prettydistinctly, too, for while gazing curiously about, locating the Russianambushment, the bicycle strikes a sand-hole, and I am favored with theworst header I have experienced for many a day. I am-or rather was, aminute ago-bowling along quite briskly; the header treats me to a fearfulshaking up; I arn sore all over the next morning, and present a sort ofa stiff-necked, woe-begone appearance for the next four days. A benthandle-bar and a slightly twisted rear wheel fork likewise forciblyremind me that, while I am beyond the reach of repair shops, it will beSolomon-like wisdom on my part to henceforth survey battle-fields witha larger margin of regard for things more immediately interesting. Fromthe pass, my road descends into the broad and cultivated valley of thePassin Su; the road is mostly ridable, though heavy with dust. Part wayto Hassen Kaleh I am compelled to use considerable tact to avoid troublewith a gang of riotous kalir-jees whom I overtake; as I attempt to wheelpast, one of them wantonly essays to thrust his stick into the wheel;as I spring from the saddle for sheer self-protection, they think I havedismounted to attack him, and his comrades rush forward to his protection, brandishing their sticks and swords in a menacing manner. Seeing himselfreinforced, as it were, the bold aggressor raises his stick as thoughto strike me, and peremptorily orders me to bin and haidi. Very naturallyI refuse to remount the bicycle while surrounded by this evidentlymischievous crew; there are about twenty of them, and it requires muchself-control to prevent a conflict, in which, I am persuaded, somebodywould have been hurt; however, I finally manage to escape their undesirablecompany and ride off amid a fusillade of stones. This incident remindsme of Yusuph Effendi's warning, that even though I had come thus farwithout a zaptieh escort, I should require one now, owing to the morelawless disposition of the people near the frontier. Near dark I reachHassan Kaleh, a large village nestling under the shadow of its formerimportance as a fortified town, and seek the accommodation of a Persiantchai-khan; it is not very elaborate or luxurious accommodation, consistingsolely of tiny glasses of sweetened tea in the public room and a shake-downin a rough, unfurnished apartment over the stable; eatables have to beobtained elsewhere, but it matters little so long as they are obtainablesomewhere. During the evening a Persian troubadour and story-tellerentertains the patrons of the tchai-khan by singing ribaldish songs, twanging a tambourine-like instrument, and telling stories in a sing-songtone of voice. In deference to the mixed nationality of his audience, the sagacious troubadour wears a Turkish fez, a Persian coat, and aEussian metallic-faced belt; the burden of his songs are of Erzeroum, Erzingan, and Ispahan; the Russians, it would appear, are too few andunpopular to justify risking the displeasure of the Turks by singing anyEussian songs. So far as my comprehension goes, the stories are chieflyof intrigue and love affairs among pashas, and would quickly bring therighteous retribution of the Lord Chamberlain down about his ears, werehe telling them to an English audience. I have no small difficulty ingetting the bicycle up the narrow and crooked stairway into my sleepingapartment; there is no fastening of any kind on the door, and theproprietor seems determined upon treating every subject of the Shah inHassan Kaleh to a private confidential exhibition of myself and bicycle, after I have retired to bed. It must be near midnight, I think, when Iam again awakened from my uneasy, oft-disturbed slumbers by murmuringvoices and the shuffling of feet; examining the bicycle by the feebleglimmer of a classic lamp are a dozen meddlesome Persians. Annoyed attheir unseemly midnight intrusion, and at being repeatedly awakened, Irise up and sing out at them rather authoratively; I have exhibited themarifet of my Smith & Wesson during the evening, and these intrudersseem really afraid I might be going to practise on them with it. ThePersians are apparently timid mortals; they evidently regard me as astrange being of unknown temperament, who might possibly break loose andencompass their destruction on the slightest provocation, and theproprietor and another equally intrepid individual hurriedly come to mycouch, and pat me soothingly on the shoulders, after which they allretire, and I am disturbed no more till morning. The " rocky road toDublin " is nothing compared to the road leading eastward from HassanKaleh for the first few miles, but afterward it improves into very fairwheeling. Eleven miles down the Passiu Su Valley brings me to the Armenianvillage of Kuipri Kui. Having breakfasted before starting I wheel onwithout halting, crossing the Araxes Eiver at the junction of the PassinSu, on a very ancient stone bridge known as the Tchebankerpi, or thebridge of pastures, said to be over a thousand years old. Nearing DeleBaba Pass, a notorious place for robbers, I pass through a village ofsedentary Koords. Soon after leaving the village a wild-looking Koord, mounted on an angular sorrel, overtakes me and wants me to employ himas a guard while going through the pass, backing up the offer of hispresumably valuable services by unsheathing a semi-rusty sword and wavingit valiantly aloft. He intimates, by tragically graphic pantomime, thatunless I traverse the pass under the protecting shadow of his ancientand rusty blade, I will be likely to pay the penalty of my rashness byhaving my throat cut. Yusuph Effendi and the Erzeroum missionaries havethoughtfully warned me against venturing through the Dele Baba Passalone, advising me to wait and go through with a Persian caravan; butthis Koord looks like anything but a protector; on the contrary, I aminclined to regard him as a suspicious character himself, interviewingme, perhaps, with ulterior ideas of a more objectionable character thanthat of faithfully guarding me through the Dele Baba Pass. Showing himthe shell-extracting mechanism of my revolver, and explaining the rapiditywith which it can be fired, I give him to understand that I feel quitecapable of guarding myself, consequently have no earthly use for hisservices. A tea caravan of some two hundred camels are resting near theapproach to the pass, affording me an excellent opportunity of havingcompany through by waiting and journeying with them in the night; butwarnings of danger have been repeated so often of late, and they haveproved themselves groundless so invariably that I should feel the tauntsof self-reproach were I to find myself hesitating to proceed on theiraccount. Passing over a mountain spur, I descend into a rocky canon, with perpendicular walls of rock towering skyward like giant battlements, inclosing a space not over fifty yards wide; through this runs my road, and alongside it babbles the Dele Baba Su. The canon is a wild, lonely-looking spot, and looks quite appropriate to the reputation it bears. Professor Vambery, a recognized authority on Asiatic matters, and whoseparty encountered a gang of marauders here, says the Dele Baba Pass borethe same unsavory reputation that it bears to-day as far back as thetime of Herodotus. However, suffice it to say, that I get through withoutmolestation; mounted men, armed to the teeth, like almost everybody elsehereabouts, are encountered in the pass; they invariably halt and lookback after me as though endeavoring to comprehend who and what I am, butthat is all. Emerging from the canon, I follow in a general course thetortuous windings of the Dele Baba Su through another ravine- rivenbattle-field of the late war, and up toward its source in a still moremountainous and elevated region beyond. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MOUNT ARARAT AND KOORDISTAN. 

The shades of evening are beginning to settle down over the wild mountainouscountry round about. It is growing uncomfortably chilly for this earlyin the evening, and the prospects look favorable for a supperless andmost disagreeable night, when I descry a village perched in an openingamong the mountains a mile or thereabouts off to the right. Repairingthither, I find it to be a Koordish village, where the hovels are moreexcavations than buildings; buffaloes, horses, goats, chickens, and humanbeings all find shelter under the same roof; their respective quartersare nothing but a mere railing of rough poles, and as the question ofventilation is never even thought of, the effect upon one's olfactorynerves upon entering is anything but reassuring. The filth and rags ofthese people is something abominable; on account of the chilliness ofthe evening they have donned their heavier raiment; these have evidentlyhad rags patched on. Top of other rags for years past until they havegradually developed into thick-quilted garments, in the innumerableseams of which the most disgusting entomological specimens, bred andengendered by their wretched mode of existence, live and perpetuate theirkind. However, repulsive as the outlook most assuredly is, I have noalternative but to cast my lot among them till morning. I am conductedinto the Sheikh's apartment, a small room partitioned off with a polefrom a stable-full of horses and buffaloes, and where darkness is madevisible by the sickly glimmer of a grease lamp. The Sheikh, a thin, sallow-faced man of about forty years, is reclining on a mattress in onecorner smoking cigarettes; a dozen ill-conditioned ragamuffins aresquatting about in various attitudes, while the rag, tag, and bobtailof the population crowd into the buffalo-stable and survey me and thebicycle from outside the partition-pole. 

A circular wooden tray containing an abundance of bread, a bowl of yaort, and a small quantity of peculiar stringy cheese that resembles chunksof dried codfish, warped and twisted in the drying, is brought in andplaced in the middle of the floor. Everybody in the room at once gatherround it and begin eating with as little formality as so many wildanimals; the Sheikh silently motions for me to do the same. The yaortbowl contains one solitary wooden spoon, with which they take turns ateating mouthfuls. One is compelled to draw the line somewhere, even underthe most uncompromising circumstances, and I naturally draw it againsteating yaort with this same wooden spoon; making small scoops with piecesof bread, I dip up yaort and eat scoop and all together. These particularKoords seem absolutely ignorant of anything in the shape of mannerliness, or of consideration for each other at the table. When the yaort has beendipped into twice or thrice all round, the Sheikh coolly confiscates thebowl, eats part of what is left, pours water into the remainder, stirsit up with his hand, and deliberately drinks it all up; one or two othersseize all the cheese, utterly regardless of the fact that nothing remainsfor myself and their companions, who, by the by, seem to regard it as aperfectly natural proceeding. 

After supper they return to their squatting attitudes around the room, and to a resumption of their never-ceasing occupation of scratchingthemselves. The eminent economist who lamented the wasted energy representedin the wagging of all the dogs' tails in the world, ought to have travelledthrough Asia on a bicycle and have been compelled to hob-nob with thevillagers; he would undoubtedly have wept with sorrow at beholding theamount of this same wasted energy, represented by the above-mentionedoccupation of the people. The most loathsome member of this interestingcompany is a wretched old hypocrite who rolls his eyes about and heavesa deep-drawn sigh of Allah! every few minutes, and then looks furtivelyat myself and the Sheikh to observe its effects; his sole garment is around-about mantle that reaches to his knees, and which seems to havebeen manufactured out of the tattered remnants of other tattered remnantstacked carelessly together without regard to shape, size, color, orprevious condition of cleanliness; his thin, scrawny legs are bare, hislong black hair is matted and unkempt, his beard is stubby and unlovelyto look upon, his small black eyes twinkle in the semi-darkness likeferret's eyes, while soap and water have to all appearances been altogetherstricken from the category of his personal requirements. Probably it isnothing but the lively workings of my own imagination, but this wretchappears to me to entertain a decided preference for my society, constantlyinsinuating himself as near me as possible, necessitating constantwatchfulness on my part to avoid actual contact with him; eternalvigilance is in this case the price of what it is unnecessary to expatiateupon, further than to say that self-preservation becomes, under suchconditions, preeminently the first law of Occidental nature. Soon thesallow-faced Sheikh suddenly bethinks himself that he is in the augustpresence of a hakim, and beckoning me to his side, displays an ugly woundon his knee which has degenerated into a running sore, and which he sayswas done with a sword; of course he wants me to perform a cure. Whileexamining the Sheikh's knee, another old party comes forward and unbareshis arm, also wounded with a sword. This not unnaturally sets me towondering what sort of company I have gotten into, and how they came bysword wounds in these peaceful times; but my inquisitivencss is compelledto remain in abeyance to my limited linguistic powers. Having nothingto give them for the wounds, I recommend an application of warm saltwater twice a day; feeling pretty certain, however, that they will betoo lazy and trifling to follow the advice. Before dispersing to theirrespective quarters, the occupants of the room range themselves in a rowand go through a religious performance lasting fully half an hour; theymake almost as much noise as howling dervishes, meanwhile exercisingthemselves quite violently. Having made themselves holier than ever bythese exercises, some take their departure, others make up couches onthe floor with sheepskins and quilts. Thin ice covers the still poolsof water when I resume my toilsome route over the mountains at daybreak, a raw wind coines whistling from the east, and until the sun begins towarm things up a little, it is necessary to stop and buffet occasionallyto prevent benumbed hands. Obtaining some small lumps of wheaten doughcooked crisp in hot grease, like unsweetened doughnuts, from a horsemanon the road, I push ahead toward the summit and then down the easternslope of the mountains; rounding an abutting hill about 9. 30, the glorioussnow-crowned peak of Ararat suddenly bursts upon my vision; it is a goodforty leagues away, but even at this distance it dwarfs everything elsein sight. Although surrounded by giant mountain chains that traverse thecountry at every conceivable angle, Ararat stands alone in its solitarygrandeur, a glistening white cone rearing its giant height proudly andconspicuously above surrounding eminences; about mountains that areinsignificant only in comparison with the white-robed monarch that hasbeen a beacon-light of sacred history since sacred history has been inexistence. 

Descending now toward the Alashgird Plain, a prominent theatre of actionduring the war, I encounter splendid wheeling for some miles; but oncefairly down on the level, cultivated plain, the road becomes heavy withdust. Villages dot the broad, expansive plain in every direction; conicalstacks of tezek are observable among the houses, piled high up above theroofs, speaking of commendable forethought for the approaching coldweather. In one of the Armenian villages I am not a little surprised atfinding a lone German; he says he prefers an agricultural life in thiscountry with all its disadvantages, to the hard, grinding struggle forexistence, and the compulsory military service of the Fatherland. "Here, "he goes on to explain, "there is no foamy lager, no money, no comfort, no amusement of any kind, but there is individual liberty, and it isvery easy making a living; therefore it is for me a better country thanDeutschland. " " Everybody to their liking, " I think, as I continue onacross the plain; but for a European to be living in one of these littleagricultural villages comes the nearest to being buried alive of anythingI know of. The road improves in hardness as I proceed eastward, but thepeculiar disadvantages of being a conspicuous and incomprehensible objecton a populous level plain soon becomes manifest. Seeing the bicycleglistening in the sunlight as I ride along, horsemen come wildly gallopingfrom villages miles away. Some of these wonderstricken people endeavorto pilot me along branch trails leading to their villages, but the maincaravan trail is now too easily distinguishable for any little deceptionaof this kind to succeed. Here, on the Alashgird Plain, I first hearmyself addressed as "Hamsherri, " a term which now takes the place ofEffendi for the next five hundred miles. Owing to the disgust engenderedby my unsavory quarters in the wretched Dele Baba village last night, Ihave determined upon seeking the friendly shelter of a wheat-shock againto-night, preferring the chances of being frozen out at midnight to theentomological possibilities of village hovels. Accordingly, near sunset, I repair to a village not far from the road, for the purpose of obtainingsomething to eat before seeking out a rendezvous for the night. It turnsout to be the Koordish village of Malosman, and the people are found tobe so immeasurably superior in every particular to their kinsfolk ofDele Baba that I forthwith cancel my determination and accept theirproffered hospitality. The Malosmanlis are comparatively clean andcomfortable; are reasonably well-dressed, seem well-to-do, and both menand women are, on the average, handsomer than the people of any villageI have seen for days past. Almost all possess a conspicuously beautifulset of teeth, pleasant, smiling countenances and good physique; theyalso seem to have, somehow, acquired easy, agreeable manners. The secretof the whole difference, I opine, is that, instead of being located amongthe inhospitable soil of barren hills they are cultivating the productivesoil of the Alashgird Plain, and, being situated on the great Persiancaravan trail, they find a ready market for their grain in supplying thecaravans in winter. Their Sheikh is a handsome and good-natured youngfellow, sporting white clothes trimmed profusely with red braid; hespends the evening in my company, examining the bicycle, revolver, telescopic pencil-case, L. A. W. Badge, etc. , and hands me his carvedivory case to select cigarettes from. It would have required considerableinducements to have trusted either my L. A. W. Badge or the Smith &Wesson in the custody of any of our unsavory acquaintances of last night, notwithstanding their great outward show of piety. There are no deep-drawnsighs of Allah, nor ostentatious praying among the Malosmanlis, but theybear the stamp of superior trustworthiness plainly on their faces andtheir bearing. There appears to be far more jocularity than religionamong these prosperous villagers, a trait that probably owes its developmentto their apparent security from want; it is no newly discovered traitof human character to cease all prayers and supplications whenever thegranary is overflowing with plenty, and to commence devotional exercisesagain whenever the supply runs short. This rule would hold good amongthe childlike natives here, even more so than it does among our moreenlightened selves. I sally forth into the chilly atmosphere of earlymorning from Maloaman, and wheel eastward over an excellent road forsome miles; an obliging native, en route to the harvest field, turns hisbuffalo araba around and carts me over a bridgeless stream, but severalothers have to be forded ere reaching Kirakhan, where I obtain breakfast. Here I am required to show my teskeri to the mudir, and the zaptiehescorting me thither becomes greatly mystified over the circumstancethat I am a Frank and yet am wearing a Mussulman head-band around myhelmet (a new one I picked up on the road); this little fact appeals tohim as something savoring of an attempt to disguise myself, and he growsamusingly mysterious while whisperingly bringing it to the mudir'snotice. The habitual serenity and complacency of the corpulent mudir'smind, however, is not to be unduly disturbed by trifles, and the untutoredzaptieh's disposition to attach some significant meaning to it, meetswith nothing from his more enlightened superior but the silence ofunconcern. More streams have to be forded ere I finally emerge on tohigher ground; all along the Alashgird Plain, Ararat's glistening peakhas been peeping over the mountain framework of the plain like a whitebeacon-light showing above a dark rocky shore; but approaching towardthe eastern extremity of the plain, my road hugs the base of the interveninghills and it temporarily disappears from view. In this portion of thecountry, camels are frequently employed in bringing the harvest fromfield to village threshing-floor; it is a curious sight to see theseawkwardly moving animals walking along beneath tremendous loads of straw, nothing visible but their heads and legs. Sometimes the meandering courseof the Euphrates - now the eastern fork, and called the Moorad-Chai - bringsit near the mountains, and my road leads over bluffs immediately aboveit; the historic river seems well supplied with trout hereabouts, I canlook down from the bluffs and observe speckled beauties sporting aboutin its pellucid waters by the score. Toward noon I fool away fifteenminutes trying to beguile one of them into swallowing a grasshopper anda bent pin, but they are not the guileless creatures they seem to bewhen surveyed from an elevated bluff, so they steadily refuse whateverblandishments I offer. An hour later I reach the village of Daslische, inhabited by a mixed population of Turks and Persians. At a shop keptby one of the latter I obtain some bread and ghee (clarified butter), some tea, and a handful of wormy raisins for dessert; for these articles, besides building a fire especially to prepare the tea, the unconscionablePersian charges the awful sum of two piastres (ten cents); whereupon theTurks, who have been interested spectators of the whole nefariousproceeding, commence to abuse him roundly for overcharging a strangerunacquainted with the prices of the locality calling him the son of aburnt father, and other names that tino-je unpleasantly in the Persianear, as though it was a matter of pounds sterling. Beyond Daslische, Ararat again becomes visible; the country immediately around is a ravine-riven plateau, covered with bowlders. An hour after leaving Daslische, while climbing the eastern slope of a ravine, four rough-looking footmenappear on the opposite side of the slope; they are following after me, and shouting "Kardash!" These people with their old swords and pistolsconspicuously about them, always raise suspicions of brigands and evilcharacters under such circumstances as these, so I continue on up theslope without heeding their shouting until I observe two of them turnback; I then wait, out of curiosity, to see what they really want. Theyapproach with broad grins of satisfaction at having overtaken me: theyhave run all the way from Daslische in order to overtake me and see thebicycle, having heard of it after I had left. I am now but a shortdistance from the Russian frontier on the north, and the first Turkishpatrol is this afternoon patrolling the road; he takes a wonderinginterest in my wheel, but doesn't ask the oft-repeated question, "Russor Ingiliz?" It is presumed that he is too familiar with the Muscovite"phiz" to make any such question necessary. 

About four o'clock I overtake a jack-booted horseman, who straightwayproceeds to try and make himself agreeable; as his flowing remarks aremostly unintelligible, to spare him from wasting the sweetness of hiseloquence on the desert air around me, I reply, "Turkchi binmus. " Insteadof checking the impetuous torrent of his remarks at hearing this, hecanters companionably alongside, and chatters more persistently thanever. "T-u-r-k-chi b-i-n-m-u-s!" I repeat, becoming rather annoyed athis persistent garrulousness and his refusal to understand. This hasthe desired effect of reducing him to silence; but he canters doggedlybehind, and, after a space creeps up alongside again, and, pointing toa large stone building which has now become visible at the base of amountain on the other side of the Euphrates, timidly ventures upon theexplanation that it is the Armenian Gregorian Monastery of Sup Ogwanis(St. John). Finding me more favorably disposed to listen than before, he explains that he himself is an Armenian, is acquainted with the priestsof the monastery, and is going to remain there over night; he thenproposes that I accompany him thither, and do likewise. I am, of course, only too pleased at the prospect of experiencing something out of thecommon, and gladly avail myself of the opportunity; moreover, monasteriesand religious institutions in general, have somehow always been pleasantlyassociated in my thoughts as inseparable accompaniments of orderlinessand cleanliness, and I smile serenely to myself at the happy prospectof snowy sheets, and scrupulously clean cooking. 

Crossing the Euphrates on a once substantial stone bridge, now in a sadlydilapidated condition, that was doubtless built when Armenian monasteriesenjoyed palmier days than the present, we skirt the base of a compactmountain and in a few minutes alight at the monastery village. Exitimmediately all visions of cleanliness; the village is in no wise differentfrom any other cluster of mud hovels round about, and the rag-bedecked, flea-bitten objects that come outside to gaze at us, if such a thingwere possible, compare unfavorably even with the Dele Baba Koords. Thereis apparent at once, however, a difference between the respectivedispositions of the two peoples: the Koords are inclined to be pig-headedand obtrusive, as though possessed of their full share of the spirit ofself-assertion; the Sup Ogwanis people, on the contrary, act like beingsutterly destitute of anything of the kind, cowering beneath one's lookand shunning immediate contact as though habitually overcome with a senseof their own inferiority. The two priests come out to see the bicycleridden; they are stout, bushy-whiskered, greasy-looking old jokers, withsmall twinkling black eyes, whose expression would seem to betokenanything rather than saintliness, and, although the Euphrates flows hardby, they are evidently united in their enmity against soap and water, if in nothing else; in fact, judging from outward appearances, water isabout the only thing concerning which they practise abstemiousness. Themonastery itself is a massive structure of hewn stone, surrounded by ahigh wall loop-holed for defence; attached to the wall inside is a longrow of small rooms or cells, the habitations of the monks in moreprosperous days; a few of them are occupied at present by the older men. ;At 5. 30 P. M. , the bell tolls for evening service, and I accompany myguide into the monastery; it is a large, empty-looking edifice of simple, massive architecture, and appears to have been built with a secondarypurpose of withstanding a siege or an assault, and as a place of refugefor the people in troublous times; containing among other secularappliances a large brick oven for baking bread. During the last war, theplace was actually bombarded by the Russiaus in an effort to dislodge abody of Koords who had taken possession of the monastery, and from behindits solid walls, harassed the Russian troops advancing toward Erzeroum. The patched up holes made by the Russians' shots are pointed out, asalso some light earthworks thrown up on the Russian position across theriver. In these degenerate days one portion of the building is utilizedas a storehouse for grain; hundreds of pigeons are cooing and roostingon the crossbeams, making the place their permanent abode, passing inand out of narrow openings near the roof; and the whole interior is ina disgustingly filthy condition. Rude fresco representations of thedifferent saints in the Gregorian calendar formerly adorned the walls, and bright colored tiles embellished the approach to the altar. Nothingis distinguishable these days but the crumbling and half-obliteratedevidences of past glories; both priests and people seem hopelessly sunkin the quagmire of avariciousness and low cunning on the one hand, andof blind ignorance and superstition on the other. Clad in greasy andseedy-looking cowls, the priests go through a few nonsensical manosuvres, consisting chiefly of an ostentatious affectation of reverence towardan altar covered with tattered drapery, by never turning their backstoward it while they walk about, Bible in hand, mumbling and sighing. My self-constituted guide and myself comprise the whole congregationduring the "services. " Whenever the priests heave a particularly deep-fetched sigh or fall to mumbling their prayers on the double quick, theyinvariably cast a furtive glance toward me, to ascertain whether I amnoticing the impenetrable depth of their holiness. They needn't be uneasyon that score, however; the most casual observer cannot fail to perceivethat it is really and truly impenetrable - so impenetrable, in fact, thatit will never be unearthed, not even at the day of judgment. In aboutten minutes the priests quit mumbling, bestow a Pharisaical kiss on thetattered coverlet of their Bibles, graciously suffer my jack-bootedcompanion to do likewise, as also two or three ragamuffins who have comesneaking in seemingly for that special purpose, and then retreat hastilybehind a patch-work curtain; the next minute they reappear in a cowllesscondition, their countenances wearing an expression of intense relief, as though happy at having gotten through with a disagreeable task thathad been weighing heavily on their minds all day. 

We are invited to take supper with their Reverences in their cell beneaththe walls, which they occupy in common. The repast consists of yaort andpillau, to which is added, by way of compliment to visitors, five saltfishes about the size of sardines. The most greasy-looking of the divinesthoughtfully helps himself to a couple of the fishes as though they werea delicacy quite irresistible, leaving one apiece for us others. Havingcreated a thirst with the salty fish, he then seizes what remains of theyaort, pours water into it, mixes it thoroughly together with his unwashedhand, and gulps down a full quart of the swill with far greater gustothan mannerliness. Soon the priests commence eructating aloud, whichappears to be a well-understood signal that the limit of their respectiveabsorptive capacities are reached, for three hungry-eyed laymen, whohave been watching our repast with seemingly begrudging countenances, now carry the wooden tray bodily off into a corner and ravenously devourthe remnants. Everything about the cell is abnormally filthy, and I amglad when the inevitable cigarettes are ended and we retire to thequarters assigned us in the village. Here my companion produces fromsome mysterious corner of his clothing a pinch of tea and a few lumpsof sugar. A villager quickly kindles a fire and cooks the tea, performingthe services eagerly, in anticipation of coming in for a modest shareof what to him is an unwonted luxury. Being rewarded with a tiny glassfulof tea and a lump of sugar, he places the sweet morsel in his mouth andsucks the tea through it with noisy satisfaction, prolonging the presumablydelightful sensation thereby produced to fully a couple of minutes. During this brief indulgence of his palate, a score of his ragged co-religionists stand around and regard him with mingled envy and covetousness;but for two whole minutes he occupies his proud eminence in the lap ofcomparative luxury, and between slow, lingering sucks at the tea, regardstheir envious attention with studied indifference. One can scarcelyconceive of a more utterly wretched people than the monastic communityof Sup Ogwanis; one would not be surprised to find them envying even thepariah curs of the country. The wind blows raw and chilly from off thesnowy slopes of Ararat next morning, and the shivering, half-clad-wretchesshuffle off toward the fields and pastures, - with blue noses and unwillingfaces, humping their backs and shrinking within themselves and wearingmost lugubrious countenances; one naturally falls to wondering what theydo in the winter. The independent villagers of the surrounding countryhave a tough enough time of it, worrying through the cheerless wintersof a treeless and mountainous country; but they at least have no domesticauthority to obey but their own personal and family necessities, andthey consume the days huddled together in their unventilated hovels overa smouldering tezek fire; but these people seem but helpless dolts underthe vassalage of a couple of crafty-looking, coarse-grained priests, whoregard them with less consideration than they do the monastery buffaloes. Eleven miles over a mostly ridable trail brings me to the large villageof Dyadin. Dyadin is marked on my map as quite an important place, consequently I approach it with every assurance of obtaining a goodbreakfast. My inquiries for refreshments are met with importunities ofbin bacalem, from five hundred of the rag-tag and bobtail of the frontier, the rowdiest and most inconsiderate mob imaginable. In their eagernessand impatience to see me ride, and their exasperating indifference tomy own pressing wants, some of them tell me bluntly there is no bread;others, more considerate, hurry away and bring enough bread to feed adozen people, and one fellow contributes a couple of onions. Pocketingthe onions and some of the bread, I mount and ride away from the maddingcrowd with whatever despatch is possible, and retire into a secludeddell near the road, a mile from town, to eat my frugal breakfast in peaceand quietness. While thus engaged, it is with veritable savage delightthat I hear a company of horsemen go furiously galloping past; they areDyadin people endeavoring to overtake me for the kindly purpose ofworrying me out of my senses, and to prevent me even eating a bite ofbread unseasoned with their everlasting gabble. Although the road fromDyadin eastward leads steadily upward, they fancy that nothing less thana wild, sweeping gallop will enable them to accomplish their fell purpose;I listen to their clattering hoof-beats dying away in the dreamy distance, with a grin of positively malicious satisfaction, hoping sincerely thatthey will keep galloping onward for the next twenty miles. No such happyconsummation of my wishes occurs, however; a couple of miles up theascent I find them hobnobbing with some Persian caravan men and patientlyawaiting my appearance, having learned from the Persians that I had notyet gone past. Mingled with the keen disappointment of overtaking themso quickly, is the pleasure of witnessing the Persians' camels regalingthemselves on a patch of juicy thistles of most luxuriant growth; theavidity with which they attack the great prickly vegetation, and theexpression of satisfaction, utter and peculiar, that characterizes acamel while munching a giant thistle stalk that protrudes two feet outof his mouth, is simply indescribable. 

>From this pass I descend into the Aras Plain, and, behold the giganticform of Ararat rises up before me, seemingly but a few miles away; as amatter of fact it is about twenty miles distant, but with nothingintervening between myself and its tremendous proportions but the levelplain, the distance is deceptive. No human habitations are visible savethe now familiar black tents of Koordish tribesmen away off to the north, and as I ride along I am overtaken by a sensation of being all alone inthe company of an overshadowing and awe-inspiring presence. One's attentionseems irresistibly attracted toward the mighty snow-crowrned monarch, as though, the immutable law of attraction were sensibly exerting itselfto draw lesser bodies to it, and all other objects around seemed dwarfedinto insignificant proportions. One obtains a most comprehensive ideaof Ararat's 17, 325 feet when viewing it from the Aras Plain, as it risessheer from the plain, and not from the shoulders of a range that constitutesof itself the greater part of the height, as do many mountain peaks. Afew miles to the eastward is Little Ararat, an independent conical peakof 12, 800 feet, without snow, but conspicuous and distinct from surroundingmountains; its proportions are completely dwarfed and overshadowed bythe nearness and bulkiness of its big brother. The Aras Plain is lava-strewnand uncultivated for a number of miles; the spongy, spreading feet ofinnumerable camels have worn paths in the hard lava deposit that makesthe wheeling equal to English roads, except for occasional stationaryblocks of lava that the animals have systematically stepped over forcenturies, and which not infrequently block the narrow trail and compela dismount. Evidently Ararat was once a volcano; the lofty peak whichnow presents a wintry appearance even in the hottest summer weather, formerly belched forth lurid flames that lit up the surrounding country, and poured out fiery torrents of molten lava that stratified the abuttinghills, and spread like an overwhelming flood over the Aras Plain. AbuttingArarat on the west are stratiform hills, the strata of which are plainlydistinguishable from the Persian trail and which, were their inclinationcontinued, would strike Ararat at or near the summit. This would seemto indicate the layers to be representations of the mountain's formervolcanic overflowings. I am sitting on a block of lava making an outlinesketch of Ararat, when a peasant happens along with a bullock-load ofcucumbers which he is taking to the Koordish camps; he is pretty badlyscared at finding himself all alone on the Aras Plain with such anondescript and dangerous-looking object as a helmeted wheelman, andwhen I halt him with inquiries concerning the nature of his wares heturns pale and becomes almost speechless with fright. He would empty hissacks as a peace-offering at my feet without venturing upon a remonstrance, were he ordered to do so; and when I relieve him of but one solitarycucumber, and pay him more than he would obtain for it among the Koords, he becomes stupefied with astonishment; when he continues on his way hehardly knows whether he is on his head or his feet. An hour later Iarrive at Kizil Dizah, the last village in Turkish territory, and anofficial station of considerable importance, where passports, caravanpermits, etc. , of everybody passing to or from Persia have to be examined. An officer here provides me with refreshments, and while generouslypermitting the population to come in and enjoy the extraordinary spectacleof seeing me fed, he thoughtfully stations a man with a stick to keepthem at a respectful distance. A later hour in the afternoon finds metrundling up a long acclivity leading to the summit of a low mountainridge; arriving at the summit I stand on the boundary-line between thedominions of the Sultan and the Shah, and I pause a minute to take abrief, retrospective glance. The cyclometer, affixed to the bicycle atConstantinople, now registers within a fraction of one thousand miles;it has been on the whole an arduous thousand miles, but those who in theforegoing pages have followed me through the strange and varied experiencesof the journey will agree with me when I say that it has proved moreinteresting than arduous after all. I need not here express any bluntopinions of the different people encountered; it is enough that myobservations concerning them have been jotted down as I have mingledwith them and their characteristics from day to day; almost withoutexception, they have treated me the best they knew how; it is only naturalthat some should know how better than others. Bidding farewell, then, to the land of the Crescent and the home of the unspeakable Osmanli, Iwheel down a gentle slope into a mountain-environed area of cultivatedfields, where Persian peasants are busy gathering their harvest. Thestrange apparition observed descending from the summit of the boundaryattracts universal attention; I can hear them calling out to each other, and can see horsemen come wildly galloping from every direction. In afew minutes the road in my immediate vicinity is alive with twentyprancing steeds; some are bestrode by men who, from the superior qualityof their clothes and the gaudy trappings of their horses, are evidentlyin good circumstances; others by wild-looking, barelegged bipeds, whosehorses' trappings consist of nothing but a bridle. The transformationbrought about by crossing the mountain ridge is novel and complete; thefez, so omnipresent throughout the Ottoman dominions, has disappeared, as if by magic; the better class Persians wear tall, brimless black hatsof Astrakan lamb's wool; some of the peasantry wear an unlovely, close-fitting skullcap of thick gray felt, that looks wonderfully like a bowlclapped on top of their heads, others sport a huge woolly head-dresslike the Roumanians; this latter imparts to them a fierce, war-likeappearance, that the meek-eyed Persian ryot (tiller of the soil) is farfrom feeling. The national garment is a sort of frock-coat gathered atthe waist, and with a skirt of ample fulness, reaching nearly to theknees; among the wealthier class the material of this garment is usuallycloth of a solid, dark color, and among the ryots or peasantry, of calicoor any cheap fabric they can obtain. Loose-fitting pantaloons of Europeanpattern, and sometimes top-boots, with tops ridiculously ample in theirlooseness, characterize the nether garments of the better classes; theryots go mostly bare-legged in summer, and wear loose, slipper-like foot-gear; the soles of both boots and shoes are frequently pointed, and madeto turn up and inwards, after the fashion in England centuries ago. 

Nightfall overtakes me as, after travelling several miles of variableroad, I commence following a winding trail down into the valley of atributary of the Arasces toward Ovahjik, where resides the Pasha Khan, to whom I have a letter; but the crescent-shaped moon sheds abroad asilvery glimmer that exerts a softening influence upon the mountainsoutlined against the ever-arching dome, from whence here and there astar begins to twinkle. It is one of those. Beautiful, calm autumnevenings when all nature seems hushed in peaceful slumbers; when thestars seem to first peep cautiously from the impenetrable depths of theirhiding-place, and then to commence blinking benignantly and approvinglyupon the world; and when the moon looks almost as though fair Luna hasbeen especially decorating herself to embellish a scene that without herlovely presence would be incomplete. Such is my first autumn eveningbeneath the cloudless skies of Persia. 

Soon the village of Ovahjik is reached, and some peasants guide me tothe residence of the Pasha Khan. The servant who presents my letter ofintroduction fills the untutored mind of his master with wondermentconcerning what the peasants have told him about the bicycle. The PashaKhan makes his appearance without having taken the trouble to open theenvelope. He is a dull-faced, unintellectual-lookiug personage, andwithout any preliminary palaver he says: "Bin bacalem, " in a dictatorialtone of voice. "Bacalem yole lazim, bacalem saba, " I reply, for it istoo dark to ride on unknown ground this evening. " Bin bacalem, " repeatsthe Pasha Khan, even more dictatorial than before, ordering a servantto bring a tallow candle, so that I can have no excuse. There appearsto be such a total absence of all consideration for myself that I am notdisposed to regard very favorably or patiently the obtrusive meddlesomenessof two younger men-whom I afterward discover to be sons of the PashaKhan - who seem almost inclined to take the bicycle out of my chargealtogether, in their excessive impatience and inordinate inquisitivenessto examine everything about it. One of them, thinking the cyclometer tobe a watch, puts his ear down to see if he can hear it tick, and thenpersists in fingering it about, to the imminent danger of the tally-pin. After telling him several times not to meddle with it, and receivingoverbearing gestures in reply, I deliberately throw him backward intoan irrigating ditch. A gleam of intelligence overspreads the stolidcountenance of the Pasha Khan at seeing his offspring floundering abouton his back in the mud and water, and he gives utterance to a chuckleof delight. The discomfited young man betrays nothing of the spirit ofresentment upon recovering himself from the ditch, and the other soninvoluntarily retreats as though afraid his turn was coming next. Theservant now arrives with the lighted candle, and the Pasha Kahn leadsthe way into his garden, where there is a wide brick-paved walk; thehouse occupies one side of the garden, the other three sides are inclosedby a high mud wall. After riding a few times along the brick-paved walk, and promising to do better in the morning. I naturally expect to be takeninto the house, instead of which the Pasha Khan orders the people toshow me the way to the caravanserai. Arriving at the caravanserai, andfinding myself thus thrown unexpectedly upon my own resources, I inquireof some bystanders where I can obtain elcmek; some of them want to knowhow many liras I will give for ekmek. When it is reflected that a lirais nearly five dollars, one realizes from this something of theunconscionable possibilities of the Persian commercial mind. 

While this question is being mooted, a figure appears in the doorway, toward which the people one and all respectfully salaam and give way. It is the great Pasha Khan; he has bethought himself to open my letterof introduction, and having perused it and discovered who it was fromand all about me, he now comes and squats down in the most friendlymanner by my side for a minute, as though to remove any unfavorableimpressions his inhospitable action in sending me here might have made, and then bids me accompany him back to his residence. After permittinghim to eat a sufficiency of humble pie in the shape of coaxing, to atonefor his former incivility, I agree to his proposal and accompany himback. Tea is at once provided, the now very friendly Pasha Khan puttingextra lumps of sugar into my glass with his own hands and stirring itup; bread and cheese comes in with the tea, and under the mistakenimpression that this constitutes the Persian evening meal I eat sufficientto satisfy my hunger. While thus partaking freely of the bread and cheese, I do not fail to notice that the others partake very sparingly, and thatthey seem to be rather astonished because I am not following theirexample. Being chiefly interested in satisfying my appetite, however, their silent observations have no effect save to further mystify myunderstanding of the Persian character. The secret of all this soonreveals itself in the form of an ample repast of savory chicken pillau, brought in immediately afterward; and while the Pasha Khan and his twosons proceed to do full justice to this highly acceptable dish, I haveto content myself with nibbling at a piece of chicken, and ruminatingon the unhappy and ludicrous mistake of having satisfied my hunger withdry bread and cheese. Thus does one pay the penalty of being unacquaintedwith the domestic customs of a country when first entering upon itsexperiences. There seems to be no material difference between the socialposition of the women here and in Turkey; they eat their meals bythemselves, and occupy entirely separate apartments, which are unapproachableto members of the opposite sex save their husbands. The Pasha Khan ofOvahjik, however, seems to be a kind, indulgent husband and father, requesting me next morning to ride up and down the brick-paved walk forthe benefit of his wives and daughters. In the seclusion of their ownwalled premises the Persian females are evidently not so particular aboutconcealing their features, and I obtained a glimpse of some very prettyfaces; oval faces with large dreamy black eyes, and a flush of warmsunset on brownish cheeks. The indoor costume of Persian women is butan inconsiderable improvement upon the costume of our ancestress in thegarden of Eden, and over this they hastily don a flimsy shawl-like garmentto come out and see me ride. They are always much less concerned aboutconcealing their nether extremities than about their faces, and as theyseem but little concerned about anything on this occasion save thebicycle, after riding for them I have to congratulate myself that, sofar as sight-seeing is concerned, the ladies leave me rather underobligations than otherwise. 

After supper the Pasha Khan's falconer brings in several fine falconsfor my inspection, and in reply to questions concerning one with hiseyelids tied up in what appears to be a cruel manner, I am told thatthis is the customary way of breaking the spirits of the young falconsand rendering them tractable and submissive  the eyelids are piercedwith a hole, a silk thread is then fastened to each eyelid and the endstied together over the head, sufficiently tight to prevent them openingtheir eyes. Falconing is considered the chief out-door sport of thePersian nobility, but the average Persian is altogether too indolent forout-door sport, and the keeping of falcons is fashionable, becauseregarded as a sign of rank and nobility rather than for sport. In themorning the Pasha Khan is wonderfully agreeable, and appears anxious toatone as far as possible for the little incivility of yesterday evening, and to remove any unfavorable impressions I may perchance entertain ofhim on that account before I leave. His two sons and a couple of soldiersaccompany me on horseback some distance up the valley. The valley isstudded with villages, and at the second one we halt at the residenceof a gentleman named Abbas Koola Khan, and partake of tea and lightrefreshments in his garden. Here I learn that the Pasha Khan has carriedhis good intentions to the extent of having made arrangements to provideme armed escort from point to point; how far ahead this well-meaningarrangement is to extend I am unable to understand; neither do I careto find out, being already pretty well convinced that the escort willprove an insufferable nuisance to be gotten rid of at the first favorableopportunity. Abbas Koola Khan now joins the company until we arrive atthe summit of a knoll commanding an extensive view of my road ahead sothey can stand and watch me when they all bid me farewell save the soldierwho is to accompany me further on. As we shake hands, the young man whomI pushed into the irrigating ditch, points to a similar receptacle nearby and shakes his head with amusing solemnity; whether this is expressiveof his sorrow that I should have pushed him in, or that he should haveannoyed me to the extent of having deserved it, I cannot say; probablythe latter. My escort, though a soldier, is dressed but little differentfrom the better-class villagers; he is an almond-eyed individual, withmore of the Tartar cast of countenance than the Persian. Besides theshort Persian sword, he is armed with a Martini Henry rifle of the 1862pattern; numbers of these rifles having found their way into the handsof Turks, Koords and Persians, since the RussoTurkish war. My predictionsconcerning his turning out an insupportable nuisance are not sufferedto remain long unverified, for he appears to consider it his chief dutyto gallop ahead and notify the villagers of my approach, and to workthem up to the highest expectations concerning my marvellous appearance. The result of all this is a swelling of his own importance at having sowonderful a person under his protection, and my own transformation froman unostentatious traveller to something akin to a free circus for crowdsof barelegged ryots. I soon discover that, with characteristic Persiantruthfulness, he has likewise been spreading the interesting report thatI am journeying in this extraordinary manner to carry a message from the"Ingilis Shah " to the "Shah in Shah of Iran " (the Persians know theirown country as Iran) thereby increasing his own importance and thewonderment of the people concerning myself. The Persian villages, sofar, are little different from the Turkish, but such valuable propertyas melon-gardens, vineyards, etc. , instead of being presided over by awatchman, are usually surrounded by substantial mud walls ten or twelvefeet high. The villagers themselves, being less improvident and altogethermore thoughtful of number one than the Turks, are on the whole, a trifleless ragged; but that is saying very little indeed, and their conditionis anything but enviable. During the summer they fare comparatively well, needing but little clothing, and they are happy and contented in theabsence of actual suffering; they are perfectly satisfied with a dietof bread and fruit and cucumbers, rarely tasting meat of any kind. Butfuel is as scarce as in Asia Minor, and like the Turks and Armenians, in winter they have resource to a peculiar and economical arrangementto keep themselves warm; placing a pan of burning tezek beneath a lowtable, the whole family huddle around it, covering the table and themselves-save of course their heads-up with quilts; facing each other in thisridiculous manner, they chat and while away the dreary days of winter. 

At the third village after leaving the sons of the Pasha Khan, my Tartar-eyed escort, with much garrulous injunction to his successor, deliversme over to another soldier, himself returning back; this is my favorableopportunity, and soon after leaving the village I bid my valiant protectorreturn. The man seems totally unable to comprehend why I should orderhim to leave me, and makes an elaborate display of his pantomimic abilitiesto impress upon me the information that the country ahead is full ofvery bad Koords, who will kill and rob me if I venture among themunprotected by a soldier. The expressive action of drawing the fingeracross the throat appears to be the favorite method of signifying personaldanger among all these people; but I already understand that the Persianslive in deadly fear of the nomad Koords. Consequently his warnings, although evidently sincere, fall on biased ears, and I peremptorily orderhim to depart. The Tabreez trail is now easily followed without a guide, and with a sense of perfect freedom and unrestraint, that is destroyedby having a horseman cantering alongside one, I push ahead, finding theroads variable, and passing through several villages during the day. Thechief concern of the ryots is to detain me until they can bring theresident Khan to see me ride, evidently from a servile desire to caterto his pleasure. They gather around me and prevent my departure untilhe arrives. An appeal to the revolver will invariably secure my release, but one naturally gets ashamed of threatening people's lives even underthe exasperating circumstances of a forcible detention. Once to-day Imanaged to outwit them beautifully. Pretending acquiescence in theirproposition of waiting till the arrival of their Khan, I propose mountingand riding a few yards for their own edification while waiting; in theireagerness to see they readily fall into the trap, and the next minutesees me flying down the road with a swarm of bare-legged ryots in fullchase after me, yelling for me to stop. Fortunately, they have no horseshandy, but some of these lanky fellows can run like deer almost, andnothing but an excellent piece of road enables me to outdistance mypursuers. Wily as the Persians are, compared to the Osmanlis, one couldplay this game on them quite frequently, owing to their eagerness to seethe bicycle ridden; but it is seldom that the road is sufficiently smoothto justify the attempt. I was gratified to learn from the Persian consulat Erzeroum that my stock of Turkish would answer me as far as Teheran, the people west of the capital speaking a dialect known as TabreezTurkish; still, I find quite a difference. Almost every Persian pointsto the bicycle and says: "Boo; ndmi ndder. " ("This; what is it?") andit is several days ere I have an opportunity of finding out exactly whatthey mean. They are also exceedingly prolific in using the endearingterm of kardash when accosting me. The distance is now reckoned byfarsakhs (roughly, four miles) instead of hours; but, although the farsakhis a more tangible and comprehensive measurement than the Turkish hour, in reality it is almost as unreliable to go by. Towards evening I ascendinto a more mountainous region, inhabited exclusively by nomad Koords;from points of vantage their tents are observable clustered here andthere at the bases of the mountains. Descending into a grassy valley ordepression, I find myself in close proximity to several different camps, and eagerly avail myself of the opportunity to pass a night among them. I am now in the heart of Northern Koordistan, which embraces both Persianand Turkish territory, and the occasion is most opportune for seeingsomething of these wild nomads in their own mountain pastures. Thegreensward is ridable, and I dismount before the Sheikh's tent in thepresence of a highly interested and interesting audience. The half-wilddogs make themselves equally interesting in another and a less desirablesense as I approach, but the men pelt them with stones, and when Idismount they conduct me and the bicycle at once into the tent of theirchieftain. The Sheikh's tent is capacious enough to shelter a regimentalmost, and it is divided into compartments similar to a previousdescription; the Sheikh is a big, burly fellow, of about forty-five, wearing a turban the size of a half-bushel measure, and dressed prettymuch like a well-to-do Turk; as a matter of fact, the Koords admire theOsmanlis and despise the Persians. The bicycle is reclined against acarpet partition, and after the customary interchange of questions, asplendid fellow, who must be six feet six inches tall, and broad-shoulderedin proportion, squats himself cross-legged beside me, and proceeds tomake himself agreeable, rolling me cigarettes, asking questions, andcuriously investigating anything about me that strikes him as peculiar. I show them, among other things, a cabinet photograph of myself in allthe glory of needle-pointed mustache and dress-parade apparel; after acritical examination and a brief conference among themselves they pronounceme an "English Pasha. " I then hand the Sheikh a set of sketches, butthey are not sufficiently civilized to appreciate the sketches; theyhold them upside down and sidewise; and not being able to make anythingout of them, the Sheikh holds them in his hand and looks quite embarrassed, like a person in possession of something he doesn't know what to do with. Noticing that the women are regarding these proceedings with much interestfrom behind a low partition, and not having yet become reconciled to theMohammedan idea of women being habitually ignored and overlooked, Iventure upon taking the photograph to them; they seem much confused atfinding themselves the object of direct attention, and they appear severaldegrees wilder than the men, so far as comprehending such a product ofcivilization as a photograph is an indication. It requires more materialobjects than sketches and photos to meet the appreciation of these semi-civilized children of the desert. They bring me their guns and spearsto look at and pronounce upon, and then my stalwart entertainer growsinquisitive about my revolver. First extracting the cartridges to preventaccident, I hand it to him, and he takes it for the Sheikh's inspection. The Sheikh examines the handsome little Smith & Wesson long and wistfully, and then toys with it several minutes, apparently reluctant about havingto return it; finally he asks me to give him a cartridge and let him goout and test its accuracy. I am getting a trifle uneasy at his evidentcovetousness of the revolver, and in this request I see my opportunityof giving him to understand that it would be a useless weapon for himto possess, by telling him I have but a few cartridges and that othersare not procurable in Koordistan or neighboring countries. Recognizingimmediately its uselessness to him under such circumstances, he thenreturns it without remark; whether he would have confiscated it withoutthis timely explanation, it is difficult to say. 

Shortly after the evening meal, an incident occurs which causes considerableamusement. Everything being unusually quiet, one sharp-eared youth happensto hear the obtrusive ticking of my Waterbury, and strikes a listeningattitude, at which everybody else likewise begins listening; the tick, tick is plainly discernible to everybody in the compartment and theybecome highly interested and amused, and commence looking at me for anexplanation. With a view to humoring the spirit of amusement thus awakened, I likewise smile, but affect ignorance and innocence concerning theorigin of the mysterious ticking, and strike a listening attitude aswell as the others. Presuming upon our interchange of familiarity, oursix-foot-sixer then commences searching about my clothing for the watch, but being hidden away in a pantaloon fob, and minus a chain, it provesbeyond his power of discovery. Nevertheless, by bending his head downand listening, he ascertains and announces it to be somewhere about myperson; the Waterbury is then produced, and the loudness of its tickingawakes the wonder and admiration of the Koords, even to a greater extentthan the Turks. During the evening, the inevitable question of Euss, Osmanli, and English crops up, and I win unanimous murmurs of approvalby laying my forefingers together and stating that the English and theOsmanlis are kardash. I show them my Turkish teskeri, upon which severalof them bestow fervent kisses, and when, by means of placing severalstones here and there I explained to them how in 1877, the hated Muscovoccupied different Mussulman cities one after the other, and was preventedby the English from occupying their dearly beloved Stamboul itself, theiradmiration knows no bounds. Along the trail, not over a mile from camp, a large Persian caravan has been halting during the day; late in theevening loud shouting and firing of guns announces them as prepared tostart on their night's journey. It is customary when going through thispart of Koordistan for the caravan men to fire guns and make as muchnoise as possible, in order to impress the Koords with exaggeratedideas concerning their strength and number; everybody in the Sheikh'stent thoroughly understands the meaning of the noisy demonstration, andthe men exchange significant smiles. The firing and the shouting producea truly magical effect upon a blood-thirsty youngster of ten or twelvesummers; he becomes wildly hilarious, gamboling about the tent, androlling over and kicking up his heels. He then goes to the Sheikh, pointsto me, and draws his finger across his throat, intimating that he wouldlike the privilege of cutting somebody's throat, and why not let him cutmine. The Sheikh and others laugh at this, but instead of chiding himfor his tragical demonstration, they favor him with the same admiringglances that grown people bestow upon precocious youngsters the worldover. Under these circumstances of abject fear on the one hand, andinbred propensity for violence and plunder on the other, it is reallysurprising to find the Koords in Persian territory behaving themselvesas well as they do. Quilts are provided for me, and I occupy this samecompartment of the tent, in common with several of the younger men. Inthe morning, before departing, I am regaled with bread and rich, newcream, and when leaving the tent I pause a minute to watch the busy scenein the female department. Some are churning butter in sheep-skin churnswhich are suspended from poles and jerked back and forth; others areweaving carpets, preparing curds for cheese, baking bread, and otherwiseindustriously employed. I depart from the Koordish camp thoroughlysatisfied with my experience of their hospitality, but the ceruleanwaist-scarf bestowed upon me by our Hungarian friend Igali, at Belgrade, no longer adds its embellishments to my personal adornments. Whenever afavorable opportunity presents, certain young men belonging to the noblearmy of hangers-on about the Sheikh's apartments invariably glide inside, and importune the guest from Frangistan for any article of his clothingthat excites the admiration of their semi-civilized minds. This scarf, they were doubtless penetrating enough to observe, formed no necessarypart of my wardrobe, and a dozen times in the evening, and again in themorning, I was worried to part with it, so I finally presented it to oneof them. He hastily hid it away among his clothes and disappeared, asthough fearful, either that the Sheikh might see it and make him returnit, or that one of the chieftain's favorites might take a fancy to itand summarily appropriate it to his own use. 

Not more than five miles eastward from the camp, while trundling over astretch of stony ground, I am accosted by a couple of Koordiah shepherds;but as the country immediately around is wild and unfrequented, save byKoords, and knowing something of their little weaknesses toward travellersunder tempting, one-sided conditions, I deem it advisable to pay aslittle heed to them as possible. Seeing that I have no intention ofhalting, they come running up, and undertake to forcibly detain me byseizing hold of the bicycle, at the same time making no pretence ofconcealing their eager curiosity concerning the probable contents of myluggage. Naturally disapproving of this arbitrary conduct, I push themroughly away. With a growl more like the voice of a wild animal than ofhuman beings, one draws his sword and the other picks up a thick knobbedstick that he had dropped in order to the better pinch and sound mypackages. Without giving them time to reveal whether they seriouslyintend attacking me, or only to try intimidation, I have them nicelycovered with the Smith & Wesson. They seem to comprehend in a momentthat I have them at a disadvantage, and they hurriedly retreat a shortdistance, executing a series of gyral antics, as though expecting me tofire at their legs. They are accompanied by two dogs, tawny-coatedmonsters, larger than the largest mastiffs, who now proceed to makethings lively and interesting around myself and the bicycle. Keeping therevolver in my hand, and threatening to shoot their dogs if they don'tcall them away, I continue my progress toward where the stony groundterminates in favor of smooth camel-paths, about' a hundred yards fartheron. At this juncture I notice several other "gentle shepherds " comingracing down from the adjacent knolls; but whether to assist their comradesin catching and robbing me, or to prevent a conflict between us, willalways remain an uncertainty. I am afraid, however, that with the advantageon their side, the Koordish herdsmen rarely trouble themselves about anysuch uncongenial task as peace-making. Reaching the smooth ground beforeany of the new-comers overtake me, I mount and speed away, followed bywild yells from a dozen Koordish throats, and chased by a dozen of theirdogs. Upon sober second thought, when well away from the vicinity, Iconclude this to have been a rather ticklish incident; had they attackedme in the absence of anything else to defend myself with, I should havebeen compelled to shoot them; the nearest Persian village is about tenmiles distant; the absence of anything like continuously ridable roadwould have made it impossible to out-distance their horsemen, and aPersian village would have afforded small security against a party ofenraged Koords, after all. The first village I arrive at to-day, I againattempt the "skedaddling" dodge on them that proved so successful onone occasion yesterday; but I am foiled by a rocky "jump-off" in theroad to-day. The road is not so favorable for spurting as yesterday, and the racing ryots grab me amid much boisterous merriment ere * Iovercome the obstruction; they take particular care not to give me anotherchance until the arrival of the Khan. The country hereabouts consistsof gravelly, undulating plateaus between the mountains, and well-worncamel-paths afford some excellent wheeling. Near mid-day, while laboriouslyascending a long but not altogether unridable ascent, I meet a coupleof mounted soldiers; they obstruct my road, and proceed to deliverthemselves of voluble Tabreez Turkish, by which I understand that theyare the advance guard of a party in which there is a Ferenghi (the Persianterm for an Occidental). While talking with them I am somewhat taken bysurprise at seeing a lady on horseback and two children in a kajaveh(mule panier) appear over the slope, accompanied by about a dozen Persians. 

If I am surprised, the lady herself not unnaturally evinces even greaterastonishment at the apparition of a lone wheelman here on the caravanroads of Persia; of course we are mutually delighted. With the assistanceof her servant, the lady alights from the saddle and introduces herselfas Mrs. E--, the wife of one of the Persian missionaries; her husbandhas lately returned home, and she is on the way to join him. The Persiansaccompanying her comprise her own servants, some soldiers procured ofthe Governor of Tabreez by the English consul to escort her as far asthe Turkish frontier, and a couple of unattached travellers keeping withthe party for company and society. A mule driver has charge of pack-mulescarrying boxes containing, among other things, her husband's library. During the course of ten minutes' conversation the lady informs me thatshe is compelled to travel in this manner the whole distance to Trebizond, owing to the practical impossibility of passing through Bussian territorywith the library. Were it not for this a comparatively short and easyjourney would take them to Tiflis, from which point there would be steamcommunication with Europe. Ere the poor lady gets to Trebizond she willbe likely to reflect that a government so civilized as the Czar's mightrelax its gloomy laws sufficiently to allow the affixing of officialseals to a box of books, and permit its transportation through thecountry, on condition-if they will-that it should not be opened intransit; surely there would be no danger of the people's minds beingenlightened -not even a little bit-by coming in contact with a librarytightly boxed and sealed. At the frontier an escort of Turkish zaptiehswill take the place of the Persian soldiers, and at Erzeroum themissionaries will, of course, render her every assistance to Trebizond;but it is not without feelings of anxiety for the health of a ladytravelling in this rough manner unaccompanied by her natural protector, that I reflect on the discomforts she must necessarily put up withbetween here and Erzeroum. She seems in good spirits, however, and saysthat meeting me here in this extraordinary manner is the "most romantic"incident in her whole experiences of missionary life in Persia. Likemany another, she says, she can I scarcely conceive it possible that Iam travelling without attendants and without being able to speak thelanguages. One of the unattached travellers gives me a note ofintroduction to Mohammed. Ali Khan, the Governor of Peri, a suburbanvillage of Khoi, which I expect to reach some time this afternoon. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

PERSIA AND THE TABREEZ CARAVAN TRAIL. 

A SHORT trundle to the summit of a sloping pass, and then a windingdescent of several miles brings me to a position commanding a view ofan extensive valley that looks from this distance as lovely as a dreamyvision of Paradise. An hour later and I am bowling along beneath overhangingpeach and mulberry trees, following a volunteer horseman to Mohammed AliKhan's garden. Before reaching the garden a gang of bare-legged laborersengaged in patching up a mud wall favor me with a fusillade of stones, one of which caresses me on the ankle, and makes me limp like a Greenwichpensioner when I dismount a minute or two afterward. This is theirpeculiar way of complimenting a lone Ferenghi. Mohammed Ali Khan is foundto be rather a moon-faced individual under thirty, who, together withhis subordinate officials, are occupying tents in a large garden. Here, during the summer, they dispense justice to applicants for the samewithin their jurisdiction, and transact such other official business asis brought before them. In Persi, the distribution of justice consistschiefly in the officials ruthlessly looting the applicants of everythinglootable, and the weightiest task of the officials is intriguing togetheragainst the pocket of the luckless wight who ventures upon seeking equityat their hands. A sorrowful-visaged husbandman is evidently experiencingthe easy simplicity of Persian civil justice as I enter the garden; hewears the mournful expression of a man conscious of being irretrievablydoomed, while the festive Kahn and his equally festive moonshi bashi(chief secretary) are laying their wicked heads together and whisperingmysteriously, fifty paces away from everybody, ever and anon lookingsuspiciously around as though fearful of the presence of eavesdroppers. After duly binning, a young man called Abdullah, who seems to be at thebeck and call of everybody, brings forth the samovar, and we drink thecustomary tea of good fellowship, after which they examine such of mymodest effects as take their fancy. The moonshi bashi, as becomes a manof education, is quite infatuated with my pocket map of Persia; the factthat Persia occupies so great a space on the map in comparison with thesmall portions of adjoining countries visible around the edges makes apowerful appeal to his national vanity, and he regards me with increasedaffection every time I trace out for him the comprehensive boundary lineof his native Iran. After nightfall we repair to the principal tent, andMohammed Ali Khan and his secretary consume the evening hours in thejoyous occupation of alternately smoking the kalian (Persian water-pipe, not unlike the Turkish nargileh, except that it has a straight steminstead of a coiled tube), and swallowing glasses of raw arrack everyfew minutes; they furthermore amuse themselves by trying to induce meto follow their noble example, and in poking fun at another young manbecause his conscientious scruples regarding the Mohammedan injunctionagainst intoxicants forbids him indulging with them. About eight o'clockthe Khan becomes a trifle sentimental and very patriotic. Producing apair of silver-mounted horse-pistols from a corner of the tent, andwaving them theatrically about, he proclaims aloud his mighty devotionto the Shah. At nine o'clock Abdullah brings in the supper. The Khan'svertebra has become too limp and willowy to enable him to sit upright, and he has become too indifferent to such coarse, un-spiritual thingsas stewed chicken and musk-melons to care about eating any, while themoonshi bashi's affection for me on account of the map has become sooverwhelming that he deliberately empties all the chicken on to my sheetof bread, leaving none whatever for himself and the phenomenal youngperson with the conscientious scruples. 

When bedtime arrives it requires the united exertions of Abdullah andthe phenomenal young man to partially undress Mohammed Ali Khan and draghim to his couch on the floor, the Kahn being limp as a dish-rag and amoderately bulky person. The moonshi bashi, as becomes an individual oflesser rank and superior mental attainments, is not quite so helplessas his official superior, but on retiring he humorously reposes his feeton the pillow and his head on nothing but the bare floor of the tent, and stubbornly refuses to permit Abdullah to alter either his pillow orhis position. The phenomenal young man and myself likewise seek ourrespective pile of quilts, Abdullah removes the lamp, draws a curtainover the entrance of the tent, and retires. 

The Persians, as representing the Shiite division of the Mohammedanreligion, consider themselves by long odds the holiest people on theearth, far holier than the Turks, whom they religiously despise asSunnites and unworthy to loose the latchets of their shoes. The Koranstrictly enjoins upon them great moderation in the use of intoxicatingdrinks, yet certain of the Persian nobility are given to drinking thisraw intoxicant by the quart daily. When asked why they don't use it inmoderation, they reply, " What is the good of drinking arrack unless onedrinks enough to become drunk and happy. " Following this brilliant idea, many of them get " drank and happy " regularly every evening. Theylikewise frequently consume as much as a pint before each meal to createa false appetite and make themselves feel boozy while eating. In themorning the moonshi bashi, with a soldier for escort, accompanies me onhorseback to Khoi, which is but about seven miles distant over a perfectlylevel road. Sad to say, the moonshi bashi, besides his yearning affectionfor fiery, untamed arrack, is a confirmed opium smoker, and after lastnight's debauch for supper and "hitting the pipe " this morning forbreakfast, he doesn't feel very dashing in the saddle; consequently Ihave to accommodate myself to his pace. It is the slowest seven milesever ridden on the road by a wheelman, I think; a funeral procession isa lively, rattling affair, beside our onward progress toward the mudbattlements of Khoi, but there is no help for it. Whenever I venture tothe fore a little the dreamy-eyed moonshi bashi regards me with a gazeof mild reproachfulness, and sings out in a gently-chide-the-erring toneof voice: "Kardash. Kardash. " meaning " f we are brothers, why do youseem to want to leave me. " Human nature could scarcely be proof againstan appeal wherein endearment and reproach are so beautifully andharmoniously blended, and it always brings me back to a level with hishorse. Reaching the suburbs of Khoi, I am initiated into a new departure - newto myself at this time - of Persian sanctimoniousness. Halting at a fountainto obtain a drink, the soldier shapes himself for pouring the water outof the earthenware drinking vessel into my hands; supposing this to bemerely an indication of the Persian's own method of drinking, I motionmy preference for drinking out of the jar itself. The soldier looksappealingly toward the moonshi bashi, who tells him to let me drink, andthen orders him to smash the jar. It then dawns upon my unenlightenedmind, that being a Ferenghi, I should have known better than to havetouched my unhallowed lips to a drinking vessel at a public fountain, defiling it by so doing, so that it must be smashed in order that thesons of the "true prophet" may not unwittingly drink from it afterwardand themselves become defiled. The moonshi bashi pilots me to the residenceof a certain wealthy citizen outside the city walls; this person, a mild-mannered, purring-voiced man, is seated in a room with a couple ofseyuds, or descendants of the prophet; they are helping themselves froma large platter of the finest, pears, peaches, and egg plums I ever sawanywhere. The room is carpeted with costly rugs and carpets in whichone's feet sink perceptibly at every step; the walls and ceiling areartistically stuccoed, and the doors and windows are gay with stainedglass. Abandoning myself to the guidance of the moonshi bashi, I ridearound the garden-walks, show them the bicycle, revolver, map of Persia, etc. ; like the moonshi bashi, they become deeply interested in the map, finding much amusement and satisfaction in having me point out thelocation of different Persian cities, seemingly regarding my ability todo so as evidence of exceeding cleverness and erudition. The untravelledPersians of the northern provinces regard Teheran as the grand idea ofa large and important city; if there is any place in the whole worldlarger and more important, they think it may perhaps be Stamboul. Thefact that Stamboul is not on my map while Teheran is, they regard asconclusive proof of the superiority of their own capital. The moonshibashi's chief purpose in accompanying me hither has been to introduceme to the attention of the "hoikim"; although the pronunciation is alittle different from hakim, I attribute this to local brogue, and havebeen surmising this personage to be some doctor, who, perhaps, havinggraduated at a Frangistan medical college, the moonshi bashi thinks willbe able to converse with me. After partaking of fruit and tea we continueon our way to the nearest gate-way of the city proper, Khoi beingsurrounded by a ditch and battlemented mud wall. Arriving at a large, public inclosure, my guide sends in a letter, and shortly afterwarddelivers me over to some soldiers, who forthwith conduct me into thepresence of - not a doctor, but Ali Khan, the Governor of the city, anofficer who hereabouts rejoices in the title of the "hoikim. " TheGovernor proves to be a man of superior intelligence; he has been Persianambassador to France some time ago, and understands French fairly well;consequently we manage to understand each other after a fashion. Althoughhe has never before seen a bicycle, his knowledge of the mechanicalingenuity of the Ferenghis causes him to regard it with more intelligencethan an un-travelled native, and to better comprehend my journey and itsobject. Assisted by a dozen mollahs (priests) and officials in flowinggowns and henna-tinted beards and finger-nails, the Governor is transactingofficial business, and he invites me to come into the council chamberand be seated. In a few minutes the noon-tide meal is announced; theGovernor invites me to dine with them, and then leads the way into thedining-room, followed by his counsellors, who form in line behind himaccording to their rank. The dining-room is a large, airy apartment, opening into an extensive garden; a bountiful repast is spread on yellow-checkered tablecloths on the carpeted floor; the Governor squats cross-legged at one end, the stately-looking wiseacres in flowing gowns rangethemselves along each side in a similar attitude, with much solemnityand show of dignity; they - at least so I fancy - evidently are anything butrejoiced at the prospect of eating with an infidel Ferenghi. The Governor, being a far more enlightened and consequently less bigoted personage, looks about him a trifle embarrassed, as if searching for some placewhere he can seat me in a position of becoming honor without offendingthe prejudices of his sanctimonious counsellors. Noticing this, I atonce come to his relief by taking the position farthest from him, attempting to imitate them in their cross-legged attitude. My unhappyattempt to sit in this uncomfortable attitude - uncomfortable at least toanybody unaccustomed to it - provokes a smile from His Excellency, and hestraightway orders an attendant to fetch in a chair and a small table;the counsellors look on in silence, but they are evidently too deeplyimpressed with their own dignity and holiness to commit themselves toany such display of levity as a smile. A portion of each dish is placedupon my table, together with a travellers' combination knife, fork andspoon, a relic, doubtless, of the Governor's Parisian experience. HisExcellency having waited and kept the counsellors waiting until thesepreparations are finished, motions for me to commence eating, and thenbegins himself. The repast consists of boiled mutton, rice pillau withcurry, mutton chops, hard-boiled eggs with lettuce, a pastry of sweetenedrice-flour, musk-melons, water-melons, several kinds of fruit, and forbeverage glasses of iced sherbet; of all the company I alone use knife, fork, and plates. Before each Persian is laid a broad sheet of bread;bending their heads over this they scoop up small handfuls of pillau, and toss it dextrously into their mouths; scattering particles missingthe expectantly opened receptacle fall back on to the bread; this handysheet of bread is used as a plate for placing a chop or anything elseon, as a table-napkin for wiping finger-tips between courses, and nowand then a piece is pulled off and eaten. When the meal is finished, anattendant waits on each guest with a brazen bowl, an ewer of water anda towel. After the meal is over the Governor is no longer handicappedby the religious prejudices of the mollahs, and leaving them he invitesme into the garden to see his two little boys go through their gymnasticexercises. They are clever little fellows of about seven and nine, respectively, with large black eyes and clear olive complexions; allthe time we are watching them the Governor's face is wreathed in a fond, parental smile. The exercises consist chiefly in climbing a thick ropedangling from a cross-beam. After seeing me ride the bicycle the Governorwants me to try my hand at gymnastics, but being nothing of a gymnast Irespectfully beg to be excused. While thus enjoying a pleasant hour inthe garden, a series of resounding thwacks are heard somewhere near by, and looking around some intervening shrubs I observe a couple of far-rashesbastinadoing a culprit; seeing me more interested in this novel methodof administering justice than in looking at the youngsters trying toclimb ropes, the Governor leads the way thither. The man, evidently aryot, is lying on his back, his feet are lashed together and held solesuppermost by means of an horizontal pole, while the farrashes brisklybelabor them with willow sticks. The soles of the ryot's feet are hardand thick as rhinoceros hide almost from habitually walking barefooted, and under these conditions his punishment is evidently anything butsevere. The flagellation goes merrily and uninterruptedly forward untilfifty sticks about five feet long and thicker than a person's thumb arebroken over his feet without eliciting any signals of distress from thehorny-hoofed ryot, except an occasional sorrowful groan of "A-l-l-ah. "He is then loosed and limps painfully away, but it looks like a ratherhypocritical limp, after all; fifty sticks, by the by, is a comparativelylight punishment, several hundred sometimes being broken at a singlepunishment. Upon taking my leave the Governor kindly details a coupleof soldiers to show me to the best caravanserai, and to remain and protectme from the worry and annoyance of the crowds until my departure fromthe city. Arriving at the caravanserai, my valiant protectors undertaketo keep the following crowd from entering the courtyard; the crowd refusesto see the justice of this arbitrary proceeding, and a regular pitchedbattle ensues in the gateway. The caravanserai-jees reinforce the soldiers, and by laying on vigorously with thick sticks, they finally put therabble to flight. They then close the caravanserai gates until theexcitement has subsided. Khoi is a city of perhaps fifty thousandinhabitants, and among them all there is no one able to speak a word ofEnglish. Contemplating the surging mass of woolly-hatted Persians fromthe bala-khana (balcony; our word is taken from the Persian), of thecaravanserai, and hearing nothing but unintelligible language, I detectmyself unconsciously recalling the lines: " Oh it was pitiful; in a wholecity full--. " It is the first large city I have visited without findingsomebody capable of speaking at least a few words of my own language. Locking the bicycle up, I repair to the bazaar, my watchful and zealousattendants making the dust fly from the shoulders of such unlucky wightswhose eager inquisitiveness to obtain a good close look brings themwithin the reach of their handy staves. We are followed by immense crowds, a Ferenghi being a rara avis in Khoi, and the fame of the wonderful asp-i (horse of iron) has spread like wild-fire through the city. In thebazaar I obtain Russian silver money, which is the chief currency of thecountry as far east as Zendjan. Partly to escape from the worrying crowds, and partly to ascertain the way out next morning, as I intend making anearly start, I get the soldiers to take me outside the city wall andshow me the Tabreez road. 

A new caravanserai is in process of construction just outside the Tabreezgate, and I become an interested spectator of the Persian mode of buildingthe walls of a house; these of the new caravanserai are nearly four feetthick. Parallel walls of mud bricks are built up, leaving an interspaceof two feet or thereabouts; this is filled with stiff, well-worked mud, which is dumped in by bucketsful and continually tramped by barefootedlaborers; harder bricks are used for the doorways and windows. Thebricklayer uses mud for mortar and his hands for a trowel; he workswithout either level or plumb-line, and keeps up a doleful, melancholychant from morning to night. The mortar is handed to him by an assistantby handsful; every workman is smeared and spattered with mud from headto foot, as though glorying in covering themselves with the trade-markof their calling. 

Strolling away from the busy builders we encounter a man the "waterboy of the gang"- bringing a three-gallon pitcher of water from aspring half a mile away. Being thirsty, the soldiers shout for him tobring the pitcher. Scarcely conceiving it possible that these humblemud-daubers would be so wretchedly sanctimonious, I drink from the jar, much to the disgust of the poor water-carrier, who forthwith emptiesthe remainder away and returns with hurried trot to the spring for afresh supply; he would doubtless have smashed the vessel had it beensmaller and of lesser value. Naturally I feel a trifle conscience-strickenat having caused him so much trouble, for he is rather an elderly man, but the soldiers display no sympathy for him whatever, apparently regardingan humble water-carrier as a person of small consequence anyhow, andthey laugh heartily at seeing him trotting briskly back half a mile foranother load. Had he taken the first water after a Ferenghi had drankfrom it and allowed his fellow-workmen to unwittingly partake of thesame, it would probably have fared badly with the old fellow had theyfound it out afterward. 

Returning cityward we meet our friend, the moonshi bashi, looking me up;he is accompanied by a dozen better-class Persians, scattering friendsand acquaintances of his, whom he hag collected during the day chieflyto show them my map of Persia; the mechanical beauty of the bicycle andthe apparent victory over the laws of equilibrium in riding it being, in the opinion of the scholarly moonshi bashi, quite overshadowed by amap which shows Teheran and Khoi, and doesn't show Stamboul, and whichshows the whole broad expanse of Persia, and only small portions of othercountries. This latter fact seems to have made a very deep impressionupon the moonshi banhi's mind; it appears to have filled him with theunalterable conviction that all other countries are insignificant comparedwith Persia; in his own mind this patriotic person has always believedthis to be the case, but he is overjoyed at finding his belief verified -as he fondly imagines - by the map of a Ferenghi. Returning to thecaravanserai, we find the courtyard crowded with people, attracted bythe fame of the bicycle. The moonshi bashi straightway ascends to thebala-khana, tenderly unfolds my map, and displays it for the inspectionof the gaping multitude below; while five hundred pairs of eyes gazewonderingly upon it, without having the slightest conception of whatthey are looking at, he proudly traces with his finger the outlines ofPersia. It is one of the most amusing scenes imaginable; the moonshibashi and myself, surrounded by his little company of friends, occupyingthe bala-khana, proudly displaying to a mixed crowd of fully five hundredpeople a shilling map as a thing to be wondered at and admired. 

After the departure of the moonshi bashi and his friends, by invitationI pay a visit of curiosity to a company of dervishes (they themselvespronounce it "darwish") occupying one of the caravanserai rooms. Thereare eight of them lolling about in one small room; their appearance isdisgusting and yet interesting; they are all but naked in deference tothe hot weather and to obtain a little relief from the lively tenantsof their clothing. Prominent among their effects are panther or leopardskins which they use as cloaks, small steel battle-axes, and huge spikedclubs. Their whole appearance is most striking and extraordinary; theirlong black hair is dangling about their naked shoulders; they have thewild, haggard countenances of men whose lives are being spent in debaucheryand excesses; nevertheless, most of them have a decidedly intellectualexpression. The Persian dervishes are a strange and interesting people;they spend their whole lives in wandering from one end of the countryto another, subsisting entirely by mendicancy; yet their cry, insteadof a beggar's supplication for charity, is "huk, huk" (my right, myright); they affect the most wildly, picturesque and eccentric costumes, often wearing nothing whatever but white cotton drawers and a leopardor panther skin thrown, carelessly about their shoulders, besides whichthey carry a huge spiked club or steel battle-axe and an alms-receiver;this latter is usually made of an oval gourd, polished and suspendedon small brass chains. Sometimes they wear an embroidered conical capdecorated with verses from the Koran, but often they wear no head-gearsave the covering provided by nature. The better-class Persians havelittle respect for these wandering fakirs; but their wild, eccentricappearance makes a deep impression upon the simple-hearted villagers, and the dervishes, whose wits are sharpened by constant knocking about, live mostly by imposing on their good nature and credulity. A couple ofthese worthies, arriving at a small village, affect their wildest andmost grotesque appearance and proceed to walk with stately, majestictread through the streets, gracefully brandishing their clubs or battle-axes, gazing fixedly at vacancy and reciting aloud from the Koran witha peculiar and impressive intonation; they then walk about the villageholding out their alms-receiver and shouting "huk yah huk! huk yah huk "Half afraid of incurring their displeasure, few of the villagersrefuse to contribute a copper or portable cooked provisions. Most dervishesare addicted to the intemperate use of opium, bhang (a preparation ofIndian hemp), arrack, and other baleful intoxicants, generally indulgingto excess whenever they have collected sufficient money; they are likewisecredited with all manner of debauchery; it is this that accounts fortheir pale, haggard appearance. The following quotation from "In theLand of the Lion and Sun, " and which is translated from the Persian, iseloquently descriptive of the general appearance of the dervish: Thedervish had the dullard air, The maddened look, the vacant stare, Thatbhang and contemplation give. He moved, but did not seem to live; Hisgaze was savage, and yet sad; What we should call stark, staring mad. All down his back, his tangled hair Flowed wild, unkempt; his head wasbare; A leopard's skin was o'er him flung; Around his neck huge beadswere hung, And in his hand-ah! there's the rub- He carried a portentousclub. After visiting the dervishes I spend an hour in an adjacent tchai-khan drinking tea with my escort and treating them to sundry well-deservedkalians. Among the rabble collected about the doorway is a half-wittedyoungster of about ten or twelve summers with a suit of clothes consistingof a waist string and a piece of rag about the size of an ordinary pen-wiper. He is the unfortunate possessor of a stomach disproportionatelylarge and which intrudes itself upon other people's notice like a prizepumpkin at an agricultural fair. This youth's chief occupation appearsto be feeding melon-rinds to a pet sheep belonging to the tchai-khan andplaying a resonant tattoo on his abnormally obtrusive paunch with thepalms of his hands. This produces a hollow, echoing sound like strikingan inflated bladder with a stuffed club; and considering that the youthalso introduces a novel and peculiar squint into the performance, it isa remarkably edifying spectacle. Supper-time coming round, the soldiersshow the way to an eating place, where we sup off delicious bazaar-kabobs, one of the most tasteful preparations of mutton one could well imagine. The mutton is minced to the consistency of paste and properly seasoned;it is then spread over flat iron skewers and grilled over a glowingcharcoal fire; when nicely browned they are laid on a broad pliable sheetof bread in lieu of a plate, and the skewers withdrawn, leaving beforethe customer a dozen long flat fingers of nicely browned kabobs reposingside by side on the cake of wheaten bread-a most appetizing and digestibledish. Returning to the caravanserai, I dismiss my faithful soldiers witha suitable present, for which they loudly implore the blessings of Allahon my head, and for the third or fourth time impress upon the caravanseraijesthe necessity of making my comfort for the night his special consideration. They fill that humble individual's mind with grandiloquent ideas of mypersonal importance by dwelling impressively on the circumstance of myhaving eaten with the Governor, a fact they likewise have lost noopportunity of heralding throughout the bazaar during the afternoon. Thecaravanserai-jee spreads quilts and a pillow for me on the open bala-khana, and I at once prepare for sleep. A gentle-eyed and youthful seyud wearingan enormous white turban and a flowing gown glides up to my couch andbegins plying me with questions. The soldiers noticing this as they areabout leaving the court-yard favor him with a torrent of imprecationsfor venturing to disturb my repose; a score of others yell fiercely athim in emulation of the soldiers, causing the dreamy-eyed youth to hastilyscuttle away again. Nothing is now to be heard all around but the eveningprayers of the caravanserai guests; listening to the multitudinous criesof Allah-il-Allah around me, I fall asleep. About midnight I happen towake again; everything is quiet, the stars are shining brightly downinto the court-yard, and a small grease lamp is flickering on the floornear my head, placed there by the caravan-serai-jee after I had fallenasleep. The past day has been one full of interesting experiences; fromthe time of leaving the garden of Mohammed Ali Khan this morning incompany with the moonshi bashi, until lulled to sleep three hours agoby the deep-voiced prayers of fanatical Mohammedans the day has proveda series of surprises, and I seem more than ever before to have been thesport and plaything of fortune; however, if the fickle goddess neverused anybody worse than she has used me to-day there would be littlecause for complaining. 

As though to belie their general reputation of sanctimoniousness, a tall, stately seyud voluntarily poses as my guide and protector en route throughthe awakening bazaar toward the Tabreez gate next morning, cuffingobtrusive youngsters right and left, and chiding grown-up people whenevertheir inordinate curiosity appeals to him as being aggressive and impolite;one can only account for this strange condescension on the part of thisholy man by attributing it to the marvellous civilizing and levellinginfluence of the bicycle. Arriving outside the gate, the crowd of followersare well repaid for their trouble by watching my progress for a coupleof miles down a broad straight roadway admirably kept and shaded withthrifty chenars or plane-trees. Wheeling down this pleasant avenue Iencounter mule-trains, the animals festooned with strings of merrilyjingling bells, and camels gayly caparisoned, with huge, nodding tasselson their heads and pack-saddles, and deep-toned bells of sheet ironswinging at their throats and sides; likewise the omnipresent donkeyheavily laden with all manner of village produce for the Khoi market. My road after leaving the avenue winds around the end of projectinghills, and for a dozen miles traverses a gravelly plain that ascendswith a scarcely perceptible gradient to the summit of a ridge; it thendescends by a precipitous trail into the valley of Lake Ooroomiah. Following along the northern shore of the lake I find fairly level roads, but nothing approaching continuous wheeling, owing to wash-outs and smallstreams leading from a range of mountains near by to the left, betweenwhich and the briny waters of the lake my route leads. Lake Ooroomiahis somewhere near the size of Salt Lake, Utah, and its waters are soheavily impregnated with saline matter that one can lie down on thesurface and indulge in a quiet, comfortable snooze; at least, this iswhat I am told by a missionary at Tabreez who says he has tried ithimself; and even allowing for the fact that missionaries are but humanafter all and this gentleman hails originally from somewhere out West, there is no reason for supposing the statement at all exaggerated. HadI heard of this beforehand I should certainly have gone far enough outof my course to try the experiment of being literally rocked on thecradle of the deep. Near midday I make a short circuit to the north, toinvestigate the edible possibilities of a village nestling in a cul-de-sacof the mountain foot-hills. The resident Khan turns out to be a regularjovial blade, sadly partial to the flowing bowl. When I arrive he isperseveringly working himself up to the proper pitch of booziness forenjoying his noontide repast by means of copious potations of arrack;he introduces himself as Hassan Khan, offers me arrack, and cordiallyinvites me to dine with him. After dinner, when examining my revolver, map, etc. , the Khan greatly admires a photograph of myself as a peculiarproof of Ferenghi skill in producing a person's physiognomy, and blandlyasks me to "make him one of himself, " doubtless thinking that a personcapable of riding on a wheel is likewise possessed of miraculous all'round abilities. 

The Khan consumes not less than a pint of raw arrack during the dinnerhour, and, not unnaturally, finds himself at the end a trifle funny andventuresome. When preparing to take my departure he proposes that I givehim a ride on the bicycle; nothing loath to humor him a little in returnfor his hospitality, I assist him to mount, and wheel him around for afew minutes, to the unconcealed delight of the whole population, whogather about to see the astonishing spectacle of their Khan riding onthe Ferenghi's wonderful asp-i-awhan. The Khan being short and pudgy isunable to reach the pedals, and the confidence-inspiring fumes of arracklead him to announce to the assembled villagers that if his legs wereonly a little longer he could certainly go it alone, a statement thatevidently fills the simple-minded ryots with admiration for the Khan'salleged newly-discovered abilities. 

The road continues level but somewhat loose and sandy; the scenery aroundbecomes strikingly beautiful, calling up thoughts of "Arabian Nights "entertainments, and the genii and troubadours of Persian song. The bright, blue waters of Lake Ooroomiah stretch away southward to where the dimoutlines of mountains, a hundred miles away, mark the southern shore;rocky islets at a lesser distance, and consequently more pronounced incharacter and contour, rear their jagged and picturesque forms sheerfrom the azure surface of the liquid mirror, the face of which is unruffledby a single ripple and unspecked by a single animate or inanimate object;the beach is thickly incrusted with salt, white and glistening in thesunshine; the shore land is mingled sand and clay of a deep-red color, thus presenting the striking and beautiful phenomena of a lake shorepainted red, white, and blue by the inimitable hand of nature. A rangeof rugged gray mountains run parallel with the shore but a few milesaway; crystal streams come bubbling lake-ward over pebble-bedded channelsfrom sources high up the mountain slopes; villages, hidden amid grovesof spreading jujubes and graceful chenars, nestle here and there in therocky gateways of ravines; orchards and vineyards are scattered aboutthe plain. They are imprisoned within gloomy mud walls, but, like livingcreatures struggling for their liberty, the fruit-laden branches extendbeyond their prison-walls, and the graceful tendrils of the vines findtheir way through the sun-cracks and fissures of decay, and trail overthe top as though trying to cover with nature's charitable veil theunsightly works of man; and all is arched over with the cloudless Persiansky. 

Beaming the roads of this picturesque region in search of victims is amost persistent and pugnacious species of fly; rollicking as the blue-bottle, and the veritable double of the green-head horsefly of the Westernprairies, he combines the dash and impetuosity of the one with theferocity and persistency of the other; but he is happily possessed ofone redeeming feature not possessed by either of the above-mentioned andwell-known insects of the Western world. When either of these settleshimself affectionately on the end of a person's nose, and the person, smarting under the indignity, hits himself viciously on that helplessand unoffending portion of his person, as a general thing it doesn'thurt the fly, simply because the fly doesn't wait long enough to be hurt;but the Lake Ooroomiah fly is a comparatively guileless insect, andquietly remains where he alights until it suits one's convenience toforcibly remove him; for this redeeming quality I bespeak for him thewarmest encomiums of fly-harassed humans everywhere. Dusk is settlingdown over the broad expanse of lake, plain, and mountain when I encountera number of villagers taking donkey-loads of fruit and almonds from anorchard to their village. They cordially invite me to accompany them andaccept their hospitality for the night. They are travelling toward alarge area of walled orchards but a short distance to the north, and Inaturally expect to find their village located among them; so, not knowinghow far ahead the next village may be, I gladly accept their kindlyinvitation, and follow along behind. It gets dusky, then duskier, thendark; the stars come peeping out thicker and thicker, and still I amtrundling with these people slowly along up the dry and stone-strewnchannel of spring-time freshets, expecting every minute to reach theirvillage, only to be as often disappointed, for over an hour, during whichwe travel out of my proper course perhaps four miles. Finally, aftercrossing several little streams, or rather; one stream several times, we arrive at our destination, and I am installed, as the guest of aleading villager, beneath a sort of open porch attached to the house. Here, as usual, I quickly become the centre of attraction for a wonderingand admiring audience of half-naked villagers. The villager whose guestI become brings forth bread and cheese, some bring me grapes, othersnewly gathered almonds, and then they squat around in the dim religiouslight of primitive grease-lamps and watch me feed, with the same wonderinginterest and the same unconcealed delight with which youthful Londonersat the Zoological Gardens regard a pet monkey devouring their offeringsof nuts and ginger-snaps. I scarcely know what to make of these particularvillagers; they seem strangely childlike and unsophisticated, and moreover, perfectly delighted at my unexpected presence in their midst. It isdoubtful whether their unimportant little village among the foothillswas ever before visited by a Ferenghi; consequently I am to them a raraavis to be petted and admired. I am inclined to think them a village ofYezeeds or devilworshippers; the Yezeeds believe that Allah, being bynature kind and merciful, would not injure anybody under any circumstances, consequently there is nothing to be gained by worshipping him. Sheitan(Satan), on the contrary, has both the power and the inclination to dopeople harm, therefore they think it politic to cultivate his good-willand to pursue a policy of conciliation toward him by worshipping him andrevering his name. Thus they treat the name of Satan with even greaterreverence than Christians and Mohammedans treat the name of God. Independentof their hospitable treatment of myself, these villagers seem but littleadvanced in their personal habits above mere animals; the women are half-naked, and seem possessed of little more sense of shame than our originalancestors before the fall. There is great talk of kardash among them inreference to myself. They are advocating hospitality of a nature altogethertoo profound for the consideration of a modest and discriminating Ferenghi -hospitable intentions that I deem it advisable to dissipate at once byaffecting deep, dense ignorance of what they are discussing. 

In the morning they search the village over to find the wherewithal toprepare me some tea before my departure. Eight miles from the village Idiscover that four miles forward yesterday evening, instead of backward, would have brought me to a village containing a caravanserai. I naturallyfeel a trifle chagrined at the mistake of having journeyed eight unnecessarymiles, but am, perhaps, amply repaid by learning something of the uttersimplicity of the villagers before their character becomes influencedby intercourse with more enlightened people. 

My course now leads over a stony plain. The wheeling is reasonablygood, and I gradually draw away from the shore of Lake Ooroomiah. Melon-gardens and vineyards are frequently found here and there across theplain; the only entrance to the garden is a hole about three feet byfour in the high mud wall, and this is closed by a wooden door; an arm-hole is generally found in the wall to enable the owner to reach thefastening from the outside. Investigating one of these fastenings at acertain vineyard I discover a lock so primitive that it must have beeninvented by prehistoric man. A flat, wooden bar or bolt is drawn into amortise-like receptacle of the wall, open at the top; the man then daubsa handful of wet clay over it; in a few minutes the clay hardens and thedoor is fast. This is not a burglar-proof lock, certainly, and is onlydepended upon for a fastening during the temporary absence of the ownerin the day-time. During the summer the owner and family not infrequentlylive in the garden altogether. During the forenoon the bicycle is theinnocent cause of two people being thrown from the backs of theirrespective steeds. One is a man carelessly sitting sidewise on his donkey;the meek-eyed jackass suddenly makes a pivot of his hind feet and wheelsround, and the rider's legs as suddenly shoot upward. He franticallygrips his fiery, untamed steed around the neck as he finds himself over-balanced, and comes up with a broad grin and an irrepressible chuckleof merriment over the unwonted spirit displayed by his meek and humblecharger, that probably had never scared at anything before in all itslife. The other case is unfortunately a lady whose horse literally springsfrom beneath her, treating her to a clean tumble. The poor lady singsout "Allah!" rather snappishly at finding herself on the ground, sosnappishly that it leaves little room for doubt of its being an imprecation;but her rude, unsympathetic attendants laugh right merrily at seeing herfloundering about in the sand; fortunately, she is uninjured. AlthoughTurkish and Persian ladies ride a la Amazon, a position that is popularlysupposed to be several times more secure than side-saddles, it is anoticeable fact that they seem perfectly helpless, and come to grief themoment their steed shies at anything or commences capering about withanything like violence. 

On a portion of road that is unridable from sand I am captured by arowdyish company of donkey-drivers, returning with empty fruit-basketsfrom Tabreez. They will not be convinced that the road is unsuitable, and absolutely refuse to let me go without seeing the bicycle ridden. After detaining me until patience on my part ceases to be a virtue, andapparently as determined for their purpose as ever, I am finally compelledto produce the convincing argument with five chambers and rifled barrel. These crowds of donkey-men seem inclined to be rather lawless, andscarcely a day passes lately but what this same eloquent argument hasto be advanced in the interest of individual liberty. Fortunately themere sight of a revolver in the hands of a Ferenghi has the magicaleffect of transforming the roughest and most overbearing gang of ryotsinto peaceful, retiring citizens. The plain I am now traversing is abroad, gray-looking area surrounded by mountains, and stretching awayeastward from Lake Ooroomiah for seventy-five miles. It presents thesame peculiar aspect of Persian scenery nearly everywhere-a generalverdureless and unproductive country, with the barren surface here andthere relieved by small oases of cultivated fields and orchards. Thevillages being built solely of mud, and consequently of the same coloras the general surface, are undistinguishable from a distance, unlessrendered conspicuous by trees. Laboring under a slightly mistakenimpression concerning the distance to Tabreez, I push ahead in theexpectation of reaching there to-night; the plain becomes more generallycultivated; the caravan routes from different directions come to a focuson broad trails leading into the largest city in Persia, and which isthe great centre of distribution for European goods arriving by caravanto Trebizond. Coming to a large, scattering village, some time in theafternoon, I trundle leisurely through the lanes inclosed between loftyand unsightly mud walls thinking I have reached the suburbs of Tabreez;finding my mistake upon emerging on the open plain again, I am yet againdeceived by another spreading village, and about six o'clock find myselfwheeling eastward across an uncultivated stretch of uncertain dimensions. The broad caravan trail is worn by the traffic of centuries considerablybelow the level of the general surface, and consists of a number ofnarrow, parallel trails, along which swarms of donkeys laden with producefrom tributary villages daily plod, besides the mule and camel caravansfrom a greater distance. These narrow beaten paths afford excellentwheeling, and I bowl along quite briskly. As one approaches Tabreez, thecountry is found traversed by an intricate network of irrigating ditches, some of them works of considerable magnitude; the embankments on eitherside of the road are frequently high enough to obscure a horseman. Theseworks are almost as old as the hills themselves, for the cultivation ofthe Tabreez plain has remained practically an unchanged system for threethousand years, as though, like the ancient laws of the Medes and Persians, it also were made unchangeable. 

About dusk I fall in with another riotous crowd of homeward-bound fruitcarriers, who, not satisfied at seeing me ride past, want to stop me;one of them rushes up behind, grabs my package attached to the rearbaggage-carrier, and nearly causes an overthrow; frightening him off, Ispurt ahead, barely escaping two or three donkey cudgels hurled at mein pure wantonness, born of the courage inspired by a majority of twentyto one. There is no remedy for these unpleasant occurrences excepttravelling under escort, and the avoiding serious trouble or accidentbecomes a matter for every-day congratulation. At eighteen miles fromthe last village it becomes too dark to remain in the saddle withoutdanger of headers, and a short trundle brings me, not to Tabreez evennow, but to another village eight miles nearer. Here there is a largecaravanserai. Near the entrance is a hole-in-the-wall sort of a shopwherein I espy a man presiding over a tempting assortment of cantaloupes, grapes, and pears. The whirligig of fortune has favored me today withtea, blotting-paper ekmek, and grapes for breakfast; later on two smallwatermelons, and at 2 P. M. Blotting-paperekmek and an infinitesimal quantity of yaort (now called mast). It isunnecessary to add that I arrive in this village with an appetite thatwill countenance no unnecessary delay. Two splendid ripe cantaloupes, several fine bunches of grapes, and some pears are devoured immediately, with a reckless disregard of consequences, justifiable only on the groundsof semi-starvation and a temporary barbarism born of surroundingcircumstances. After this savage attack on the maivah-jee's stock, Ilearn that the village contains a small tchai-khan; repairing thither Istretch myself on the divan for an hour's repose, and afterward partakeof tea, bread, and peaches. At bed-time the khan-jee makes me up a couchon the divan, locks the doorinside, blows out the light, and then, afraid to occupy the same buildingwith such a dangerous-looking individual as myself, climbs to the roofthrough a hole in the wall. Eager villagers carry both myself and wheelacross a bridge-less stream upon resuming my journey to Tabreez nextmorning; the road is level and ridable, though a trifle deep with dustand sand, and in an hour I am threading the suburban lanes of the city. Along these eight miles I certainly pass not less than five hundred pack-donkeys en route to the Tabreez market with everything, from baskets ofthe choicest fruit in the world to huge bundles of prickly camel-thornand sacks of tezek for fuel. No animals in all the world, I should think, stand in more urgent need of the kindly offices of the Society for thePrevention of Cruelty to Animals than the thousands of miserable donkeysengaged in supplying Tabreez with fuel; their brutal drivers seem utterlycallous and indifferent to the pitiful sufferings of these patienttoilers. Numbers of instances are observed this morning where the rough, ill-fitting breech-straps and ropes have literally seesawed their waythrough the skin and deep into the flesh, and are still rasping deeperand deeper every day, no attempt whatever being made to remedy this evil;on the contrary, their pitiless drivers urge them on by prodding the rawsores with sharpened sticks, and by belaboring them unceasingly with aninstrument of torture in the shape of whips with six inches of ordinarytrace-chain for a lash. As if the noble army of Persian donkey driverswere not satisfied with the refinement of physical cruelty to which theyhave attained, they add insult to injury by talking constantly to theirdonkeys while driving them along, and accusing them of all the crimesin the calendar and of every kind of disreputable action. Fancy thebitter sense of humiliation that must overcome the proud, haughty spiritof a mouse-colored jackass at being prodded in an open wound with a sharpstick and hearing himself at the same time thus insultingly addressed:"Oh, thou son of a burnt father and murderer of thine own mother, wouldthat I myself had died rather than my father should have lived to seeme drive such a brute as thou art. " yet this sort of talk is habituallyindulged in by the barbarous drivers. While young, the donkeys' nostrilsare slit open clear up to the bridge-bone; this is popularly supposedamong the Persians to be an improvement upon nature in that it givesthem greater freedom of respiration. Instead of the well known cluckingsound used among ourselves as a persuasive, the Persian makes a soundnot unlike the bleating of a sheep; a stranger, being within hearing andout of sight of a gang of donkey drivers in a hurry to reach theirdestination, would be more likely to imagine himself in the vicinity ofa flock of sheep than anything else. As is usually the case, a volunteerguide bobs serenely up immediately I enter the city, and I followconfidently along, thinking he is piloting me to the English consulate, as I have requested; instead of this he steers me into the custom-houseand turns me over to the officials. These worthy gentlemen, after askingme to ride around the custom-house yard, pretend to become altogethermystified about what they ought to do with the bicycle, and in the absenceof any precedent to govern themselves by, finally conclude among themselvesthat the proper thing would be to confiscate it. Obtaining a guide toshow me to the residence of Mr. Abbott, the English consul-general, thatenergetic representative of Her Majesty's government smiles audibly atthe thoughts of their mystification, and then writes them a letter couchedin terms of humorous reproachfulness, asking them what in the name ofAllah and the Prophet they mean by confiscating a traveller's horse, hiscarriage, his camel, his everything on legs and wheels consolidated intothe beautiful vehicle with which he is journeying to Teheran to see theShah, and all around the world to see everybody and everything? - endingby telling them that he never in all his consular experiences heard ofa proceeding so utterly atrocious. He sends the letter by the consulatedragoman, who accompanies me back to the custom-house. The officers atonce see and acknowledge their mistake; but meanwhile they have beenexamining the bicycle, and some of them appear to have fallen violentlyin love with it; they yield it up, but it is with apparent reluctance, and one of the leading officials takes me into the stable, and showingme several splendid horses begs me to take my choice from among them andleave the bicycle behind. 

Mr. And Mrs. Abbott cordially invite me to become their guest whilestaying at Tabreez. To-day is Thursday, and although my original purposewas only to remain here a couple of days, the innovation from roughingit on the road, to roast duck for dinner, and breakfast in one's ownroom of a morning, coupled with warnings against travelling on the Sabbathand invitations to dinner from the American missionaries, proves asufficient inducement for me to conclude to stay till Monday, satisfiedat the prospect of reaching Teheran in good season. It is now somethingless than four hundred miles to Teheran, with the assurance of betterroads than I have yet had in Persia, for the greater portion of thedistance; besides this, the route is now a regular post route with chapar-khanas (post-houses) at distances of four to five farsakhs apart. OnFriday night Tabreez experienced two slight shocks of an earthquake, andin the morning Mr. Abbott points out several fissures in the masonry ofthe consulate, caused by previous visitations of the same undesirablenature; the earthquakes here seem to resemble the earthquakes of Californiain that they come reasonably mild and often. The place likewise awakensmemories of the Golden State in another and more appreciative particularnowhere, save perhaps in California, does one find such deliciousgrapes, peaches, and pears as at ancient Taurus, a specialty for whichit has been justly celebrated from time immemorial. On Saturday I takedinner with Mr. Oldfather, one of the missionaries, and in the eveningwe all pay a visit to Mr. Whipple and family, the consulate link-boylighting the way before us with a huge cylindrical lantern of transparentoiled muslin called a farnooze. These lanterns are always carried afternight before people of wealth or social consequence, varying in sizeaccording to the person's idea of their own social importance. The sizeof the farmooze is supposed to be an index of the social position of theperson or family, so that one can judge something of what sort of peopleare coming down the street, even on the darkest night, whenever theattendant link-boy heaves in sight with the farnooze. Some of thesesocial indicators are the size of a Portland cement barrel, even inPersia; it is rather a smile-provoking thought to think what tremendousfarnoozes would be seen lighting up the streets on gloomy evenings, werethis same custom prevalent among ourselves; few of us but what couldcall to memory people whose farnoozes would be little smaller than brewerymash-tubs, and which would have to be carried between six-foot link-boyson a pole. Ameer-i-Nazan, the Valiat or heir apparent to the throne, andat present nominal governor of Tabreez, has seen a tricycle in Teheran, one having been imported some time ago by an English gentleman in theShah's service; but the fame of the bicycle excites his curiosity andhe sends an officer around to the consulate to examine and report uponthe difference between bicycle and tricycle, and also to discover andexplain the modus operandi of maintaining one's balance on two wheels. The officer returns with the report that my machine won't even stand up, without somebody holding it, and that nobody but a Ferenghi who is inleague with Sheitan, could possibly hope to ride it. Perhaps it is thisalarming report, and the fear of exciting the prejudices of the mollahsand fanatics about him, by having anything to do with a person reportedon trustworthy authority to be in league with His Satanic Majesty, thatprevents the Prince from requesting me to ride before him in Tabreez;but I have the pleasure of meeting him at Hadji Agha on the evening ofthe first day out. Mr. Whippie kindly makes out an itinerary of thevillages and chapar-khanas I shall pass on the journey to Teheran; thesuperintendent of the Tabreez station of the Indo-European TelegraphCompany voluntarily telegraphs to the agents at Miana and Zendjan whento expect rne, and also to Teheran; Mrs. Abbott fills my coat pocketswith roast chicken, and thus equipped and prepared, at nine o'clock onMonday morning I am ready for the home-stretch of the season, beforegoing into winter quarters. 

The Turkish consul-general, a corpulent gentleman whose avoirdupois Imentally jot down at four hundred pounds, comes around with severalothers to see me take a farewell spin on the bricked pavements of theconsulate garden. Like all persons of four hundred pounds weight, theEffendi is a good-natured, jocose individual, and causes no end ofmerriment by pretending to be anxious to take a spin on the bicyclehimself, whereas it requires no inconsiderable exertion on his part towaddle from his own residence hard by into the consulate. Three soldiersare detailed from the consulate staff to escort me through the city; enroute through the streets the pressure of the rabble forces one unluckyindividual into one of the dangerous narrow holes that abound in thestreets, up to his neck; the crowd yell with delight at seeing him tumblein, and nobody stops to render him any assistance or to ascertain whetherhe is seriously hurt. Soon a poor old ryot on a donkey, happens amidthe confusion to cross immediately in front of the bicycle; whack! whack!whack! come the ready staves of the zealous and vigilant soldiers acrossthe shoulders of the offender; the crowd howls with renewed delight atthis, and several hilarious hobble-de-hoys endeavor to shove one of theircompanions in the place vacated by the belabored ryot, in the hope thathe likewise will come in for the visitation of the soldiers' o'er- willingstaves. The broad suburban road, where the people have been fondlyexpecting to see the bicycle light out in earnest for Teheran at amarvellous rate of speed, is found to be nothing less than a bed of loosesand and stones, churned up by the narrow hoofs of multitudinous donkeys. Quite a number of better class Persians accompany me some distance furtheron horseback; when taking their departure, a gentleman on a splendidArab charger, shakes hands and says: "Good-by, my dear, " which apparentlyis all the English he knows. He has evidently kept his eyes and earsopen when happening about the English consulate, and the happy thoughtstriking him at the moment, he repeats, parrot-like, this term ofendearment, all unsuspicious of the ridiculousness of its applicationin the present case. 

For several miles the road winds tortuously over a range of low, stonyhills, the surface being generally loose and unridable. The water-supplyof Tabreez is conducted from these hills by an ancient system of kanaatsor underground water-ditches; occasionally one comes to a sloping cavernleading down to the water; on descending to the depth of from twenty toforty feet, a small, rapidly-coursing stream of delicious cold water isfound, well rewarding the thirsty traveller for his trouble; sometimesthese cavernous openings are simply sloping, bricked archways, providedwith steps. The course of these subterranean water-ways can always betraced their entire length by uniform mounds of earth, piled up at shortintervals on the surface; each mound represents the excavations from aperpendicular shaft, at the bottom of which the crystal water can beseen coursing along toward the city; they are merely man-holes for thepurpose of readily cleaning out the channel of the kanaat. The water isconducted underground, chiefly to avoid the waste by evaporation andabsorption in surface ditches. These kanaats are very extensive affairsin many places; the long rows of surface mounds are visible, stretchingfor mile after mile across the plain as far as eye can penetrate, oruntil losing themselves among the foot-hills of some distant mountainchain; they were excavated in the palmy days of the Persian Empire tobring pure mountain streams to the city fountains and to irrigate thethirsty plain; it is in the interest of self-preservation that thePersians now keep them from falling into decay. At noon, while seatedon a grassy knoll discussing the before-mentioned contents of my pockets, I am favored with a free exhibition of what a physical misunderstandingis like among the Persian ryots. Two companies of katir-jees happen toget into an altercation about something, and from words it graduallydevelops into blows; not blows of the fist, for they know nothing offisticuffs, but they belabor each other vigorously with their long, thickdonkey persuaders, sticks that are anything but small and willowy; itis an amusing spectacle, and seated on the commanding knoll nibbling"drum-sticks" and wish-bones, I can almost fancy myself a Roman of old, eating peanuts and watching a gladiatorial contest in the amphitheatre. The similitude, however, is not at all striking, for thick as are theirquarter-staffs the Persian ryots don't punish each other very severely. Whenever one of them works himself up to a fighting-pitch, he commencesbelaboring one of the others on the back, apparently always striking sothat the blow produces a maximum of noise with a minimum of punishment;the person thus attacked never ventures to strike back, but retreatsunder the blows until his assailant's rage becomes spent and he desists. Meanwhile the war of words goes merrily forward; perchance in a fewminutes the person recently attacked suddenly becomes possessed of acertain amount of rage-inspired courage, and he in turn commences avigorous assault upon somebody, probably his late assailant; this worthy, having become a little cooler, has mysteriously lost his late pugnacity, and now likewise retreats without once attempting to raise his own stickin self-defence. The lower and commercial class Persians are prettyquarrelsome among themselves, but they quarrel chiefly with their tongues;when they fight without sticks it is an ear-pulling, clothes-tugging, wrestling sort of a scuffle, which continues without greater injury thana torn garment until they become exhausted if pretty evenly matched, oruntil separated by bystanders; they never, never hurt each other unlessthey are intoxicated, when they sometimes use their short swords; thereis no intoxication, except in private drinking-parties. 

CHAPTER XX. 

TABREEZ TO TEHERAN. 

The wheeling improves in the afternoon, and alongside my road runs a bitof civilization in the shape of the splendid iron poles of the Indo-EuropeanTelegraph Company. Half a dozen times this afternoon I become the imaginaryenemy of a couple of cavalrymen travelling in the same direction asmyself; they swoop down upon me from the rear at a charging gallop, valiantly whooping and brandishing their Martini-Henrys; when they arrivewithin a few yards of my rear wheel they swerve off on either side andrein their fiery chargers up, allowing me to forge ahead; they amusethemselves by repeating this interesting performance over and over again. Being usually a good rider, the dash and courage of the Persian cavalrymanis something extraordinary in time of peace; no more brilliant andintrepid cavalry charge on a small scale could be well imagined than Ihave witnessed several times this afternoon. But upon the outbreak ofserious hostilities the average warrior in the Shah's service suddenlybecomes filled with a wild, pathetic yearning after the peaceful andhonorable calling of a katir-jee, an uncontrollable desire to become ahumble, contented tiller of the soil, or handy-man about a tchaikhan, anything, in fact, of a strictly peaceful character. Were I a hostiletrooper with a red jacket, and a general warlike appearance, and thebicycle a machine gun, though our whooping, charging cavalrymen weretwenty instead of two, they would only charge once, and that would bewith their horses' crimson-dyed tails streaming in the breeze toward me. The Shah's soldiers are gentle, unwarlike creatures at heart; there areprobably no soldiers in the whole world that would acquit themselvesless creditably in a pitched battle; they are, nevertheless, not withoutcertain soldierly qualities, well adapted to their country; the cavalrymenare very good riders, and although the infantry does not present a veryencouraging appearance on the parade-ground, they would meander acrossfive hundred miles of country on half rations of blotting-paper ekmekwithout any vigorous remonstrance, and wait uncomplainingly for theirpay until the middle of next year. About five o'clock I arrive at HadjiAgha, a large village forty miles from Tabreez; here, as soon as it isascertained that I intend remaining over night, I am actually beset byrival khan-jees, who commence jabbering and gesticulating about themerits of their respective establishments, like hotel-runners in theUnited States; of course they are several degrees less rude and boisterous, and more considerate of one's personal inclinations than their prototypesin America, but they furnish yet another proof that there is nothing newunder the sun. Hadji Agha is a village of seyuds, or descendants of theProphet, these and the mollahs being the most bigoted class in Persia;when I drop into the tchai-khan for a glass or two of tea, the sanctimoniousold joker with henna-tinted beard and finger-nails, presiding over thesamovar, rolls up his eyes in holy horror at the thoughts of waitingupon an unhallowed Ferenghi, and it requires considerable pressure fromthe younger and less fanatical men to overcome his disinclination; heprobably breaks the glass I drank from after my departure. 

About dusk the Valiat and his courtiers arrive on horseback from Tabreez;the Prince immediately seeks my quarters at the khan, and, after examiningthe bicycle, wants me to take it out and ride; it is getting rather dark, however, so I put him off till morning; he remains and smokes cigaretteswith me for half an hour, and then retires to the residence of the localKhan for the night. The Prince seems an amiable, easy-going sort of aperson; while in my company his countenance is wreathed in a pleasantsmile continually, and I fancy he habitually wears that same expression. His youthful courtiers seem frivolous young bloods, putting in most ofthe half-hour in showing me their accomplishments in the way of makingfloating rings of their cigarette smoke. Later in the evening I strollaround to the tchai-khan again; it is the gossiping-place of the village, and I find our sanctimonious seyuds indulging in uncomplimentary commentsregarding the Yaliat's conduct in hobnobbing with the Ferenghi; howbigoted these Persians are, and yet how utterly destitute of principleand moral character. In the morning the Prince sends me an invitationto come and drink tea with them before starting out; he bears the sameperennial smile as yesterday evening. Although he is generally understoodto be completely under the influence of the fanatical and bigoted seyudsand mollahs, who are strictly opposed to the Ferenghi and the Fereughi'sideas of progress and civilization, he seems withal an amiable, well-disposedyoung man, whom one could scarce help liking personally, arid feelingsorry at the troubles in store for him ahead. He has an elder brother, the Zil-es-Sultan, now governor of the Southern Provinces; but not beingthe son of a royal princess, the Shah has nominated Ameer-i-Nazan as hissuccessor to the throne. The Zil-es-Sultan, although of a somewhat crueldisposition, has proved himself a far more capable and energetic personthan the Valiat, and makes no secret of the fact that he intends disputingthe succession with his brother, by force of arms if necessary, at theShah's demise. He has, so at least it is currently reported, had hissword-blade engraved with the grim inscription, "This is for the Valiat'shead, " and has jocularly notified his inoffensive brother of the fact. The Zil-es-Sultau belongs to the party of progress; recks little of theopinions of priests and fanatics, is fond of Englishmen and Europeanimprovements, and keeps a kennel of English bull dogs. Should he becomeShah of Persia, Baron Reuter's grand scheme of railways and commercialregeneration, which was foiled by the fanaticism of the seyuds and mollahssoon after the Shah's visit to England, may yet come to something, andthe railroad rails now rusting in the swamps of the Caspian littoralmay, after all, form part of a railway between the seaboard and thecapital. The road for a short distance east of Hadji Agha is splendidwheeling, and the Prince and his courtiers accompany me for some twomiles, finding much amusement in racing with me whenever the road permitsof spurting. The country now develops into undulating upland, uncultivatedand stone-strewn, except where an occasional stream, affording irrigatingfacilities, has rendered possible the permanent maintenance of a mudvillage and a circumscribed area of wheat-fields, melon-gardens, andvineyards. No sooner does one find himself launched upon the comparativelywell-travelled post-route than a difference becomes manifest in thecharacter of the people. Commercially speaking, the Persian is considerablymore of a Jew than the Jew himself, and along a route frequented bytravellers, the person possessing some little knowledge of the thievishways of the country and of current prices, besides having plenty of smallchange, finds these advantages a matter for congratulation almost everyhour of the day. The proprietor of a wretched little mud hovel, solemnlypresiding over a few thin sheets of bread, a jar of rancid, hirsutebutter, and a dozen half-ripe melons, affects a glum, sorrowful expressionto think that he should happen to be without small change, and consequentlyobliged to accept the Hamsherri's fifty kopec piece for provisions ofone-tenth the value; but the mysterious frequency of this same state ofaffairs and accompanying sorrowful expression, taken in connection withthe actual plenitude of small change in Persia, awakens suspicions evenin the mind of the most confiding and uninitiated person. A peculiarsystem of commercial mendicancy obtains among the proprietors of melonand cucumber gardens alongside the road of this particular part of thecountry; observing a likely-looking traveller approaching, they comerunning to him with a melon or cucumber that they know to be utterlyworthless, and beg the traveller to accept it as a present; delighted, perhaps with their apparent simple-hearted hospitality, and, moreover, sufficiently thirsty to appreciate the gift of a melon, the unsuspectingwayfarer tenders the crafty proprietor of the garden a suitable presentof money in return and accepts the proffered gift; upon cutting it openhe finds the melon unfit for anything, and it gradually dawns upon himthat he has just grown a trifle wiser concerning the inbred cunningnessand utter dishonesty of the Persians than he was before. Ere the day isended the same game will probably be attempted a dozen times. In additionto these artful customers, one occasionally comes across small coloniesof lepers, who, being compelled to isolate themselves from their fellows, have taken up their abode in rude hovels or caves by the road-side, andsally forth in all their hideousness to beset the traveller with piteouscries for assistance. Some of these poor lepers are loathsome in appearanceto the last degree; their scanty coverings of rags and tatters concealsnothing of the ravages of their dread disease; some sit at the entranceto their hovels, stretching out their hands and piteously appealing foralms; others drop down exhausted in the road while endeavoring to runand overtake the passer-by; there is nothing deceptive about thesewretched outcasts, their condition is only too glaringly apparent. Towardsundown I arrive at Turcomanchai, a large village, where in 1828, wasdrawn up the Treaty of Peace between Persia and Russia, which transferredthe remaining Persian territory of the Caucasus into the capacious mawof the Northern Bear. It is currently reported that after depriving thePersians of their rights to the navigation of the Caspian Sea the Czarcoolly gave his amiable friend the Shah a practical lesson concerningthe irony of fortune by presenting him with a yacht. Seeking the guidanceof a native to the caravanserai, this quick-witted individual leads theway through tortuous alleyways to the other end of the village and pilotsme to the camp of a tea caravan, pitched on the outskirts, thinking Ihad requested to be guided to a caravan; the caravan men direct me tothe chapar-khana, where accommodations of the usual rude nature areprovided. Sending into the village for eggs, sugar, and tea, the chapar-khana keeper and stablemen produce a battered samovar, and after fryingmy supper, they prepare tea; they are poor, ragged fellows, but theyseem light-hearted and contented; the siren song of the steaming samovarseems to a waken in their semi-civilized breasts a sympathetic response, and they fall to singing and making merry over tiny glasses of sweetenedtea quite as naturally as sailors in a seaport groggery, or Germans overa keg of lager. Jolly, happy-go-lucky fellows though they outwardlyappear, they prove no exception, however, to the general run of theircountrymen in the matter of petty dishonesty; although I gave them moneyenough to purchase twice the quantity of provisions they brought back, besides promising them the customary small present before leaving, inthe morning they make a further attempt on my purse under pretence ofpurchasing more butter to cook the remainder of the eggs. These aretrifling matters to discuss, but they serve to show the wide differencebetween the character of the peasant classes in Persia and Turkey. Thechapar-khana usually consists of a walled enclosure containing stablingfor a large number of horses and quarters for the stablemen and station-keeper. The quickest mode of travelling in Persia is by chapar, or, inother words, on horseback, obtaining fresh horses at each chapar-khana. The country east of Turcomanchai consists of rough, uninteresting upland, with nothing to vary the monotony of the journey, until noon, when afterwheeling five farsakhs I reach the town of Miana, celebrated throughoutthe Shah's dominions for a certain poisonous bug which inhabits the mudwalls of the houses, and is reputed to bite the inhabitants while theyare sleeping. The bite is said to produce violent and prolonged fever, and to be even, dangerous to life. It is customary to warn travellersagainst remaining over night at Miana, and, of course, I have not by anymeans been forgotten. Like most of these alleged dreadful things, it isfound upon close investigation to be a big bogey with just sufficienttruthfulness about it to play upon the imaginative minds of the people. The "Miana bug-bear" would, I think, be a more appropriate name thanMiana bug. The people here seem inclined to be rather rowdyish in theirreception of a Ferenghi without an escort. While trundling through thebazaar toward the telegraph station I become the unhappy target forcovertly thrown melon-rinds and other unwelcome missiles, for which thereappears no remedy except the friendly shelter of the station. This isjust outside the town, and before the gate is reached, stones are exchangedfor melon-rinds, but fortunately without any serious damage being done. Mr. F--, a young German operator, has charge of the control-station here, and welcomes me most cordially to share his comfortable quarters, urgingme to remain with him several days. I gladly accept his hospitality tilltomorrow morning. Mr. F-- has a brother who has recently become aMussulman, and married a couple of Persian wives; he is also residingtemporarily at Miana. He soon comes around to the telegraph station, and turns out to be a wild harum-skarum sort of a person, who regardshis transformation into a Mussulman and the setting up of a harem of hisown as anything but a serious affair. As a reward for embracing theMohammedan religion and becoming a Persian subject the Shah has givenhim a sum of money and a position in the Tabreez mint, besides bestowingupon him the sounding title of Mirza Ab-dul Karim Khan. It seems thatinducements of a like substantial nature are held out to any Ferenghiof known respectability who formally embraces the Shiite branch of theMohammedan religion, and becomes a Persian subject - a rare chance forchronic ne'er-do-wells among ourselves, one would think. 

This novel and festive convert to Islam readily gives me a mental peepbehind the scenes of Persian domestic life, and would unhesitatinglyhave granted me a peep in person had such a thing been possible. Imaginethe ordinary costume of an opera-bouffe artist, shorn of all regard forthe difference between real indecency and the suggestiveness of indelicacypermissible behind the footlights, and we have the every-day costume ofthe Persian harem. In the dreamy eventide the lord of the harem usuallybetakes himself to that characteristic institution of the East andproceeds to drive dull care away by smoking the kalian and watching anexhibition of the terpsichorean talent of his wives or slaves. This doesnot consist of dancing, such as we are accustomed to understand the art, but of graceful posturing and bodily contortions, spinning round like acoryphee, with hand aloft, and snapping their fingers or clashing tinybrass cymbals; standing with feet motionless and wriggling the joints, or bending backward until their loose, flowing tresses touch the ground. Persians able to afford the luxury have their womens' apartment walledwith mirrors, placed at appropriate angles, so that when enjoying theseexhibitions of his wives' abilities he finds himself not merely in thepresence of three or six wives, as the case may be, but surrounded onall sides by scores of airy-fairy nymphs, and amid the dreamy fumes andsoothing bubble-bubbling of his kalian can imagine himself the happy - orone would naturally think, unhappy - possessor of a hundred. The effectof this mirror-work arrangement can be better imagined than described. 

"You haven't got one of those mirrored rooms, have you?" I inquire, beginning to get a trifle inquisitive, and perhaps rather impertinent. "You couldn't manage to smuggle a fellow inside, disguised as a seyudor--" "Nicht, " replies Mirza Abdul Kaiim Khan, laughing, "I have notbothered about a mirror chamber yet, because I only remain here foranother month; but if you happen to come to Tabreez any time after I getsettled down there, look me up, and I'll-hello! here comes PrinceAssabdulla to see your velocipede!" Fatteh - Ali Shah, the grandfather ofthe present monarch, had some seventy-two sons, besides no lack ofdaughters. As the son of a prince inherits his father's title in Persia, the numerous descendants of Fatteh-Ali Shah are scattered all over theempire, and royal princes bob serenely up in every town of any consequencein the country. They are frequently found occupying some snug, but notalways lucrative, post under the Government. Prince Assabdulla has learnedtelegraphy, and has charge of the government control-station here, drawinga salary considerably less than the agent of the English company's line. The Persian Government telegraph line consists of one wire strung ontumble-down wooden poles. It is erected alongside the splendid Englishline of triple wires and substantial iron poles, and the control-stationsare built adjacent to the English stations, as though the Persians wererather timid about their own abilities as telegraphists, and preferredto nestle, as it were, under the protecting shadow of the English line. Prince Assabdulla has an elder brother who is Governor of Miana, and whocomes around to see the bicycle during the afternoon; they both seempleasant and agreeable fellows. "When the heat of the day has given placeto cooler eventide, and the moon comes peeping over the lofty KoflanKoo Mountains, near-by to the eastward, we proceed to a large fruit-gardenon the outskirts of the town, and, sitting on the roof of a building, indulge in luscious purple grapes as large as walnuts, and pears thatmelt away in the mouth. Mirza Abdul Karim Khan plays a German accordeon, and Prince Assabdulla sings a Persian love-song; the leafy branches ofpoplar groves are whispering in response to a gentle breeze, and playinghide-and-seek across the golden face of the moon, and the mountains haveassumed a shadowy, indistinct appearance. It is a scene of transcendentalloveliness, characteristic of a Persian moonlight night. 

Afterward we repair to Mirza Abdul Kiirim Khan's house to smoke thekalian and drink tea. His favorite wife, whom he has taught to respondto the purely Frangistan name of " Eosie, " replenishes and lights thekalian-giving it a few preliminary puffs herself by way of getting itunder headway before handing it to her husband-and then serves us withglasses of sweetened tea from the samovar. In deference to her Ferenghibrother-in-law and myself, Eosie has donned a gauzy shroud over theabove-mentioned in-door costume of the Persian female. "She is a beautifuldancer, " says her husband, admiringly, "I wish it were possible for youto see her dance this evening; bat it isn't; Eosie herself wouldn't mind, but it would be pretty certain to leak out, and Miana being a ratherfanatical place, my life wouldn't be worth that much, " and the Khancarelessly snapped his fingers. Supper is brought up to the telegraphstation. Prince Assabdulla is invited, and comes round with his servantbearing a number of cucumbers and a bottle of arrack; the Prince, beinga genuine Mohammedan, is forbidden by his religion to indulge; consequentlyhe consumes the fiery arrack in preference to some light and harmlessnative wine; such is the perversity of human nature. 

Two princes and a khan are cantering (not khan-tering) alongside thebicycle as I pull out eastward from Miana. They accompany me to the foot-hills approaching the Koflan Koo Pass, and wishing me a pleasant journey, turn their horses' heads homeward again. Reaching the pass proper, Ifind it to be an exceedingly steep trundle, but quite easy climbingcompared with a score of mountain passes in Asia Minor, for the surfaceis reasonably smooth, and toward the summit is an ancient stone causeway. A new and delightful experience awaits me upon the summit of the pass;the view to the westward is a revelation of mountain scenery altogethernew and novel in my experience, which can now scarcely be called unvaried. I seem to be elevated entirely above the surface of the earth, and gazingdown through transparent, ethereal depths upon a scene of everchangingbeauty. Fleecy cloudlets are floating lazily over the valley far belowmy position, producing on the landscape a panoramic scene of constantlychanging shadows; through the ethery depths, so wonderfully transparent, the billowy gray foothills, the meandering streams fringed with green, and Miana with its blue-domed mosques and emerald gardens, present aphantasmagorical appearance, as though they themselves were floatingabout in the lower strata of space, and undergoing constant transformation. Perched on an apparently inaccessible crag to the north is an ancientrobber stronghold commanding the pass; it is a natural fortress, requiringbut a few finishing touches by man to render it impregnable in the dayswhen the maintenance of robber strongholds were possible. Owing to itswalls and battlements being chiefly erected by nature, the Persianpeasantry call it the Perii-Kasr, believing it to have been built byfairies. While descending the eastern slope, I surprise a gray lizardalmost as large as a rabbit, basking in the sunbeams; he briskly scuttlesoff into the rocks upon being disturbed. 

Crossing the Sefid Rud on a dilapidated brickwork bridge, I cross anotherrange of low hills, among which I notice an abundance of mica croppingabove the surface, and then descend on to a broad, level plain, extendingeastward without any lofty elevation as far as eye can reach. On thisshelterless plain I am overtaken by a furious equinoctial gale; it comeshowling suddenly from the west, obscuring the recently vacated KoflanKoo Mountains behind an inky veil, filling the air with clouds of dust, and for some minutes rendering it necessary to lie down and fairly hangon to the ground to prevent being blown about. First it begins to rain, then to hail; heaven's artillery echoes and reverberates in the KoflanKoo Mountains, and rolls above the plain, seeming to shake the hailstonesdown like fruit from the branches of the clouds, and soon I am envelopedin a pelting, pitiless downpour of hailstones, plenty large enough tomake themselves felt wherever they strike. To pitch my tent would havebeen impossible, owing to the wind and the suddenness of its appearance. In thirty minutes or less it is all over; the sun shines out warmly anddissipates the clouds, and converts the ground into an evaporator thatenvelops everything in steam. In an hour after it quits raining, theroad is dry again, and across the plain it is for the most part excellentwheeling. 

About four o'clock the considerable village of Sercham is reached; here, as at Hadji Aghi, I at once become the bone of contention between rivalkhan-jees wanting to secure me for a guest, on the supposition that Iam going to remain over night. Their anxiety is all unnecessary, however, for away off on the eastern horizon can be observed clusters of familiarblack dots that awaken agreeable reflections of the night spent in theKoordish camp between Ovahjik and Khoi. I remain in Sercham long enoughto eat a watermelon, ride, against my will, over rough ground to appeasethe crowd, and then pull out toward the Koordish camps which are evidentlysituated near my proper course. 

It seeins to have rained heavily in the mountains and not rained at alleast of Sercham, for during the next hour I am compelled to disrobe, andford several freshets coursing down ravines over beds that before thestorm were inches deep in dust, the approaching slopes being still dusty;this little diversion causes me to thank fortune that I have been enabledto keep in advance of the regular rainy season, which commences a littlelater. Striking a Koordish camp adjacent to the trail I trundle towardone of the tents; before reaching it I am overhauled by a shepherd whohands me a handful of dried peaches from a wallet suspended from hiswaist. The evening air is cool with a suggestion of frostiness, and theoccupants of the tent are found crouching around a smoking tezek fire;they are ragged and of rather unprepossessing appearance, but beinginstinctively hospitable, they shuffle around to make me welcome at thefire; at first I almost fancy myself mistaken in thinking them Koords, for there is nothing of the neatness and cleanliness of our lateacquaintances about them; on the contrary, they are almost as repulsiveas their sedentary relatives of Dele Baba-but a little questioning removesall doubt of their being Koords. They are simply an ill-conditionedtribe, without any idea whatever of thrift or good management. They haveevidently been to Tabreez or somewhere lately, and invested most of theproceeds of the season's shearing in three-year-old dried peaches thatare hard enough to rattle like pebbles; sacksful of these edibles arescattered all over the tent serving for seats, pillows, and generalutility articles for the youngsters to roll about on, jump over, andthrow around; everybody in the camp seems to be chewing these peachesand throwing them about in sheer wantonness because they are plentiful;every sack contains finger-holes from which one and all help themselvesad libitum in wanton disregard of the future. 

Nearly everybody seems to be suffering from ophthalmia, which is aggravatedby crouching over the densely smoking tezek; and one miserable-lookingold character is groaning and writhing with the pain of a severe stomach-ache. By loafing lazily about the tent all day, and chewing these flintydried peaches, this hopeful old joker has well-nigh brought himself tothe unhappy condition of the Yosemite valley mule, who broke into thetent and consumed half a bushel of dried peaches; when the huntersreturned to camp and were wondering what marauder had visited their tentand stolen the peaches, they heard a loud explosion behind the tent;hastily going out they discover the remnants of the luckless mule scatteredabout in all directions. Of course I am appealed to for a remedy, and Iam not sorry to have at last come across an applicant for my servicesas a hakim, for whose ailment I can prescribe with some degree ofconfidence; to make assurance doubly sure I give the sufferer a doubledose, and in the morning have the satisfaction of finding him entirelyrelieved from his misery. There seems to be no order or sense of goodmanners whatever among these people; we have bread and half-stewed peachesfor supper, and while they are cooking, ill-mannered youngsters areconstantly fishing them from the kettles with weed-stalks, meeting withno sort of reproof from their elders for so doing; when bedtime arrives, everybody seizes quilts, peach-sacks, etc. , and crawls wherever they canfor warmth and comfort; three men, two women, and several children occupythe same compartment as myself, and gaunt dogs are nosing hungrily aboutamong us. About midnight there is a general hallooballoo among the dogs, and the clatter of horses' hoofs is heard outside the tent; the occupantsof the tent, including myself, spring up, wondering what the disturbanceis all about. A group of horsemen are visible in the bright moonlightoutside, and one of them has dismounted, and under the guidance of ashepherd, is about entering the tent; seeing me spring up, and beingafraid lest perchance I might misinterpret their intentions and actaccordingly, he sings out in a soothing voice, "Kardash, Hamsherri;Kardash, Kardash. " thus assuring me of their peaceful intentions. Thesemidnight visitors turn out to be a party of Persian travellers fromMiana, from which it would appear they have less fear of the Koordshere than in Koordistan near the frontier; having, somehow, found outmy whereabouts, they have come to try and persuade me to leave the campand join their company to Zenjan. Although my own unfavorable impressionsof my entertainers are seconded by the visitors' reiterated assurancesthat these Koords are bad people, I decline to accompany them, knowingthe folly of attempting to bicycle over these roads by moonlight in thecompany of horsemen who would be continually worrying me to ride, nomatter what the condition of the road; after remaining in camp half anhour they take their departure. 

In the morning I discover that my mussulman hat-band has mysteriouslydisappeared, and when preparing to depart, a miscellaneous collectionof females gather about me, seize the bicycle, and with much boisteroushilarity refuse to let me depart until I have given each one of themsome money; their behavior is on the whole so outrageous, that I appealto my patient of yesterday evening, in whose bosom I fancy I may perchancehave kindled a spark of gratitude; but the old reprobate no longer hasthe stomach-ache, and he regards my unavailing efforts to break awayfrom my hoi-denish tormentors with supreme indifference, as though therewere nothing extraordinary in their conduct. The demeanor of these wild-eyed Koordish females on this occasion fully convinces me that the storiesconcerning their barbarous conduct toward travellers captured on theroad is not an exaggeration, for while preventing my departure they seemto take a rude, boisterous delight in worrying me on all sides, like agang of puppies barking and harassing anything they fancy powerless todo them harm. After I have finally bribed my freedom from the women, themen seize me and attempt to further detain me until they can send fortheir Sheikh to come from another camp miles away, to see me ride. Afterwaiting a reasonable time, out of respect for their having accommodatedme with quarters for the night, and no signs of the Sheikh appearing, Idetermine to submit to their impudence no longer; they gather around meas before, but presenting my revolver and assuming an angry expression, I threaten instant destruction to the next one laying hands on eithermyself or the bicycle; they then give way with lowering brows and sullengrowls of displeasure. My rough treatment on this occasion compared withmy former visit to a Koordish camp, proves that there is as much differencebetween the several tribes of nomad Koords, as between their sedentaryrelatives of Dele Baba and Malosman respectively; for their generalreputation, it were better that I had spent the night in Sercham. A fewmiles from the camp, I am overtaken by four horsemen followed by severaldogs and a pig; it proves to be the tardy Sheikh and his retainers, whohave galloped several miles to catch me up; the Sheikh is a pleasant, intelligent fellow of thirty or thereabouts, and astonishes me byaddressing me as "Monsieur;" they canter alongside for a mile or so, highly delighted, when the Sheikh cheerily sings out "Adieu, monsieur!"and they wheel about and return; had their Sheikh been in the camp Istayed at, my treatment would undoubtedly have been different. I am atthe time rather puzzled to account for so strange a sight as a piggalloping briskly behind the horses, taking no notice of the dogs whichcontinually gambol about him; but I afterward discover that a pet pig, trained to follow horses, is not an unusual thing among the Persians andPersian Koords; they are thin, wiry animals of a sandy color, and quitecapable of following a horse for hours; they live in the stable withtheir equine companions, finding congenial occupation in rooting aroundfor stray grains of barley; the horses and pig are said to become verymuch attached to each other; when on the road the pig is wont to signifyits disapproval of a too rapid pace, by appealing squeaks and grunts, whereupon the horse responsively slacks its speed to a more accommodatingspeed for its porcine companion. The road now winds tortuously along thebase of some low gravel hills, and the wheeling perceptibly improves;beyond Nikbey it strikes across the hilly country, and more trundlingbecomes necessary. At Nikbey I manage to leave the inhabitants in aprofound puzzle by replying that I am not a Ferenghi, but an Englishman;this seems to mystify them not a little, and they commence inquiringamong themselves for an explanation of the difference; they are probablyinquiring yet. Fifty-eight miles are covered from the Koordish camp, andat three o'clock the blue-tiled domes of the Zendjan mosques appear insight; these blue-tiled domes are more characteristic of Persian mosques, which are usually built of bricks, and have no lofty tapering minaretsas in Turkey; the summons to prayers are called from the top of a wallor roof. When approaching the city gate, a half-crazy man becomes wildlyexcited at the spectacle of a man on a wheel, and, rushing up, seizeshold of the handle; as I spring from the saddle he rapidly takes to hisheels; finding that I am not pursuing him, he plucks up courage, andtimidly approaching, begs me to let him see me ride again. Zendjan iscelebrated for the manufacture of copper vessels, and the rat-a-tat-tatof the workmen beating them out in the coppersmiths' quarters is heardfully a mile outside the gate; the hammering is sometimes deafening whiletrundling through these quarters, and my progress through it is indicatedby what might perhaps be termed a sympathetic wave of silence followingme along, the din ceasing at my approach and commencing again with renewedvigor after I have passed. 

Mr. F--, a Levantine gentleman in charge of the station here, fairlyoutdoes himself in the practical interpretation of genuine old-fashionedhospitality, which brooks no sort of interference with the comfort ofhis guest; understanding the perpetual worry a person travelling in soextraordinary a manner must be subject to among an excessively inquisitivepeople like the Persians, he kindly takes upon himself the duty ofprotecting me from anything of the kind during the day I remain over ashis guest, and so manages to secure me much appreciated rest and quiet. The Governor of the city sends an officer around saying that himself andseveral prominent dignitaries would like very much to see the bicycle. "Very good, replies Mr. F--, "the bicycle is here, and Mr. Stevens willdoubtless be pleased to receive His Excellency and the leading officialsof Zendjan any time it suits their convenience to call, and will probablyhave no objections to showing them the bicycle. " It is, perhaps, needlessto explain that the Governor doesn't turn up; I, however, have aninteresting visitor in the person of the Sheikh-ul-Islam (head of religiousaffairs in Zendjan), a venerable-looking old party in flowing gown andmonster turban, whose hands and flowing beard are dyed to a ruddy yellowwith henna. The Sheikh-ul-Islam is considered the holiest personage inZendjan and his appearance and demeanor does not in the least belie hisreputation; whatever may be his private opinion of himself, he makes farless display of sanctimoniousness than many of the common seyuds, whousually gather their garments about them whenever they pass a Ferenghiin the bazaar, for fear their clothing should become defiled by brushingagainst him. The Sheikh-ul-Islam fulfils one's idea of a gentle-bred, worthy-minded old patriarch; he examines the bicycle and listens to theaccount of my journey with much curiosity and interest, and bestows aflattering mead of praise on the wonderful ingenuity of the Ferenghisas exemplified in my wheel. 

>From Zeudjan eastward the road gradually improves, and after a dozenmiles develops into the finest wheeling yet encountered in Asia; thecountry is a gravelly plain between a mountain chain on the left and arange of lesser hills to the right. Near noon I pass through Sultaneah, formerly a favorite country resort of the Persian monarchs; on the broad, grassy plain, during the autumn, the Shah was wont to find amusement inmanoeuvring his cavalry regiments, and for several months an encampmentnear Sultaneah became the head-quarters of that arm of the service. TheShah's palace and the blue dome of a large mosque, now rapidly crumblingto decay, are visible many miles before reaching the village. The presenceof the Shah and his court doesn't seem to have exerted much of a refiningor civilizing influence on the common villagers; otherwise they haveretrograded sadly toward barbarism again since Sultaneah has ceased tobe a favorite resort. They appear to regard the spectacle of a loneFerenghi meandering through their wretched village on a wheel, as anopportunity of doing something aggressive for the cause of Islam not tobe overlooked; I am followed by a hooting mob of bare-legged wretches, who forthwith proceed to make things lively and interesting, by peltingme with stones and clods of dirt. One of these wantonly aimed missilescatches me square between the shoulders, with a force that, had it struckme fairly on the back of the neck, would in all probability have knockedme clean out of the saddle; unfortunately, several irrigating ditchescrossing the road immediately ahead prevent escape by a spurt, and nothingremains but to dismount and proceed to make the best of it. There areonly about fifty of them actively interested, and part of these beingmere boys, they are anything but a formidable crowd of belligerents ifone could only get in among them with a stuffed club; they seem butlittle more than human vermin in their rags and nakedness, and likevermin, the greatest difficulty is to get hold of them. Seeing me dismount, they immediately take to their heels, only to turn and commence throwingstones again at finding themselves unpursued; while I am retreating andactively dodging the showers of missiles, they gradually venture closerand closer, until things becoming too warm and dangerous, I drop thebicycle, and make a feint toward them; they then take to their heels, to return to the attack again as before, when I again commence retreating. Finally I try the experiment of a shot in the air, by way of notifyingthem of my ability to do them serious injury; this has the effect ofkeeping them at a more respectful distance, but they seem to understandthat I am not intending serious shooting, and the more expert throwersmanage to annoy me considerably until ridable ground is reached; seeingme mount, they all come racing pell-mell after me, hurling stones, andhowling insulting epithets after me as a Ferenghi, but with smooth roadahead I am, of course, quickly beyond their reach. 

The villages east of Sultaneah are observed to be, almost withoutexception, surrounded by a high mud wall, a characteristic giving themthe appearance of fortifications rather than mere agricultural villages;the original object of this was, doubtless, to secure themselves againstsurprises from wandering tribes; and as the Persians seldom think ofchanging anything, the custom is still maintained. Bushes are nowoccasionally observed near the roadside, from every twig of which a stripof rag is fluttering in the breeze; it is an ancient custom still keptup among the Persian peasantry when approaching any place they regardwith reverence, as the ruined mosque and imperial palace at Sultaneah, to tear a strip of rag from their clothing and fasten it to some roadsidebush; this is supposed to bring them good luck in their undertakings, and the bushes are literally covered with the variegated offerings ofthe superstitious ryots; where no bushes are handy, heaps of small stonesare indicative of the same belief; every time he approaches the well-knownheap, the peasant picks up a pebble, and adds it to the pile. Owing toa late start and a prevailing head-wind, but forty-six miles are coveredto-day, when about sundown I seek the accommodation of the chapar-khana, at Heeya; but, providing the road continues good, I promise myself topolish off the sixty miles between here and Kasveen, to-morrow. Thechaparkhana sleeping apartments at Heeya contain whitewashed walls andreed matting, and presents an appearance of neatness and cleanlinessaltogether foreign to these institutions previously patronized; here, also, first occurs the innovation from "Hamsherri" to "Sahib, " whenaddressing me in a respectful manner; it will be Sahib, from this pointclear to, through and beyond India; my various titles through the differentcountries thus far traversed have been; Monsieur, Herr, Effendi, Hamsherri, and now Sahib; one naturally wonders what new surprises are in storeahead. A bountiful supper of scrambled eggs (toke-mi-morgue) is obtainedhere, and the customary shake-down on the floor. After getting rid ofthe crowd I seek my rude couch, and am soon in the land of unconsciousness;an hour afterward I am awakened by the busy hum of conversation; and, behold, in the dim light of a primitive lamp, I become conscious ofseveral pairs of eyes immediately above me, peering with scrutinizinginquisitiveness into my face; others are examining the bicycle standingagainst the wall at my head. Rising up, I find the chapar-lchana crowdedwith caravan teamsters, who, going past with a large camel caravan fromthe Caspian seaport of Eesht, have heard of the bicycle, and come flockingto my room; I can hear the unmelodious clanging of the big sheet-ironbells as their long string of camels file slowly past the building. 

Daylight finds me again on the road, determined to make the best of earlymorning, ere the stiff easterly wind, which seems inclined to prevailof late, commences blowing great guns against me. A short distance out, I meet a string of some three hundred laden camels that have not yethalted after the night's march; scores of large camel caravans have beenencountered since leaving Erzeroum, but they have invariably been haltingfor the day; these camels regard the bicycle with a timid reserve, merelyswerving a step or two off their course as I wheel past; they all seemabout equally startled, so that my progress down the ranks simply causesa sort of a gentle ripple along the line, as though each successive camelwere playing a game of follow-my leader. The road this morning is nearlyperfect for wheeling, consisting of well-trodden camel-paths over a hardgravelled surface that of itself naturally makes excellent surface forcycling; there is no wind, and twenty-five miles are duly registered bythe cyclometer when I halt to eat the breakfast of bread and a portionof yesterday evening's scrambled eggs which I have brought along. Onpast Seyudoon and approaching Kasveen, the plain widens to a considerableextent and becomes perfectly level; apparent distances become deceptive, and objects at a distance assume weird, fantastic shapes; beautifulmirages hold out their allurements from all directions; the sombre wallsof villages present the appearance of battlemented fortresses rising upfrom the mirror-like surface of silvery lakes, and orchards and grovesseem shadowy, undefinable objects floating motionless above the earth. The telegraph poles traversing the plain in a long, straight line untillost to view in the hazy distance, appear to be suspended in mid-air;camels, horses, and all moving objects more than a mile away, presentthe strange optical illusion of animals walking through the air manyfeet above the surface of the earth. Long rows of kanaat mounds traversethe plain in every direction, leading from the numerous villages todistant mountain chains. Descending one of the sloping cavernous entrancesbefore mentioned, for a drink, I am rather surprised at observing numerousfishes disporting themselves in the water, which, on the comparativelylevel plain, flows but slowly; perhaps they are an eyeless variety similarto those found in the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky; still they get a glimmeringlight from the numerous perpendicular shafts. Flocks of wild pigeonsalso frequent these underground water-courses, and the peasantry sometimescapture them by the hundred with nets placed over the shafts; the kanaatsare not bricked archways, but merely tunnels burrowed through the ground. Three miles of loose sand and stones have to be trundled through beforereaching Kasveen; nevertheless my promised sixty miles are overcome, andI enter the city gate at 2 P. M. A trundle through several narrow, crookedstreets brings me to an inner gateway emerging upon a broad, smoothavenue; a short ride down this brings me to a large enclosure containingthe custom-house offices and a fine brick caravanserai. Yet anotherprince appears here in the person of a custom-house official; I readilygrant the requested privilege of seeing me ride, but the title of aPersian prince is no longer associated in my mind with greatness andimportance; princes in Persia are as plentiful as counts in Italy orbarons in Germany, yet it rather shocks one's dreams of the splendor ofOriental royalty to find princes manipulating the keys of a one wiretelegraph control-station at a salary of about forty dollars a month (25tomans), or attending to the prosy duties of a small custom-house. Kasveenis important as being the half-way station between Teheran and the Caspianport of Eesht, and on the highway of travel and commerce between NorthernPersia and Europe; added importance is likewise derived from its beingthe terminus of a broad level road from the capital, and where travellersand the mail from Teheran have to be transferred from wheeled vehiclesto the backs of horses for the passage over the rugged passes of theElburz mountains leading to the Caspian slope, or vice versa when goingthe other way. Locking the bicycle up in a room of the caravanserai, Itake a strolling peep at the nearest streets; a couple of lutis orprofessional buffoons, seeing me strolling leisurely about, come hurryingup; one is leading a baboon by a string around the neck, and the otheris carrying a gourd drum. Reaching me, the man with the baboon commencesmaking the most ludicrous grimaces and causes the baboon to caper wildlyabout by jerking the string, while the drummer proceeds to belabor thehead of his drum, apparently with the single object of extracting asmuch noise from it as possible. Putting my fingers to my ears I turnaway; ten minutes afterward I observe another similar combination makinga bee-line for my person; waving them off I continue on down the street;soon afterward yet a third party attempts to secure me for an audience. It is the custom for these strolling buffoons to thus present themselvesbefore persons on the street, and to visit houses whenever there isoccasion for rejoicing, as at a wedding, or the birth of a son; the lutisare to the Persians what Italian organ-grinders are among ourselves; Ifancy people give them money chiefly to get rid of their noise andannoyance, as we do to save ourselves from the soul-harrowing tones ofa wheezy crank organ beneath the window. Among the novel conveyancesobserved in the courtyard of the caravanserai is the takhtrowan, a largesedan chair provided with shafts at either end, and carried between twomules or horses; another is the before-mentioned kajaveh, an arrangementnot unlike a pair of canvas-covered dog kennels strapped across the backof an animal; these latter contrivances are chiefly used for carryingwomen and children. After riding around the courtyard several differenttimes for crowds continually coming, I finally conclude that there mustbe a limit to this sort of thing anyhow, and refuse to ride again; thenew-comers linger around, however, until evening, in the hopes that anopportunity of seeing me ride may present itself. A number of them thencontribute a handful of coppers, which they give to the proprietor of atributary tchai-khan to offer me as an inducement to ride again. Thewily Persians know full well that while a Ferenghi would scorn to accepttheir handful of coppers, he would probably be sufficiently amused atthe circumstance to reward their persistence by riding for nothing;telling the grinning khan-jee to pocket the coppers, I favor them with"positively the last entertainment this evening. " An hour later the khan-jee meets me going toward the bazaar in search of something for supper;inquiring the object of my search, he takes me back to his tchai-khan, points significantly to an iron kettle simmering on a small charcoalfire, and bids me be seated; after waiting on a customer or two, andsupplying me with tea, he quietly beckons me to the fire, removes thecover and reveals a savory dish of stewed chicken and onions: this hegenerously shares with me a few minutes later, refusing to accept anypayment. As there are exceptions to every rule, so it seems there areindividuals, even among the Persian commercial classes, capable ofgenerous and worthy impulses; true the khan-jee obtained more than thevalue of the supper in the handful of coppers - but gratitude is generallyunderstood to be an unknown commodity among the subjects of the Shah. Soon the obstreperous cries of "All Akbar, la-al-lah-il-allah" from thethroats of numbers of the faithful perched upon the caravanserai steps, stable-roof, and other conspicuous soul-inspiring places, announces theapproach of bedtime. My room is actually found to contain a towel andan old tooth-brush; the towel has evidently not been laundried for sometime and a public toothbrush is hardly a joy-inspiring object tocontemplate; nevertheless they are evidences that the proprietor of thecaravanserai is possessed of vague, shadowy ideas of a Ferenghi'srequirements. After a person has dried his face with the slanting sunbeamsof early morning, or with his pocket-handkerchief for weeks, the barepossibility of soap, towels, etc. , awakens agreeable reflections ofcoming comforts. At seven o'clock on the following morning I pull outtoward Teheran, now but six chopar-stations distant. Running parallelwith the road is the Elburz range of mountains, a lofty chain, separatingthe elevated plateau of Central Persia from the moist and wooded slopesof the Caspian Sea; south of this great dividing ridge the country isan arid and barren waste, a desert, in fact, save where irrigation redeemshere and there a circumscribed area, and the mountain slopes are grayand rocky. Crossing over to the northern side of the divide, one immediatelyfinds himself in a moist climate, and a country green almost as theBritish Isles, with dense boxwood forests covering the slopes of themountains and hiding the foot-hills beneath an impenetrable mantle ofgreen. The Elburz Mountains are a portion of the great water-shed ofCentral Asia, extending from the Himalayas up through Afghanistan andPersia into the Caucasus, and they perform very much the same office forthe Caspian slope of Persia, as the Sierra Nevadas do for the Pacificslope of California, inasmuch as they cause the moisture-laden cloudsrolling in from the sea to empty their burthens on the seaward, slopesinstead of penetrating farther into the interior. 

The road continues fair wheeling, but nothing compared with the roadbetween Zendjan and Kasveen; it is more of an artificial highway; thePersian government has been tinkering with it, improving it considerablyin some respects, but leaving it somewhat lumpy and unfinished generally, and in places it is unridable from sand and loose material on the surface;it has the appreciable merit of levelness, however, and, for Persia, isa very creditable highway indeed. At four farsakhs from Kasveen I reachthe chapar-khana of Cawanda, where a breakfast is obtained of eggs andtea; these two things are among the most readily obtained refreshmentsin Persia. The country this morning is monotonous and uninteresting, being for the most part a stony, level plain, sparsely covered with graycamel-thorn shrubs. Occasionally one sees in the distance a camp ofEliauts, one of the wandering tribes of Persia; their tents are smallerand of an entirely different shape from the Koordish tents, partakingmore of the nature of square-built movable huts than tents; these campsare too far off my road to justify paying them a visit, especially as Ishall probably have abundant opportunities before leaving the Shah'sdominions; but I intercept a straggling party of them crossing the road. They have a more docile look about them than the Koords, have more thegeneral appearance of gypsies, and they dress but little different fromthe ryots of surrounding villages. 

At Kishlock, where I obtain a dinner of bread and grapes, I find thecyclometre has registered a gain of thirty-two miles from Kasveen; ithas scarcely been an easy thirty-two miles, for I am again confrontedby a discouraging head breeze. Keaching the Shah Abbas caravanserai ofYeng-Imam (all first-class caravanserais are called Shah Abbas caravanserais, in deference to so many having been built throughout Persia by thatmonarch) about five o'clock, I conclude to remain here over night, havingwheeled fifty-three miles. Yeng-Imam is a splendid large brick serai, the finest I have yet seen in Persia; many travellers are putting uphere, and the place presents quite a lively appearance. In the centreof the court-yard is a large covered spring; around this is a garden ofrose-bushes, pomegranate trees, and flowers; surrounding the garden isa brick walk, and forming yet a larger square is the caravanserai buildingitself, consisting of a one-storied brick edifice, partitioned off intosmall rooms. The building is only one room deep, and each room opensupon a sort of covered porch containing a fireplace where a fire can bemade and provisions cooked. Attached to the caravanserai, usually beneaththe massive and roomy arched gateway, is a tchai-khan and a small storewhere bread, eggs, butter, fruit, charcoal, etc. , are to be obtained. The traveller hires a room which is destitute of all furniture; provideshis own bedding and cooking utensils, purchases provisions and a sufficiencyof charcoal, and proceeds to make himself comfortable. On a pinch onecan usually borrow a frying-pan or kettle of some kind, and in suchfirst-class caravanserais as YengImam there is sometimes one furnishedroom, carpeted and provided with bedding", reserved for the accommodationof travellers of importance. 

After the customary programme of riding to allay the curiosity andexcitement of the people, I obtain bread, fruit, eggs, butter to cookthem in, and charcoal for a fire, the elements of a very good supper fora hungry traveller. Borrowing a handleless frying-pan, I am setting aboutpreparing my own supper, when a respectable-looking Persian steps outfrom the crowd of curious on-lookers and voluntarily takes this ratheronerous duty out of my hands. Readily obtaining my consent, he quicklykindles a fire, and scrambles and fries the eggs. While my volunteercook is thus busily engaged, a company of distinguished travellers passingalong the road halt at the tchai-khan to smoke a kalian and drink tea. The caravanserai proprietor approaches me, and winking mysteriously, intimates that by going outside and riding for the edification of thenew arrivals I will be pretty certain to get a present of a keran (abouttwenty cents). As he appears anxious to have me accommodate them, Iaccordingly go out and favor them with a few turns on a level piece ofground outside. After they have departed the proprietor covertly offersme a half-keran piece in a manner so that everybody can observe himattempting to give me something without seeing the amount. The wilyPersian had doubtless solicited a present from the travellers for me, obtained, perhaps, a couple of kerans, and watching a favorable opportunity, offers me the half-keran piece; the wily ways of these people are severaldegrees more ingenious even than the dark ways and vain tricks of BretHarte's "Heathen Chinee. " Occupying one of the rooms are two youngnoblemen travelling with their mother to visit the Governor of Zendjan;after I have eaten my supper, they invite me to their apartments for theevening; their mother has a samovar under full headway, and a number ofhard boiled eggs. Her two hopeful sons are engaged in a drinking boutof arrack; they are already wildly hilarious and indulging in brotherlyembraces and doubtful love-songs. Their fond mother regards them withapproving smiles as they swallow glass after glass of the raw fieryspirit, and become gradually more intoxicated and hilarious. Instead ofchecking their tippling, as a fond and prudent Ferenghi mother wouldhave done, this indulgent parent encourages them rather than otherwise, and the more deeply intoxicated and hilariously happy the sons become, the happier seems the mother. About nine o'clock they fall to weepingtears of affection for each other and for myself, and degenerate intosuch maudlin sentimentality generally, that I naturally become disgusted, accept a parting glass of tea, and bid them good-evening. 

The caravanserai-Jee assigns me the furnished chamber above referred to;the room is found to be well carpeted, contains a mattress and an abundanceof flaming red quilts, and on a small table reposes a well-thumbed copyof the Koran with gilt lettering and illumined pages; for these reallycomfortable quarters I am charged the trifling sum of one keran. 

I am now within fifty miles of Teheran, my destination until spring-timecomes around again and enables me to continue on eastward toward thePacific; the wheeling continues fair, and in the cool of early morninggood headway is made for several miles; as the sun peeps over the summitof a mountain spur jutting southwarda short distance from the main Elburz Range, a wall of air comes rushingfrom the east as though the sun were making strenuous exertions to usherin the commencement of another day with a triumphant toot. Multitudesof donkeys are encountered on the road, the omnipresent carriers of thePersian peasantry, taking produce to the Teheran market; the only wheeledvehicle encountered between Kasveen and Teheran is a heavy-wheeled, cumbersome mail wagon, rattling briskly along behind four gallopinghorses driven abreast, and a newly imported carriage for some notableof the capital being dragged by hand, a distance of two hundred milesfrom Resht, by a company of soldiers. Pedalling laboriously against astiff breeze I round the jutting mountain spur about eleven o'clock, andthe conical snow-crowned peak of Mount Demavend looms up like a beacon-lightfrom among the lesser heights of the Elburz Range about seventy-fivemiles ahead. De-niavend is a perfect cone, some twenty thousand feet inheight, and is reputed to be the highest point of land north of theHimalayas. From the projecting mountain spur the road makes a bee-lineacross the intervening plain to the capital; a large willow-fringedirrigating ditch now traverses the stony plain for some distance parallelwith the road, supplying the caravanserai of Shahabad and several adjacentvillages with water. Teheran itself, being situated on the level plain, and without the tall minarets that render Turkish cities conspicuousfrom a distance, leaves one undecided as to its precise location untilwithin a few miles of the gate; it occupies a position a dozen or moremiles south of the base of the Elburz Mountains, and is flanked on theeast by another jutting spur; to the southward is an extensive plainsparsely dotted with villages, and the walled gardens of the wealthierTeheranis. 

At one o'clock on the afternoon of September 30th, the sentinels at theKasveen gate of the Shah's capital gaze with unutterable astonishmentat the strange spectacle of a lone Ferenghi riding toward them astridean airy wheel that glints and glitters in the bright Persian sunbeams. They look still more wonder-stricken, and half-inclined to think me somesupernatural being, as, without dismounting, I ride beneath the gaudilycolored archway and down the suburban streets. A ride of a mile betweendead mud walls and along an open business street, and I find myselfsurrounded by wondering soldiers and citizens in the great central top-maidan, or artillery square, and shortly afterward am endeavoring toeradicate some of the dust and soil of travel, in a room of a wretchedapology for an hotel, kept by a Frenchman, formerly a pastry-cook to theShah. My cyclometre has registered one thousand five hundred and seventy-sixmiles from Ismidt; from Liverpool to Constantinople, where I had nocyclometre, may be roughly estimated at two thousand five hundred, makinga total from Liverpool to Teheran of four thousand and seventy-six miles. In the evening several young Englishmen belonging to the staff of theIndo-European Telegraph Company came round, and re-echoing my own above-mentioned sentiments concerning the hotel, generously invite mo to becomea member of their comfortable bachelor establishment during my stay inTeheran. "How far do you reckon it from London to Teheran by yourtelegraph line. " I inquire of them during our after-supper conversation. "Somewhere in the neighborhood of four thousand miles, " is the reply. "What does your cyclometre say?"

CHAPTER XXI. 

TEHERAN. 

There is sufficient similarity between the bazaar, the mosques, theresidences, the suburban gardens, etc. , of one Persian city, and thesame features of another, to justify the assertion that the descriptionof one is a description of them all. But the presence of the Shah andhis court; the pomp and circumstance of Eastern royalty; the foreignambassadors; the military; the improvements introduced from Europe; theroyal palaces of the present sovereign; the palaces and reminiscencesof former kings - all these things combine to effectually elevate Teheranabove the somewhat dreary sameness of provincial cities. A person in thehabit of taking daily strolls here and there about the city will scarcelyfail of obtaining a glimpse of the Shah, incidentally, every few days. In this respect there is little comparison to be made between him andthe Sultan of Turkey, who never emerges from the seclusion of the palace, except to visit the mosque, or on extraordinary occasions; he is thendriven through streets between compact lines of soldiers, so that aglimpse of his imperial person is only to be obtained by taking considerabletrouble. Since the Shah's narrow escape from assassination at the handsof the Baabi conspirators in 1867, he has exercised more caution thanformerly about his personal safety. Previous to that affair, it wascustomary for him to ride on horseback well in advance of his body-guard;but nowadays, he never rides in advance any farther than etiquetterequires him to, which is about the length of his horse's neck. When hisfrequent outings take him beyond the city fortifications, he is generallyprovided with, both saddle-horse and carriage, thus enabling him tochange from one to the other at will. The Shah is evidently not indifferentto the fulsome flattery of the courtiers and sycophants about him, norinsensible of the pomp and vanity of his position; nevertheless he isnot without a fair share of common-sense. Perhaps the worst that can besaid of him is, that he seems content to prostitute his own more enlightenedand progressive views to the prejudices of a bigoted and fanaticalpriesthood. He seems to have a generous desire to see the country openedup to the civilizing improvements of the West, and to give the peoplean opportunity of emancipating themselves from their present deplorablecondition; but the mollahs set their faces firmly against all reform, and the Shah evidently lacks the strength of will to override theiropposition. It was owing to this criminal weakness on his part that BaronEeuter's scheme of railways and commercial regeneration for the countryproved a failure. Persia is undoubtedly the worst priest-ridden countryin the world; the mollaha influence everything and everybody, from themonarch downward, to such an extent that no progress is possible. Barringoutside interference, Persia will remain in its present wretched conditionuntil the advent of a monarch with sufficient force of character todeliver the ipeople from the incubus of their present power and influence:nothing short of a general massacre, however, will be likely toaccomplish complete deliverance. Without compromising his dignity as"Shah-iri-shah, " "The Asylum of the Universe, " etc. , when dealing withhis own subjects, Nasr-e-deen Shall has profited by the experiences ofhis European tour to the extent of recognizing, with becoming toleration, the democratic independence of Ferenghis, whose deportment betrays thefact that they are not dazed by the contemplation of his greatness. Theother evening myself and a friend encountered the Shah and his crowd ofattendants on one of the streets leading to the winter palace; he wasreturning to the palace in state after a visit of ceremony to somedignitary. First came a squad of foot-runners in quaint scarlet coats, knee-breeches, white stockings, and low shoes, and with a most fantastichead-dress, not unlike a peacock's tail on dress-parade; each runnercarried a silver staff; they, were clearing the street and shouting theirwarning for everybody to hide their faces. Behind them came a portionof the Shah's Khajar bodyguard, well mounted, and dressed in a grayuniform, braided with black: each of these also carries a silver staff, and besides sword and dagger, has a gun slung at his back in a red 'baizecase. Next came the royal carriage, containing the Shah: the carriageis somewhat like a sheriffs coach of "ye olden tyme, " and is drawn bysix superb grays; mounted on the off horses are three postilions ingorgeous scarlet liveries. Immediately behind the Shah's carriage, camethe higher dignitaries on horseback, and lastly a confused crowd of threeor four hundred horsemen. As the royal procession approached, the Persians-one and all-either hid themselves, or backed themselves up against thewall, and remained with heads bowed half-way to the ground until itpassed. Seeing that we had no intention of striking this very submissiveand servile attitude, first the scarlet foot-runners, and then the advanceof the Khajar guard, addressed themselves to us personally, shoutingappealingly as though very anxious about it: "Sahib. Sahib!" and motionedfor us to do as the natives were doing. These valiant guardians of theShah's barbaric gloriousness cling tenaciously to the belief that it isthe duty of everybody, whether Ferenghi or native, to prostrate themselvesin this manner before him, although the monarch himself has long ceasedto expect it, and is very well satisfied if the Ferenghi respectfullydoffs his hat as he goes past. Much of the nonsensical glamour andsuperstitious awe that formerly surrounded the person of Orientalpotentates has been dissipated of late years by the moral influence ofEuropean residents and travellers. But a few years ago, it was certaindeath for any luckless native who failed to immediately scuttle offsomewhere out of sight, or to turn his face to the wall, whenever thecarriages of the royal ladies passed by; and Europeans generally turneddown a side street to avoid trouble when they heard the attending eunuchsshouting "gitchin, gitchin!" (begone, begone!) down the street. Butthings may be done with impunity now. That before the Shah's eye-openingvisit to Frangistan would have been punished with instant death; andalthough the eunuchs shout "gitchin, gitchin!" as lustily as ever, they are now content if people will only avert their faces respectfullyas the carriages drive past. 

An eccentric Austrian gentleman once saw fit to imitate the natives inturning their faces to the wall, and improved upon the time-honoredcustom to the extent of making salaams from the back of his head. Thissingular performance pleased the ladies immensely, and they reported itto the Shah. Sending for the Austrian, the Shah made him repeat theperformance in his presence, and was so highly amused that he dismissedhim with a handsome present. 

Prominent among the improvements that have been introduced in Teheranof late, may be mentioned gas and the electric light. "Were one to makethis statement and enter into no further explanations, the impressioncreated would doubtless be illusive; for although the fact remains thatthese things are in existence here, they could be more appropriatelyplaced under the heading of toys for the gratification of the Shah'sdesire to gather about him some of the novel and interesting things hehad seen in Europe, than improvements made with any idea of benefitingthe condition of the city as a whole. Indeed, one might say withoutexaggeration, that nothing new or beneficial is ever introduced intoPersia, except for the personal gratification or glorification of theShah; hence it is, that, while a few European improvements are to beseen in Teheran, they are found nowhere else in Persia. Coal of aninferior quality is obtained in the Elburz Mountains, near Kasveen, andbrought on the backs of camels to Teheran; and enough gas is manufacturedto supply two rows of lamps leading from the lop-maidan to the palacefront, two rows on the east side of the palace, and a dozen more in thetop-maid. An itself. The gas is of the poorest quality, and the lampsglimmer faintly through the gloom of a moonless evening until half-pastnine, giving about as much light, or rather making darkness about asvisible as would the same number of tallow candles; at this hour theyare extinguished, and any Persian found outside of his own house laterthan this, is liable to be arrested and fined. 

The electric light improvements consist of four lights, on ordinarygas-lamp posts, in the top-maidan, and a more ornamental and pretentiousaffair, immediately in front of the palace; these are only used on specialoccasions. The electric lights are a never-failing source of wonder andmystification to the common people of the city and the peasants comingin from the country. A stroll into the maidan any evening when the fourelectric lights are making the gas-lamps glimmer feebler than ever, reveals a small crowd of natives assembled about each post, gazingwonderingiy up at the globe, endeavoring to penetrate the secret of itsbrightness, and commenting freely among themselves in this wise:"Mashallah. Abdullah, " says one, " here does all the light come from. They put no candles in, no naphtha, no anything; where does it come from?"

"Mashallah!" replies Abdullah, "I don't know; it lights up 'biff!'all of a sudden, without anybody putting matches to it, or going anywherenear it; nobody knows how it comes about except Sheitan (Satan) andSheitan's children, the Ferenghis. "

"Al-lah! it is wonderful. " echoes another, "and our Shah is a wonderfulbeing to give us such things to look at - Allah be praised!"

All these strange innovations and incomprehensible things produce a deepimpression on the unenlightened minds of the common Persians, and helpsto deify the Shah in their imagination; for although they know thesethings come from Frangistan, it seems natural for them to sing the praisesof the Shah in connection with them. They think these five electriclights in Teheran among the wonders of the world; the glimmering gas-lampsand the electric lights help to rivet their belief that their capitalis the most wonderful city in the world, and their Shah the greatestmonarch extant. These extreme ideas are, of course, considerably improvedupon when we leave the ranks of illiteracy; but the Persians capable offorming anything like an intelligent comparison between themselves anda European nation, are confined to the Shah himself, the corps diplomatique, and a few prominent personages who have been abroad. Always on the lookoutfor something to please the Shah, the news of my arrival in Teheran onthe bicycle no sooner reaches the ear of the court officials than themonarch hears of it himself. On the seventh day after my arrival anofficer of the palace calls on behalf of the Shah, and requests that Ifavor them all, by following the soldiers who will be sent to-morrowmorning, at eight o'clock, Ferenghi time, to conduct me to the palace, where it is appointed that I am to meet the "Shah-in-shah and King ofkings, " and ride with him, on the bicycle, to his summer palace atDoshan Tepe. 

"Yes, I shall, of course, be most happy to accommodate; and to be themeans of introducing to the notice of His Majesty, the wonderful ironhorse, the latest wonder from Frangistan, " I reply; and the officer, after salaaming with more than French politeness, takes his departure. Promptly at the hour appointed the soldiers present themselves; and afterwaiting a few minutes for the horses of two young Englishmen who desireto accompany us part way, I mount the ever-ready bicycle, and togetherwe follow my escort along several fairly ridable streets to the officeof the foreign minister. The soldiers clear the way of pedestrians, donkeys, camels, and horses, driving them unceremoniously to the right, to the left, into the ditch - anywhere out of my road; for am I not forthe time being under the Shah's special protection. I am as much theShah's toy and plaything of the moment, as an electric light, a stop-watch, or as the big Krupp gun, the concussion of which nearly scared thesoldiers out of their wits, by shaking down the little minars of oneof the city gates, close to which they had unwittingly discharged it onfirst trial. The foreign office, like every building of pretension, whether public or private, in the land of the Lion and the Sun, is asubstantial edifice of mud and brick, inclosing a square court-yard orgarden, in which splashing fountains play amid a wealth of vegetationthat springs, as if by waft of magician's wand, from the sandy soil ofPersia wherever water is abundantly supplied. Tall, slender poplars arenodding in the morning breeze, the less lofty almond and pomegranate, sheltered from the breezes by the surrounding building, rustle never aleaf, but seem to be offering Pomona's choice products of nuts and rosypomegranates, with modest mien and silence; whilst beds of rare exotics, peculiar to this sunny clime, imparts to the atmosphere of the coolshaded garden, a pleasing sense of being perfumed. Here, by means of theShah's interpreter, I am introduced to Nasr-i-Mulk, the Persian foreignminister, a kindly-faced yet business-looking old gentleman, at whoserequest I mount and ride with some difficulty around the confined andquite unsuitable foot-walks of the garden; a crowd of officials andfarrashes look on in unconcealed wonder and delight. True to their Persiancharacteristic of inquisitiveness, Nasr-i-Mulk and the officers catechiseme unmercifully for some time concerning the mechanism and capabilitiesof the bicycle, and about the past and future of the journey around theworld. In company with the interpreter, I now ride out to the DoshanTepe gate, where we are to await the arrival of the Shah. From the DoshanTepe gate is some four English miles of fairly good artificial road, leading to one of the royal summer palaces and gardens. His Majesty goesthis morning to the mountains beyond Doshan Tepe on a shooting excursion, and wishes me to ride out with his party a few miles, thus giving him agood opportunity of seeing something of what bicycle travelling is like. The tardy monarch keeps myself and a large crowd of attendants waitinga full hour at the gate, ere he puts in an appearance. Among the crowdis the Shah's chief shikaree (hunter), a grizzled old veteran, beneathwhose rifle many a forest prowler of the Caspian slope of Mazanderau hasbeen laid low. The shikaree, upon seeing me ride, and not being able tocomprehend how one can possibly maintain the equilibrium, exclaims:"Oh, ayab Ingilis. " (Oh, the wonderful English!) Everybody's face iswreathed in smiles at the old shikaree's exclamation of wonderment, andwhen I jokingly advise him that he ought to do his hunting for the futureon a bicycle, and again mount and ride with hands off handles to demonstratethe possibility of shooting from the saddle, the delighted crowd ofhorsemen burst out in hearty laughter, many of them exclaiming, "Bravo!bravo!" At length the word goes round that the Shah is coming. Everybodydismounts, and as the royal carriage drives up, every Persian bows hishead nearly to the ground, remaining in that highly submissive attitudeuntil the carriage halts and the Shah summons myself and the interpreterto his side. I am the only Ferenghi in the party, my two English companionshaving returned to the city, intending to rejoin me when I separate fromthe Shah. 

The Shah impresses one as being more intelligent than the average Persianof the higher class; and although they are, as a nation, inordinatelyinquisitive, no Persian has taken a more lively interest in the bicyclethan His Majesty seems to take, as, through his interpreter, he plys mewith all manner of questions. Among other questions he asks if the Koordsdidn't molest me when coming through Koordistan without an escort; andupon hearing the story of my adventure with the Koordish shepherds betweenOvahjik and Khoi, he seems greatly amused. Another large party of horsemenarrived with the Shah, swelling the company to perhaps two hundredattendants. Pedaling alongside the carriage, in the best position forthe Shah to see, we proceed toward Doshan Tepe, the crowd of horsemenfollowing, some behind and others careering over the stony plain throughwhich the Doshan Tepe highway leads. After covering about half a mile, the Shah leaves the carriage and mounts a saddle-horse, in order to thebetter "put me through some exercises. " First he requests me to givehim an exhibition of speed; then I have to ride a short distance overthe rough stone-strewn plain, to demonstrate the possibility of traversinga rough country, after which he desires to see me ride at the slowestpace possible. All this evidently interests him not a little, and heseems even more amused than interested, laughing quite heartily severaltimes as he rides alongside the bicycle. After awhile he again exchangesfor the carriage, and at four miles from the city gate we arrive at thepalace garden. Through this garden is a long, smooth walk, and here theShah again requests an exhibition of my speeding abilities. The gardenis traversed with a network of irrigating ditches; but I am assured thereis nothing of the kind across the pathway along which he wishes me toride as fast as possible. Two hundred yards from the spot where thissolemn assurance is given, it is only by a lightning-like dismount thatI avoid running into the very thing that I was assured did not exist-itwas the narrowest possible escape from what might have proved a seriousaccident. 

Riding back toward the advancing party, I point out my good fortune inescaping the tumble. The Shah asks if people ever hurt themselves byfalling off bicycles; and the answer that a fall such as I would haveexperienced by running full speed into the irrigating ditch, mightpossibly result in broken bones, appeared to strike him as extremelyhumorous; from the way he laughed I fancy the sending me flying towardthe irrigating ditch was one of the practical jokes that he is sometimesnot above indulging in. After mounting and forcing my way for a few yardsthrough deep, loose gravel, to satisfy his curiosity as to what couldbe done in loose ground, I trundle along with him to a small menageriehe keeps at this place. On the way he inquires about the number ofwheelmen there are in England and America; whether I am English orAmerican; why they don't use iron tires on bicycles instead of rubber, and many other questions, proving the great interest aroused in him bythe advent of the first bicycle to appear in his Capital. The menagerieconsists of one cage of monkeys, about a dozen lions, and two or threetigers and leopards. We pass along from cage to cage, and as the keepercoaxes the animals to the bars, the Shah amuses himself by poking themwith an umbrella. It was arranged in the original programme that I shouldaccompany them up into their rendezvous in the foot-hills, about a milebeyond the palace, to take breakfast with the party; but seeing thedifficulty of getting up there with the bicycle, and not caring to spoilthe favorable impression already made, by having to trundle up, I askpermission to take my leave at this point, The request is granted, andthe interpreter returns with me to the city - thus ends my memorablebicycle ride with the Shah of Persia. 

Soon after my ride with the Shah, the Naib-i-Sultan, the Governor ofTeheran and commander-in-chief of the army, asked me to bring the bicycledown to the military maidan, and ride for the edification of himself andofficers. Being busy at something or other when the invitation wasreceived, I excused myself and requested that he make another appointment. I am in the habit of taking a constitutional spin every morning; by meansof which I have figured as an object of interest, and have been staredat in blank amazement by full half the wonder-stricken population of thecity. The fame of my journey, the knowledge of my appearance before theShah, and my frequent appearance upon the streets, has had the effectof making me one of the most conspicuous characters in the PersianCapital; and the people have bestowed upon me the expressive anddistinguishing title of "the aspi Sahib" (horse-of-iron Sahib). 

A few mornings after receiving the Naib-i-Sultan's invitation, I happenedto be wheeling past the military maidan, and attracted by the sound ofmartial music inside, determined to wheel in and investigate. Perhapsin all the world there is no finer military parade ground than in Teheran;it consists of something over one hundred acres of perfectly level ground, forming a square that is walled completely in by alcoved walls andbarracks, with gaily painted bala-kkanas over the gates. The delightedguards at the gate make way and present arms, as they see me approaching;wheeling inside, I am somewhat taken aback at finding a general reviewof the whole Teheran garrison in progress; about ten thousand men aremanoeuvring in squads, companies, and regiments over the ground. 

Having, from previous experience on smaller occasions, discovered thatmy appearance on the incomprehensible "asp-i-awhan" would be prettycertain to temporarily demoralize the troops and create general disorderand inattention, I am for a moment undetermined about whether to advanceor retreat. The acclamations of delight and approval from the nearesttroopers at seeing me enter the gate, however, determines me to advance;and I start off at a rattling pace around the square, and then take azig-zag course through the manoeuvring bodies of men. 

The sharp-shooters lying prostrate in the dust, mechanically rise up togaze; forgetting their discipline, squares of soldiers change intoconfused companies of inattentive men; simultaneous confusion takes placein straight lines of marching troops, and the music of the bands degeneratesinto inharmonious toots and discordant squeaks, from the inattention ofthe musicians. All along the line the signal runs - not "every Persianis expected to do his duty, " but "the asp-i-awhan Sahib! the asp-i-awhanSahib!" the whole army is in direful commotion. In the midst of thegeneral confusion, up dashes an orderly, who requests that I accompanyhim to the presence of the Commander-in-Chief and staff; which, of course, I readily do, though not without certain misgivings as to my probablereception under the circumstances. There is no occasion for misgivings, however; the Naib-i-Sultan, instead of being displeased at the interruptionto the review, is as delighted at the appearance of "the asp-i-anhan, as is Abdul, the drummer-boy, and he has sent for me to obtain a closeracquaintance. After riding for their edification, and answering theirmultifarious questions, I suggest to the Commander-in-Chief that he oughtto mount the Shah's favorite regiment of Cossacks on bicycles. Thesuggestion causes a general laugh among the company, and he replies:"Yes, asp-i-awhan Cossacks would look very splendid on our dress paradehere in the maidan; but for scouting over our rough Persian mountains"- and the Naib-i-Sultan finished the sentence with a laugh and a negativeshrug of his shoulders. Two mornings after this I take a spin out on theDoshan Tepe road, and, upon wheeling through the city gate, I find myselfin the immediate presence of another grand review, again under thepersonal inspection of the Naibi-Sultan. Disturbing two grand reviewswithin "two days is, of course, more than I bargained for, and I wouldgladly have retreated through the gate; but coming full upon themunexpectedly, I find it impossible to prevent the inevitable result. Thetroops are drawn up in line about fifty yards from the road, and are forthe moment standing at ease, awaiting the arrival of the Shah, while theCommander-in-chief and his staff are indulging in soothing whiffs at theseductive kalian. The cry of "asp-i-awhan Sahib!" breaks out all alongthe line, and scores of soldiers break ranks, and come running helter-skeltertoward the road, regardless of the line-officers, who frantically endeavorto wave them back. Dashing ahead, I am soon beyond the lines, congratulatingmyself that the effects of my disturbing presence is quickly over; butere long, I discover that there is no other ridable road back, and amconsequently compelled to pass before them again on returning. Accordingly, I hasten to return, before the arrival of the Shah. Seeing me returning, the Naib-i-Sultan and his staff advance to the road, with kalians inhand, their oval faces wreathed in smiles of approbation; they extendcordial salutations as I wheel past. The Persians seem to do little morethan play at soldiering; perhaps in no other army in the world could alone cycler demoralize a general review twice within two days, and thenbe greeted with approving smiles and cordial salutations by the commanderand his entire staff. Through November and the early part of December, the weather in Teheran continues, on the whole, quite agreeable, andsuitable for short-distance wheeling; but mindful of the long distanceyet before me, and the uncertainty of touching at any point where suppliescould be forwarded, I deem it advisable to take my exercise afoot, andsave my rubber tires for the more serious work of the journey to thePacific. There are no green lanes down which to stroll, nor emerald meadsthrough which to wander about the Persian capital, though what greenthings there are, retain much of their greenness until the early wintermonths. The fact of the existence of any green thing whatever - and evento a greater extent, its survival through the scorching summer months -depending almost wholly on irrigation, enables vegetation to retain itspristine freshness almost until suddenly pounced upon and surprised bythe frost. There is no springy turf, no velvety greensward in the landof the Lion and the Sun. No sooner does one get beyond the vegetation, called into existence by the moisture of an irrigating ditch or a stream, than the bare, gray surface of the desert crunches beneath one's tread. There is an avenue leading part way from the city to the summer residenceof the English Minister at Gulaek, that conjures up memories of an Englishlane; but the double row of chenars, poplars, and jujubes are kept aliveby irrigation, and all outside is verdureless desert. 

Things are valued everywhere for their scarcity, and a patch of greenswardlarge enough to recline on, a shady tree or shrub, and a rippling rivuletare appreciated in Persia at their proper value- appreciated more thanbroad, green pastures and waving groves of shade-trees in moister climes. Moreover, there is a peculiar charm in these bright emerald gems, setin sombre gray, be they never so small and insignificant in themselves, that is not to be experienced where the contrast is less marked. Scatteredhere and there about the stony plain between Teheran and the Elburz foot-hills, are many beautiful gardens-beautiful for Persia-where a pleasanthour can be spent wandering beneath the shady avenues and among thefountains. These gardens are simply patches redeemed from the desertplain, supplied with irrigating water, and surrounded with a high mudwall; leading through the garden are gravelled walks, shaded by rows ofgraceful chenars. The gardens are planted with fig, pomegranate, almondor apricot trees, grape-vines, melons, etc. ; they are the property ofwealthy Teheranis who derive an income from the sale of the fruit in theTeheran market. The ample space within the city ramparts includes anumber of these delightful retreats, some of them presenting the additionalcharm of historic interest, from having been the property and, peradventure, the favorite summer residence of a former king. Such a one is an extensivegarden in the northeast quarter of the city, in which was situated oneof the favorite summer palaces of Fatteh-ali Shah, grandfather of Nasree. 

It was chiefly to satisfy my curiosity as to the truth of the currentstories regarding that merry monarch, and his. Exceedingly novel methodsof entertaining himself, that I accepted the invitation of a friend tovisit this garden one afternoon. My friend is the owner of a pair ofwhite bull-dogs, who accompany us into the garden. After strolling abouta little, we are shown into the summer palace; into the audience room, where we are astonished at the beautiful coloring and marvellously life-like representations in the old Persian frescoing on the walls andceiling. Depicted in life-size are Fatteh-ali Shah and his courtiers, together with the European ambassadors, painted in the days when thePersian court was a scene of dazzling splendor. The monarch is portrayedas an exceedingly handsome man with a full, black beard, and is coveredwith a blaze of jewels that are so faithfully pictured as to appearalmost like real gems on the walls. It seems strange - almost startling -to come in from contemplating the bare, unlovely mud walls of the city, andfind one's self amid the life-like scenes of Fatteh-ali Shah's court;and, amid the scenes to find here and there an English face, an Englishfigure, dressed in the triangular cockade, the long Hessian pigtail, thescarlet coat with fold-back tails, the knee-breeches, the yellow stockings, the low shoes, and the long, slender rapier of a George III. Courtier. >From here we visit other rooms, glittering rooms, all mirror-work andwhite stucco. Into rooms we go whose walls consist of myriads of tinysquares of rich stained glass, worked into intricate patterns andgeometrical designs, but which are now rapidly falling into decay; andthen we go to see the most novel feature of the garden-Fatteh-ali Shah'smarble slide, or shute. Passing along a sloping, arched vault beneath aroof of massive marble, we find ourselves in a small, subterranean court, through which a stream of pure spring water is flowing along a whitemarble channel, and where the atmosphere must be refreshingly cool evenin the middle of summer. In the centre of the little court is a roundtank about four feet deep, also of white marble, which can be filled atpleasure with water, clear as crystal, from the running stream. Leadingfrom an upper chamber, and overlapping the tank, is a smooth-worn marbleslide or shute, about twenty feet long and four broad, which is pitchedat an angle that makes it imperative upon any one trusting themselvesto attempt the descent, to slide helplessly into the tank. Here, onsummer afternoons, with the chastened daylight peeping through a stained-glass window in the roof, and carpeting the white marble floor withrainbow hues, with the only entrance to the cool and massive marblecourt, guarded by armed retainers, who while guarding it were consciousof guarding their own precious lives, Fattehali Shah was wont to beguilethe hours away by making merry with the bewitching nymphs of his anderoon, transforming them for the nonce into naiads. 

There are no nymphs nor naiads here now, nothing but the smoothly-wornmarble shute to tell the tale of the merry past; but we obtain a realisticidea of their sportive games by taking the bulldogs to the upper chamber, and giving them a start down the slide. As they clutch and claw, andlook scared, and appeal mutely for assistance, only to slide graduallydown, down, down, and fall with a splash into the tank at last, we haveonly to imagine the bull-dogs transformed into Fatteh-ali Shah's naiads, to learn something of the truth of current stories. After we have slidthe dogs down a few times, and they begin to realize that they are notsliding hopelessly down to destruction, they enjoy the sport as much aswe, or as much as the naiads perhaps did a hundred years ago. That portionof the Teheran bazaar immediately behind the Shah's winter palace, isvisited almost daily by Europeans, and their presence excites littlecomment or attention from the natives; but I had frequently heard theremark that a Ferenghi couldn't walk through the southern, or moreexclusive native quarters, without being insulted. Determined toinvestigate, I sallied forth one afternoon alone, entering the bazaaron the east side of the palace wall, where I had entered it a dozen timesbefore. 

The streets outside are sloppy with melting snow, and the roofed passagesof the bazaar, being dry underfoot, are crowded with people to an unusualextent; albeit they are pretty well crowded at any time. Most of thedervishes in the city have been driven, by the inclemency of the weather, to seek shelter in the bazaar; these, added to the no small number whomake the place their regular foraging ground, render them a greaternuisance than ever. They are encountered in such numbers, that no matterwhich way I turn, I am confronted by a rag-bedecked mendicant, with awild, haggard countenance and grotesque costume, thrusting out his gourdalms-receiver, and muttering "huk yah huk!" each in his own peculiarway. The mollahs, with their flowing robes, and huge white turbans, likewise form no inconsiderable proportion of the moving throng; theyare almost without exception scrupulously neat and clean in appearance, and their priestly costume and Pharisaical deportment gives them a certainair of stateliness. They wear the placid expression of men so utterlypuffed up with the notion of their own sanctity, that their self-consciousnessverily scorns to shine through their skins, and to impart to them asleek, oily appearance. One finds himself involuntarily speculating onhow they all manage to make a living; the mollah "toils not, neitherdoes he spin, " and almost every other person one meets is a mollah. 

The bazaar is a common thoroughfare for anything and everything that canmake its way through. Donkey-riders, horsemen, and long strings of camelsand pack-mules add their disturbing influence to the general confusion;and although hundreds of stalls are heaped up with every merchantablething in the city, scores of donkeys laden with similar products aremeandering about among the crowd, the venders shouting their wares withlusty lungs. In many places the din is quite deafening, and the odorsanything but agreeable to European nostrils; but the natives are notover fastidious. The steam issuing from the cook-shops, from coppers ofsoup, pillau and sheeps'-trotters, and the less objectionable odors fromplaces where busy men are roasting bazaar-kabobs for hungry customersall day long, mingle with the aromatic contributions from the spice andtobacco shops wedged in between them. 

The sleek-looking spice merchant, squatting contentedly beside a pan ofglowing embers, smoking kalian after kalian in dreamy contemplation ofhis assistant waiting on customers, and also occasionally waiting on himto the extent of replenishing the fire on the kalian, is undoubtedly thehappiest of mortals. With a kabob-shop on one hand, a sheeps'-trotter-shopon the other, and a bakery and a fruit-stand opposite, he indulges intid-bits from either when he is hungry. With nothing to do but smokekalians amid the fragrant aroma of his own spices, and keep a dreamy eyeon what passes on around him, his Persian notions of a desirable lifecause him to regard himself as blest beyond comparison with those whoseavocations necessitate physical exertion. All the shops are open frontplaces, like small fruit and cigar stands in an American city, the goodsbeing arranged on boards or shelving, sloping down to the front, orotherwise exposed to the best advantage, according to the nature of thewares; the shops have no windows, but are protected at night by woodenshutters. The piping notes of the flute, or the sing-song voice of thetroubadour or story-teller is heard behind the screened entrance of thetchai-khans, and now and then one happens across groups of angry menquarrelling violently over some trifling difference in a bargain; noiseand confusion everywhere reign supreme. Here the road is blocked up bya crowd of idlers watching a trio of lutis, or buffoons, jerking acareless and indifferent-looking baboon about with a chain to make himdance; and a little farther along is another crowd surveying some morelutis with a small brown bear. Both the baboon and the bear look betterfed than their owners, the contributions of the onlookers consistingchiefly of eatables, bestowed upon the animals for the purpose of seeingthem feed. Half a mile, or thereabouts, from the entrance, an inferiorquarter of the bazaar is reached; the crowds are less dense, the noiseis not near so deafening, and the character of the shops undergoes achange for the worse. A good many of the shops are untenanted, and agood many others are occupied by artisans manufacturing the ruder articlesof commerce, such as horseshoes, pack-saddles, and the trappings ofcamels. Such articles as kalians, che-bouks and other pipes, geivehs, slippers and leather shoes, hats, jewelry, etc. , are generally manufacturedon the premises in the better portions of the bazaar, where they aresold. Perched in among the rude cells of industry are cook-shops andtea-drinking establishments of an inferior grade; and the occupants ofthese places eye me curiously, and call one another's attention to theunusual circumstance of a Ferenghi passing through their quarter. Afterhalf a mile of this, my progress is abruptly terminated by a high mudwall, with a narrow passage leading to the right. I am now at the southernextremity of the bazaar, and turn to retrace my footsteps. So far I haveencountered no particular disposition to insult anybody; only a littleadditional rudeness and simple inquisitive-ness, such as might verynaturally have been expected. But ere I have retraced my way three hundredyards, I meet a couple of rowdyish young men of the charuadar class; nosooner have I passed them than one of them wantonly delivers himself ofthe promised insult - a peculiar noise with the mouth; they both start offat a run as though expecting to be pursued and punished. As I turnpartially round to look, an old pomegranate vender stops his donkey, andwith a broad grin of amusement motions me to give chase. When nearingthe more respectable quarter again, I stroll up one of the numerousramifications leading toward what looks, like a particularly rough anddingy quarter. Before going many steps I am halted by a friendly-facedsugar merchant, with "Sahib, " and sundry significant shakes of the head, signifying, if he were me, he wouldn't go up there. And thus it is inthe Teheran bazaar; where a Ferenghi will get insulted once, he willfind a dozen ready to interpose with friendly officiousness between himand anything likely to lead to unpleasant consequences. On the whole, aEuropean fares better than a Persian in his national costume would inan Occidental city, in spite of the difference between our excellentpolice regulations and next to no regulations at all; he fares betterthan a Chinaman does in New York. The Teheran bazaar, though nothing tocompare to the world-famous bazaar at Stamboul, is wonderfully extensive. I was under the impression that I had been pretty much all through itat different times; but a few days after my visit to the "slummy "quarters, I follow a party of corpse-bearers down a passage-way hithertounexplored, to try and be present at a Persian funeral, and they led theway past at least a mile of shops I had never yet seen. I followed thecorpse-bearers through the dark passages and narrow alley-ways of thepoorer native quarter, and in spite of the lowering brows of the followers, penetrated even into the house where they washed the corpses beforeburial; but here the officiating mollahs scowled with such unmistakabledispleasure, and refused to proceed in my presence, so that I am forcedto beat a retreat. The poorer native quarter of Teheran is a shapelessjumble of mud dwellings, and ruins of the same; the streets are narrowpassages describing all manner of crooks and angles in and out amongthem. As I emerge from the vaulted bazaar the sun is almost setting, andthe musicians in the bala-khanas of the palace gates are ushering in theclose of another day with discordant blasts from ancient Persian trumpets, and belaboring hemispherical kettle- drums. These musicians are dressedin fantastic scarlet uniforms, not unlike the costume of a fifteen centuryjester, and every evening at sundown they repair to these balakhanas, and for the space of an hour dispense the most unearthly music imaginable. Tubes of brass about five feet long, which respond to the efforts of astrong-winded person, with a diabolical basso-profundo shriek that puts aNewfoundland fog-horn entirely in the shade. When a dozen of theseinstruments are in full blast, without any attempt at harmony, it seems toshed a depressing shadow of barbarism over the whole city. This sunsetmusic is, I think, a relic of very old times, and it jars on the nerveslike the despairing howl of ancient Persia, protesting against theinnovation from the pomp and din and glamour of her old pagan glories, to the present miserable era of mollah rule and feeble dependence fornational existence on the forbearance or jealousy of other nations. Beneath the musicians' gate, and I emerge into a small square which is halftaken up by a square tank of water; near the tank is a large bronze cannon. It is a huge, unwieldy piece, and a muzzle-loader, utterly useless to sucha people as the Persians, except for ornament, or perhaps to help impressthe masses with an idea of the Shah's unapproachable greatness. 

It is the special hour of prayer, and in every direction may be observedmen, halting in whatever they may be doing, and kneeling down on someouter garment taken off for the purpose, repeatedly touch their foreheadsto the ground, bending in the direction of Mecca. Passing beneath thesecond musicians' gate, I reach the artillery square just in time to seea company of army buglers formed in line at one end, and a company ofmusketeers at the other. As these more modern trumpeters proceed to toot, the company of musketeers opposite present arms, and then the music ofthe new buglers, and the hoarse, fog-horn-like blasts of the fantastictooters on the bala-khanas dies away together in a concerted effort thatwould do credit to a troop of wild elephants. 

When the noisy trumpeting ceases, the ordinary noises round about seemlike solemn silence in comparison, and above this comparative silencecan be heard the voices of men here and there over the city, calling out"Al-lah-il-All-ah; Ali Ak-bar. " (God is greatest; there is no god butone God! etc. ) with stentorian voices. The men are perched on the roofsof the mosques, and on noblemen's walls and houses; the Shah has a strong-voiced muezzin that can be heard above all the others. The sun has justset; I can see the snowy cone of Mount Demavend, peeping apparently overthe high barrack walls; it has just taken on a distinctive roseate tint, as it oftentimes does at sunset; the reason whereof becomes at onceapparent upon turning toward the west, for the whole western sky is aglowwith a gorgeous sunset-a sunset that paints the horizon a blood red, andspreads a warm, rich glow over half the heavens. 

The moon will be full to-night, and a far lovelier picture even than theglorious sunset and the rose-tinted mountain, awaits anyone curiousenough to come out-doors and look. The Persian moonlight seems capableof surrounding the most commonplace objects with a halo of beauty, andof blending things that are nothing in themselves, into scenes of suchtranscendental loveliness that the mere casual contemplation of themsends a thrill of pleasure coursing through the system. There is no cityof the same size (180, 000) in England or America, but can boast ofbuildings infinitely superior to anything in Teheran; what trees thereare in and about the city are nothing compared to what we are used tohaving about us; and although the gates with their short minars and theirgaudy facings are certainly unique, they suffer greatly from a closeinvestigation. Nevertheless, persons happening for the first time in thevicinity of one of these gates on a calm moonlight night, and perchancedescrying "fair Luna "through one of the arches or between the minars, will most likely find themselves transfixed with astonishment at themarvellous beauty of the scene presented. By repairing to the artillerysquare, or to the short street between the square and the palace front, on a moonlight night, one can experience a new sense of nature's loveliness;the soft, chastening light of the Persian moon converts the gaudy gates, the dead mud-walls, the spraggling trees, and the background of snowymountains nine miles away, into a picture that will photograph itselfon one's memory forever. On the way home I meet one of the lady missionaries -which reminds me that I ought to mention something about the peculiarposition of a Ferenghi lady in these Mohammedan countries, where it isconsidered highly improper for a woman to expose her face in public. ThePersian lady on the streets is enveloped in a shroud-like garment thattransforms her into a shapeless and ungraceful-looking bundle of dark-bluecotton stuff. This garment covers head and everything except the face;over the face is worn a white veil of ordinary sheeting, and oppositethe eyes is inserted an oblong peep-hole of open needle-work, resemblinga piece of perforated card-board. Not even a glimpse of the eye isvisible, unless the lady happens to be handsome and coquettishly inclined;she will then manage to grant you a momentary peep at her face; but awise and discreet Persian lady wouldn't let you see her face on thestreet - no, not for worlds and worlds!

The European lady with her uncovered face is a conundrum and an objectof intense curiosity, even in Teheran at the present day; and in provincialcities, the wife of the lone consul or telegraph employee finds it highlyconvenient to adopt the native costume, face-covering included, whenventuring abroad. Here, in the capital, the wives and daughters of foreignministers, European officers and telegraphists, have made uncoveredfemale faces tolerably familiar to the natives; but they cannot quiteunderstand but that there is something highly indecorous about it, andthe more unenlightened Persians doubtless regard them as quite bold andforward creatures. Armenian women conceal their faces almost as completelyas do the Persian, when they walk abroad; by so doing they avoid unpleasantcriticism, and the rude, inquisitive gaze of the Persian men. Althoughthe Persian readily recognizes the fact that a Sahib's wife or sistermust be a superior person to an Armenian female, she is as much an objectof interest to him when she appears with her face uncovered on the street, as his own wives in their highly sensational in-door costumes would beto some of us. In order to establish herself in the estimation of theaverage Persian, as all that a woman ought to be, the European lady wouldhave to conceal her face and cover her shapely, tight-fitting dress withan inelegant, loose mantle, whenever she ventured outside her own doors. With something of a penchant for undertaking things never beforeaccomplished, I proposed one morning to take a walk around the rampartsthat encompass the Persian capital. The question arose as to the distance. Ali Akbar, the head fan-ash, said it was six farsakhs (about twenty-fourmiles); Meshedi Ab-dul said it was more. From the well-known Persiancharacteristic of exaggerating things, we concluded from this that perhapsit might be fifteen miles; and on this basis Mr. Meyrick, of the Indo-European Telegraph staff, agreed to bear me company. The ramparts consistof the earth excavated from a ditch some forty feet wide by twenty deep, banked up on the inner side of the ditch; and on top of this bank it isour purpose to encompass the city. 

Eight o'clock on the appointed morning finds us on the ramparts at theGulaek Gate, on the north side of the city. A cold breeze is blowing offthe snowy mountains to the northeast, and we decide to commence our novelwalk toward the west. Following the zigzag configuration of the ramparts, we find it at first somewhat rough and stony to the feet; on our rightwe look down into the broad ditch, and beyond, over the sloping plain, our eyes follow the long, even rows of kanaat mounds stretching away tothe rolling foothills; towering skyward in the background, but eightmiles away, are the snowy masses of the Elburz Range. Forty miles away, at our back, the conical peak of Demavend peeps, white, spectral, andcold, above a bank of snow-clouds that are piled motionless against itsgiant sides, as though walling it completely off from the lower world. On our left lies the city, a curious conglomeration of dead mud-walls, flat-roofed houses, and poplar-peopled gardens. A thin haze of smokehovers immediately above the streets, through which are visible theminarets and domes of the mosques, the square, illumined towers of theShah's anderoon, the monster skeleton dome of the canvas theatre, beneathwhich the Shah gives once a year the royal tazzia (representation of thetragedy of "Hussein and Hassan"), and the tall chimney of the arsenal, from which a column of black smoke is issuing. Away in the distance, farbeyond the confines of the city, to the southward, glittering like amirror in the morning sun, is seen the dome of the great mosque atShahabdullahzeen, said to be roofed with plates of pure gold. As we passby we can see inside the walls of the English Legation grounds; amagnificent garden of shady avenues, asphalt walks, and dark-green banksof English ivy that trail over the ground and climb half-way up thetrunks of the trees. A square-turreted clock-tower and a building thatresembles some old ancestral manor, imparts to "the finest piece ofproperty in Teheran" a home-like appearance; the representative of HerMajesty's Government, separated from the outer world by a twenty-four-footbrick wall, might well imagine himself within an hour's ride of London. 

Beyond the third gate, the character of the soil changes from the stone-strewn gravel of the northern side, to red stoneless earth, and bothinside and outside the ramparts fields of winter wheat and hardy vegetablesform a refreshing relief from the barren character of the surfacegenerally. The Ispahan gate, on the southern side, appears the busiestand most important entrance to the city; by this gate enter the caravansfrom Bushire, bringing English goods, from Bagdad, Ispahan, Tezd, andall the cities of the southern provinces. Numbers of caravans are campedin the vicinity of the gate, completing their arrangements for enteringthe city or departing for some distant commercial centre; many of thewaiting camels arc kneeling beneath their heavy loads and quietly feeding. They are kneeling in small, compact circles, a dozen camels in a circlewith their heads facing inward. In the centre is placed a pile of choppedstraw; as each camel ducks his head and takes a mouthful, and thenelevates his head again while munching it with great gusto, wearingmeanwhile an expression of intense satisfaction mingled with timidity, as though he thinks the enjoyment too good to last long, they look ascosey and fussy as a gathering of Puritanical grand-dames drinking teaand gossiping over the latest news. Within a mile of the Ispahan gateare two other gates, and between them is an area devoted entirely to thebrick-making industry. Here among the clay-pits and abandoned kilns weobtain a momentary glimpse of a jackal, drinking from a ditch. He slinksoff out of sight among the caves and ruins, as though conscious of actingan ungenerous part in seeking his living in a city already full of gaunt, half-starved pariahs, who pass their lives in wandering listlessly andhungrily about for stray morsels of offal. Several of these pariahs havebeen so unfortunate as to get down into the rampart ditch; we can seethe places where they have repeatedly made frantic rushes for libertyup the almost perpendicular escarp, only to fall helplessly back to thebottom of their roofless dungeon, where they will gradually starve todeath. The natives down in this part of the city greet us with curiouslooks; they are wondering at the sight of two Ferenghis promenading theramparts, far away from the European quarter; we can hear them makingremarks to that effect, and calling one another's attention. The sungets warm, although it is January, as we pass the Doshan Tepe and theMeshed gates, remarking as we go past that the Shah's summer palace onthe hill to the east compares favorably in whiteness with the snow onthe neighboring mountains. As we again reach the Gulaek gate and descendfrom the ramparts at the place we started, the clock in the EnglishLegation tower strikes twelve. 

"How many miles do you call it. " asks my companion. "Just about twelvemiles, " I reply; "what do you make it?" "That's about it, " he agrees;"twelve miles round, and eleven gates. We have walked or climbed overthe archway of eight of the gates; and at the other three we had to climboff the ramparts and on again. " As far as can be learned, this is thefirst time any Ferenghi has walked clear around the ramparts of Teheran. It is nothing worth boasting about; only a little tramp of a dozen miles, and there is little of anything new to be seen. All around the outsideis the level plain, verdureless, except an occasional cultivated field, and the orchards of the tributary villages scattered here and there. Incertain quarters of Teheran one happens across a few remaining familiesof guebres, or fire-worshippers; remnant representatives of the ancientParsee religion, whose devotees bestowed their strange devotional offeringsupon the fires whose devouring flames they constantly fed, and neverallowed to be extinguished. These people are interesting as having kepttheir heads above the overwhelming flood of Mohammedanism that sweptover their country, and clung to their ancient belief through thick andthin - or, at all events, to have steadfastly refused to embrace any other. Little evidence of their religion remains in Persia at the present day, except their "towers of silence" and the ruins of their old fire-temples. These latter were built chiefly of soft adobe bricks, and after the lapseof centuries, are nothing more than shapeless reminders of the past. Afew miles southeast of Teheran, in a desolate, unfrequented spot, is theguebre "tower of silence, " where they dispose of their dead. On top ofthe tower is a kind of balcony with an open grated floor; on this thenaked corpses are placed until the carrion crows and the vultures pickthe skeleton perfectly clean; the dry bones are then cast into a commonreceptacle in the tower. The guebre communities of Persia are tooimpecunious or too indifferent to keep up the ever-burning-fires nowadays;the fires of Zoroaster, which in olden and more prosperous times werefed with fuel night and day, are now extinguished forever, and thescattering survivors of this ancient form of worship form a unique itemin the sum total of the population of Persia. 

The head-quarters - if they can be said to have any head-quarters - of thePersian guebres are at Yezd, a city that is but little known to Europeans, and which is all but isolated from the remainder of the country by thegreat central desert. One great result of this geographical isolationis to be observed to-day, in the fact that the guebres of Yezd held theirown against the unsparing sword of Islam better than they did in moreaccessible quarters; consequently they are found in greater numbers therenow than in other Persian cities. Curiously enough, the chief occupation -one might say the sole occupation - of the guebres throughout Persia, istaking care of the suburban gardens and premises of wealthy people. Forthis purpose I am told guebre families are in such demand, that if they weresufficiently numerous to go around, there would be scarcely a piece ofvaluable garden property in all Persia without a family of guebres incharge of it. They are said to be far more honest and trustworthy thanthe Persians, who, as Shiite Mohammedans, consider themselves the holiestpeople on earth; or the Armenians, who hug the flattering unction ofbeing Christians and not Mohammedans to their souls, and expect allChristendom to regard them benignly on that account. It is doubtlessowing to this invaluable trait of their character, that the guebres havenaturally drifted to their level of guardians over the private propertyof their wealthy neighbors. 

The costume of the guebre female consists of Turkish trousers with veryloose, baggy legs, the material of which is usually calico print, and amantle of similar material is wrapped about the head and body. Unlikeher Mohammedan neighbor, she 'makes no pretence of concealing her features;her face is usually a picture of pleasantness and good-nature ratherthan strikingly handsome or passively beautiful, as is the face of thePersian or Armenian belle. The costume of the men differs but littlefrom the ordinary costume of the lower-class Persians. Like all thepeople in these Mohammedan countries, who realize the weakness of theirposition as a small body among a fanatical population, the Teheran guebreshave long been accustomed to consider themselves as under the protectingshadow of the English Legation; whenever they meet a "Sahib" on thestreet, they seem to expect a nod of recognition. 

Among the people who awaken special interest in Europeans here, may bementioned Ayoob Khan, and his little retinue of attendants, who may beseen on the streets almost any day. Ayoob Khan is in exile here at Teheranin accordance with some mutual arrangement between the English and Persiangovernments. On almost any afternoon, about four o'clock, he may be metwith riding a fine, large chestnut stallion, accompanied by anotherAfghan on an iron gray. I have never seen them riding faster than a walk, and they are almost always accompanied by four foot-runners, also Afghans, two of whom walk behind their chieftain and two before. These runnerscarry stout staves with which to warn off mendicants, and with a viewto making it uncomfortable for any irrepressible Persian rowdy who shouldoffer any insults. Both Ayoob Khan and his attendants retain theirnational costume, the main distinguishing features being a huge turbanwith about two feet of the broad band left dangling down behind; besidesthis, they wear white cotton pantalettes even in mid-winter. They wearEuropean shoes and overcoats, as though they had profited by theirintercourse with Anglo-Indians to the extent of at least shoes and coat. The foot-runners have their legs below the knee bound tightly with stripsof dark felt. Judging from outward appearances, Ayoob Khan wears hisexile lightly, for his rotund countenance looks pleasant always, and Ihave never yet met him when he was not chatting gayly with his companion. Of the interesting scenes and characters to be seen every day on thestreets of Teheran, their name is legion. The peregrinating tchai-venders, who, with their little cabinet of tea and sugar in one hand, and samovarwith live charcoals in the other, wander about the city picking up straycustomers, for whom they are prepared to make a glass of hot tea at oneminute's notice; the scores of weird-looking mendicants and dervisheswith their highly fantastic costumes, assailing you with " huk, yah huk, "the barbers shaving the heads of their customers on the public streets -shaving their pates clean, save little tufts to enable Mohammed to pullthem up to Paradise; and many others the description and enumeration ofwhich would, of themselves, fill a good-sized volume.