and far away; but I looked back often, to see my
host's trim well-built figure go bounding along,
and watched him witli straining eyes till his
figure gradually disappeared.

There winds our caravan in the distance,
about a mile ahead! It seems an immense train
for so small a party to move about with; for we
are only two simple squires, a lady and two
children; yet we have between us been obliged
to employ a string of mules and horses that
stretches half across the valley.

We have nothing more than necessaries, but
it is astonishing how numerous the necessaries
of civilised life are, and what an awful burden
they are to carry about. For instance, tents are
necessary to the comfort and health of travellers
through districts where no houses are to be
found, often for a long day's journey. Even
where it would be possible sometimes to reach
a village by going a few hours' ride out of the
direct road, it is not certain that a Christian
traveller would be well received; and if he did
succeed in obtaining admission to the house of
some Mussulman less fanatic than usual, he
would find it so thickly infested with vermin,
and so foul with filth of every kind, that he
would soon wish himself out of it again. Besides,
the chances of catching the plague are not yet
quite reduced to nothing in Central Asia, and a
member of the small-pox family is always a
permanent resident in every place where a few
houses undrained and unventilated can be
huddled together to poison the earth and air.

I think, therefore, we may really agree to
consider tents as necessaries. Then we have a
portable kitchen, consisting of some half-dozen
copper pans of different diameters, fitted so as
to pack one upon the other, the bottom of each
pan being a trifle smaller than the brim of its
predecessor, and made so as to fit neatly into it,
and save space. All the pans are fastened
together by two copper side pieces, and a lid. They
serve us, both for saucepans and larder. Then
ve have a copper teakettle, bright with long
and meritorious service, a frying-pan, a gridiron,
and a tin teapot. A large pair of Russian leather
saddle-bags make one fair horse-load. These,
being proof against rain, will preserve the clothes
and books, which we wish to keep accessible,
from injury during the journey. We have
also two round covered boxes, each resembling
a peck measure. These boxes are divided into
small compartments. In one is a tea-set, and
in the other are plates, spoons, knives, and
forks. The plates are of copper, well tinned
over, that they may not poison our food. Two
or three pieces of oilcloth, and as many small
carpet rugs to spread in our tents at night,
complete our outfit for a pic-nic which is to last
some months.

Our tents and bedding made seven horse-loads.
A servant rode upon the Russian saddle-bags;
our tea and table sets arranged in their cases,
the portable kitchen and the cooking utensils,
were placed in a deep basket covered with a
coarse hair bag. This basket, and another
protected in. the same way, containing groceries,
formed another horse-load. We also took with
us a tak-ter-wan, or litter for a lady, and two
cajavahs for some children who accompanied us.

Two hundred and eighty pounds' weight is
the maximum load for a single horse, divided
into two equal parts, and placed in long narrow
deal boxes. These are attached by ropes, and
slung one on each side of the horse, resting and
riding snugly against his broad pack-saddle.

Of the three roads which lead to Erzeroom
we chose the eastern, as at least a day shorter than
the middle and western routes; but it is more
rough, and until lately was frightfully beset by
hordes of marauding Laz. We ascended the lofty
Bas-Tapa by a steep rocky zig-zag path, which
was partially paved and cut from the rocks into
stairs. As we reached the top, some clouds
which had hung over the landscape dispersed,
and the surrounding country disclosed a scene
of almost unequalled beauty and grandeur. We
looked back and feasted our eyes for a while,
sadly reluctant to take our last view of the
Euxine, and wondering whether we should ever
see it again. For my part, I am so used
to the sea-view from my open windows, and so
wedded to the sense of liberty it inspires
-— perhaps by the constant coming and going of
vessels trading to distant countries—- that I
always feel imprisoned when away from it.

Passing across the Bas-Tapa, and a lower
ridge beyond, we descended into the deep narrow
valley of Mill River by a difficult rocky pass.
We followed up this valley in a south-east
direction, through a constant succession of the rarest
charms of rural loveliness. Mountains rose high
on either side; small but beautiful fields lay
along their declivities, stretching up to their
tops, and extending down to the river's edge,
except where they were interrupted by steep
precipices that left scarcely a bridle-path for the
traveller: while the neat shingled cottages of the
dwellers among the rocks hung romantically
along the upper cliffs, or were perched on the
brink of the stream below. The inhabitants of
this and the neighbouring valleys are Laz and
Greeks.

Our caravan passed cheerfully along, the bells
on our horses jingling musically, and the
muleteers singing low chanting songs, and
entertaining each other with marvellous narratives.
Much in the same way as we were travelling then,
the old Crusaders rode to Palestine. We reached
Javislik, a village about twenty miles from
Trebizond, and pitched our tents about eight o'clock
in the evening. We soon made fires and got
tea. Then, as we were listening to the roaring
of the stream within a few feet of us, the aga,
or governor of the district, sent us a guard of
armed men to protect our tents by night.

Daylight revealed to us the little village of
Javislik, sparkling all over with dewdrops. It
is the first station from Trebizond, and consists
of about twenty houses. We could find nothing
in the way of refreshment there, but a little sour
milk. We were glad to ride on, and we soon began
to ascend the Kara-Kapan. The weather was
cloudy, with slight rains. As we advanced, we