all the stock and crops of last year for the full payment of their loans. The distress is consequently very great: the barley, which is in Asia Minor the food of horses only, has been all consumed by the people, and until the corn ripens they are living almost wholly upon herbs. In other cases, as in this village, where the crops were derived from different sources, such as fruit, silk, or tobacco, the people, on being deprived of all their harvest, have left the place: only two families remain to represent Chicooe, which is described as having had within these two years a large and wealthy population: the fences, fountains, sheds, and cultivated mulberrytrees confirm this account. This is the natural consequence of so great and sudden a change of system; in a few years it may perhaps work better; but the Turk still has the same manners, and as yet but his days are numbered-commands. the peasantry.

Our cavalcade was shunned by the few remaining villagers, under the idea that we were Turks, who, when they pass through, consume the little store of the half-ruined people; and, if not supplied, the whip is applied to make them seek it from the flocks. When the villagers were told that we

were willing to pay for what we required, and a few eggs were purchased at the rate of six for a penny, supplies were brought from all quarters-fowls, milk, butter, youghoort, and honey.

May 4th.-We are again at Armootlee. Leaving our fruitful little village on the river of Olympus, we continued a steep ascent towards the west for nearly three hours, passing from the mountain-limestone of the high crags encircling us, over an isolated mound (about half a mile in extent) of granite and other volcanic productions, accompanied of course by a zone of slaty, hard-baked, and shivered limestone. Within a few miles of this spot, toward the north-east, is the Yanah Dah, or Burning Mountain, which I regret being unable to visit; there is a small aperture in the rock, through which a stream of inflammable gas has issued continually, and unvarying, from time beyond the reach of history; it is mentioned by Pliny, and is now, as formerly, connected with many tales of superstition. Some writers have supposed this phenomenon to have identified these mountains as the scene of the Chimæra. Their tops are much frequented by eagles and vultures, and the district is that of Mount Phoenix. Whence had we the emblem of the Phoenix rising from the flames?

On the summit of the mountain we were ascending stood the village of Ballintayer, which commanded a splendid panoramic view, including the range of high mountains on the eastern coast-broken by the deep gorges in which stand the ancient cities of Olympus and Phaselis. The beauty of the natural scenery is unaltered, and the blue sea stretches across the openings in the mountains, carrying the eye on to the extended and snow-capped range of the Taurus until it is lost in the horizon. Traversing the wooded summit of this mountain, we kept on a westward course, until a rapid descent brought us down upon the valley at Eetheree: a ride of two more hours along the plain completed our journey.

Not having in this excursion found the ancient city of Corydalla, I feel sure that it must lie up the valley at the north of Gage; but being unable to hear of any ruins there, and having wasted several days, I shall leave this city for others to explore, and tomorrow proceed on my way toward the interior of the country.

May 5th.-My tent is pitched about twenty miles up the valley of the ancient Arycandus, to the north of Limyra. A journal, after all, is only a register of the state of the mind as impressed by the objects of the day; I shall therefore not hesitate to describe my own feelings, and confess that I never felt less inclined or less able to put to paper any remarks than the impressions produced by my ride during the last five hours. I have heard others speak of a melancholy being caused by the overwhelming effect of the sublime ; but it is not melancholy when better analysed; it is a thoughtfulness and feeling of gratified pleasure which affects me, and I long to express what perhaps is better indicated by the prostration of the Oriental worshiper than by any verbal description; I feel as if I had come into the world and seen the perfection of its loveliness, and was satisfied. I know no scenery equal in sublimity and beauty to this part of Lycia.

The mere mention of mountain scenery cannot give any idea of the mountains here, which are broken into sections. forming cliffs, whose upheaved strata stand erect in peaks many thousand feet high, uniting to form a wild chaos, but each part harmonized by the other; for all is grand, yet lovely. Deep in the ravines dash torrents of the purest water, and over these grow the most luxuriant trees; above are the graver forests of pines upon the grey cliffs, and higher than these are ranges of mountains capped with snow, contrasting with the deep blue of the cloudless sky. But to the details of the road.

Recrossing the ancient Greek bridge, which I find to be

four hundred and sixty-two yards in length, we again passed the ruins of Limyra and its extended district of tombs, to the village of Demergee, at which place we took a northerly direction up the narrow valley of the river, probably the ancient Arycandus. About six miles from Limyra we saw on the brow of a cliff above us some beautiful tombs, in such good preservation that they appeared but the work of yesterday. On examination I found that this was effected in the following manner: the overhanging rock was carefully sloped into a roof, and a regular gutter cut in this, carrying off all the dripping water from the sculptured tomb, which thus remains unstained as on the day of its formation, above two thousand years ago. My disappointment as well as surprise was great, that such beautiful and important tombs should not have been inscribed or painted; there were about twenty, in the same rock,—one representing novelties in architecture somewhat Persian, and more perfect than we had before seen. These tombs are now closed with wooden doors, and serve as the locked granaries of the peasantry in the neighbourhood. I have carefully sketched one of them, which stands upon the top of the cliff; the rock has been cut away, leaving it a solid piece with the cliff. I have selected this tomb, as showing perhaps more distinctly than usual that these monuments are close imitations of wooden buildings. This is perceptible in most of the tombs in Lycia; but here are seen imitations of the ties, bolts, joints, and mouldings, so peculiar to the art of carpentry. No trace whatever of a town is visible, but the situation led us to seek Arycanda. Two miles further up the valley, many broken sarcophagi of a heavy form lay on the side of the mountains, and by the road several walls were built into the rocks; three piles of buildings, with arched windows and small apartments, stood within a few hundred yards of each other. This must have been an ancient town, but not of much importance, judging from the rude materials employed.

Proceeding onwards for an hour more, walls and sarcophagi were scattered around us, but on none of these were any inscriptions legible: they all occupied sites worthy of the ancients,—indeed in this valley it would be difficult to find any otherwise. The Turks generally select the low swampy plain, and we have consequently not yet seen in this valley any village. We are in our tent, on a knoll or promontory standing over the river, which dashes round three sides of our encampment, some hundred feet beneath. The fir-trees around are a study for an artist, and the high mountains above us vary in beauty according to their aspect. I have just discovered that we are not entirely shut out of the world; the crowing of a cock attracted my attention to the beautiful over-shot wheel of a water-mill, and the owner is wading across the stream with eggs and provisions for our meal.

May 6th.—We have reached Avelan, about twenty-five miles north-west of our last night's encampment. For ten miles the road continued up the river, occasionally crossing and recrossing it by bridges of the simplest construction, the lofty trees reaching from the rocks on either side, and a number of smaller ones being laid transversely. The scenery only changed its beauties: the richer fruit-trees disappeared as we gradually ascended, and the pines and walnuts succeeded; the plane still shadowed the course of the river, its branches stretching over the roaring stream. The rocks became less craggy and wooded, and gradually assumed the wilder grandeur of mountains, the fir-trees clothing their sides up to the snowy tops. The river, I may now say with certainty, is the Arycandus; for at about thirty-five miles from the sea, and ten on our journey of to-day, we found the extensive ruins of a city, and in one inscription the name of Arycamda. There is great excitement and pleasure in discovering these cities, once so splendid, and whose sites even have been for twenty centuries unknown.