nervous shudder.  The temperature of the springs is 180 deg.  Fahrenheit, and I suppose the tank into which he afterwards plunged me must have been nearly up to the mark.  When, at last, I was laid on the couch, my body was so parboiled that I perspired at all pores for full an hour—­a feeling too warm and unpleasant at first, but presently merging into a mood which was wholly rapturous and heavenly.  I was like a soft white cloud, that rests all of a summer afternoon on the peak of a distant mountain.  I felt the couch on which I lay no more than the cloud might feel the cliffs on which it lingers so airily.  I saw nothing but peaceful, glorious sights; spaces of clear blue sky; stretches of quiet lawns; lovely valleys threaded by the gentlest of streams; azure lakes, unruffled by a breath; calms far out on mid-ocean, and Alpine peaks bathed in the flush of an autumnal sunset.  My mind retraced all our journey from Aleppo, and there was a halo over every spot I had visited.  I dwelt with rapture on the piny hills of Phrygia, on the gorges of Taurus, on the beechen solitudes of Olympus.  Would to heaven that I might describe those scenes as I then felt them!  All was revealed to me:  the heart of Nature lay bare, and I read the meaning and knew the inspiration of her every mood.  Then, as my frame grew cooler, and the fragrant clouds of the narghileh, which had helped my dreams, diminished, I was like that same summer cloud, when it feels a gentle breeze and is lifted above the hills, floating along independent of Earth, but for its shadow.

Brousa is a very long, straggling place, extending for three or four miles along the side of the mountain, but presenting a very picturesque appearance from every point.  The houses are nearly all three stories high, built of wood and unburnt bricks, and each story projects over the other, after the manner of German towns of the Middle Ages.  They have not the hanging balconies which I have found so quaint and pleasing in Kiutahya.  But, especially in the Greek quarter, many of them are plastered and painted of some bright color, which gives a gay, cheerful appearance to the streets.  Besides, Brousa is the cleanest Turkish town I have seen.  The mountain streams traverse most of the streets, and every heavy rain washes them out thoroughly.  The whole city has a brisk, active air, and the workmen appear both more skilful and more industrious than in the other parts of Asia Minor.  I noticed a great many workers in copper, iron, and wood, and an extensive manufactory of shoes and saddles.  Brousa, however, is principally noted for its silks, which are produced in this valley, and others to the South and East.  The manufactories are near the city.  I looked over some of the fabrics in the bazaars, but found them nearly all imitations of European stuffs, woven in mixed silk and cotton, and even more costly than the silks of Damascus.