expenditure of time and Asiatic patience, and the finishing of clasps, rivetting, etc., is conspicuously rough.  Sivas was also formerly a seat of learning; the imposing gates, with portions of the fronts of the old Arabic universities are still standing, with sufficient beautiful arabesque designs in glazed tile-work still undestroyed, to proclaim eloquently of departed glories.  The squalid mud hovels of refugees from the Caucasus now occupy the interior of these venerable edifices; ragged urchins romp with dogs and baby buffaloes where pashas’ sons formerly congregated to learn wisdom from the teachings of their prophet, and now what 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 wretched heaps of tezek placed beneath it for shelter.

I am remaining over one day at Sivas, and in the morning we call on the American missionaries.  Mr. Perry is at home, and hopes I am going to stay a week, so that they can “sort of make up for the discomforts of journeying through the country;” Mr. Hubbard and the ladies of the Mission are out of town, but will be back this evening.  After dinner we go round to the government konak and call on the Vali, Hallil Eifaat Pasha, whom Mr. Weakley describes beforehand as a very practical man, fond of mechanical contrivances; and who would never forgive him if he allowed me to leave Sivas with the bicycle without paying him a visit.  The usual rigmarole of salaams, cigarettes, coffee, compliments, and questioning are gone through with; the Vali is a jolly-faced, good-natured man, and is evidently much interested in my companion’s description of the bicycle and my journey.  Of course I don’t forget to praise the excellence of the road from Yennikhan; I can conscientiously tell him that it is superior to anything I have wheeled over south of the Balkans; the Pasha is delighted at hearing this, and beaming joyously over his spectacles, his fat jolly face a rotund picture of satisfaction, he says to 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 interview ends by the Vali inviting me to ride the bicycle out to his country residence this evening, giving the order for a squad of zaptiehs to escort me out of town at the appointed time.  “The Vali is one of the most energetic pashas in Turkey,” says Mr. Weakley, as we take our departure.  “You would scarcely believe that he has established a small weekly newspaper here, and makes it self-supporting into the bargain, would you.”  “I confess I don’t see how he manages it among these people,” 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 certain number of copies, and the subscription price is kept