drawn a peaceful breath.  Mine host of Kachahurda can scarcely be called a very civilized or refined individual; he has neither the gentle kindliness of Kirkoragha Vartarian, nor the dignified, gentlemanly bearing of Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi; but he grabs a club, and roaring like the hoarse whistle of a Mississippi steamboat, chases a crowd of villagers out of the room who venture to come in on purpose to stare rudely at his guest; and for this charitable action alone he deserves much credit; nothing is so annoying as to have these unwashed crowds standing gazing and commenting while one is eating.  A man is sent with me to direct me aright where the road forks, a mile or so from the village; from the forks it is a newly made road, in fact, unfinished; it resembles a ploughed field for looseness and I depth; and when, in addition to this, one has to climb a gradient of twenty metres to the hundred, a bicycle is anything but a comforting thing to possess.  The country becomes broken and more mountainous than ever, and the road winds about fearfully.  Often a part of the road that is but a mile away as the crow flies requires an hour’s steady going to reach it; but the mountain scenery is glorious.  Occasionally I round a point, or reach a summit, from whence a magnificent and comprehensive view bursts upon the vision, and it really requires an effort to tear one’s self away, realizing that in all probability I shall never see it again.  At one point I seem to be overlooking a vast amphitheatre which encompasses within itself the physical geography of a continent.  It is traversed by whole mountain-ranges of lesser degree; it contains tracts of stony desert and fertile valley, lakes, and a river, not excepting even the completing element of a fine forest, and encompassing it round about, like an impenetrable palisade protecting it against invasion, are scores of grand old mountains — grim sentinels that nothing can overcome.  The road, though still among the mountains, is now descending in a general way from the elevated divide, down toward Enderes and the valley of the Gevmeili Chai River; and toward evening I enter an Armenian village.

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