Our road, for the remainder of the day, was over barren hills, covered with scanty herbage.  The sun shone out intensely hot, and the glare of the white soil was exceedingly painful to my eyes.  The locality of Eregli was betrayed, some time before we reached it, by its dark-green belt of fruit trees.  It stands in the mouth of a narrow valley which winds down from the Taurus, and is watered by a large rapid stream that finally loses itself in the lakes and morasses of the plain.  There had been a heavy black thunder-cloud gathering, and as we reached our camping-ground, under some fine walnut-trees near the stream, a sudden blast of cold wind swept over the town, filling the air with dust.  We pitched the tent in all haste, expecting a storm, but the rain finally passed to the northward.  We then took a walk through the town, which is a forlorn place.  A spacious khan, built apparently for the Mecca pilgrims, is in ruins, but the mosque has an exquisite minaret, eighty feet high, and still bearing traces of the devices, in blue tiles, which once covered it.  The shops were mostly closed, and in those which were still open the owners lay at full length on their bellies, their faces gaunt with fasting.  They seemed annoyed at our troubling them, even with purchases.  One would have thought that some fearful pestilence had fallen upon the town.  The cobblers only, who somewhat languidly plied their implements, seemed to retain a little life.  The few Jews and Armenians smoked their pipes in a tantalizing manner, in the very faces of the poor Mussulmans.  We bought an oka of excellent cherries, which we were cruel enough to taste in the streets, before the hungry eyes of the suffering merchants.

This evening the asses belonging to the place were driven in from pasture—­four or five hundred in all; and such a show of curious asinine specimens as I never before beheld.  A Dervish, who was with us in Quarantine, at Adana, has just arrived.  He had lost his teskere (passport), and on issuing forth purified, was cast into prison.  Finally he found some one who knew him, and procured his release.  He had come on foot to this place in five days, suffering many privations, having been forty-eight hours without food.  He is bound to Konia, on a pilgrimage to the tomb of Hazret Mevlana, the founder of the sect of dancing Dervishes.  We gave him food, in return for which he taught me the formula of his prayers.  He tells me I should always pronounce the name of Allah when my horse stumbles, or I see a man in danger of his life, as the word has a saving power.  Hadji Youssuf, who has just been begging for an advance of twenty piastres to buy grain for his horses, swore “by the pardon of God” that he would sell the lame horse at Konia and get a better one.  We have lost all confidence in the old villain’s promises, but the poor beasts shall not suffer for his delinquencies.

Our tent is in a charming spot, and, from without, makes a picture to be remembered.  The yellow illumination from within strikes on the under sides of the walnut boughs, while the moonlight silvers them from above.  Beyond gardens where the nightingales are singing, the tall minaret of Eregli stands revealed in the vapory glow.  The night is too sweet and balmy for sleep, and yet I must close my eyes upon it, for the hot plains of Karamania await us to-morrow.