The mountain which has still the name of Ararat, has retained it through all ages. Tournefort has particularly described it, and from his account it seems to consist chiefly of freestone, or calcareous sandstone. It is a detached mountain in form of a sugar loaf, in the midst of a very extensive plain, consisting of two summits; the lesser, more sharp and pointed; the higher, which is that of the ark, lies north-west of it, and raises its head far above the neighbouring mountains, and is covered with perpetual snow. When the air is clear, it does not appear to be above two leagues from Erivan, and may be seen at the distance of four or five days’ journey. Its being visible at such a distance, however, is ascribed not so much to its height, as to its lonely situation, in a large plain, and upon the most elevated part of the country. The ascent is difficult and fatiguing. Tournefort attempted it; and, after a whole day’s toil, he was obliged, by the snow and intense cold, to return without accomplishing his design, though in the middle of summer. On the side of the mountain that looks toward Erivan, is a prodigious precipice, very deep, with perpendicular sides, and of a rough, black appearance, as if tinged with smoke. The summit of Ararat has never been reached, though several attempts have been made; and if the ark rested on the summit, it is certain that those who have spoken of its fragments being seen there in different ages, must have been imposed upon. It is, however, not necessary to suppose that the ark rested upon either of its tops; and that spot would certainly be chosen which would afford the greatest facility of descent. Sir Robert Ker Porter is among the modern travellers who have given us an account of this celebrated mountain:--“As the vale opened beneath us in our descent, my whole attention became absorbed in the view before me. A vast plain, peopled with countless villages; the towers and spires of the churches of Eitch-mai-adzen, arising from amidst them; the glittering waters of the Araxes, flowing through the fresh green of the vale; and the subordinate range of mountains, skirting the base of the awful monument of the antediluvian world. It seemed to stand a stupendous link in the history of man, uniting the two races of men before and after the flood. But it was not until we had arrived upon the flat plain, that I beheld Ararat in all its amplitude of grandeur. From the spot on which I stood, it appeared as if the hugest mountains of the world had been piled upon each other, to form this one sublime immensity of earth, and rock, and snow. The icy peaks of its double heads rose majestically into the clear and cloudless heavens; the sun blazed bright upon them; and the reflection sent forth a dazzling radiance, equal to other suns. This point of the view united the utmost grandeur of plain and height. But the feelings I experienced while looking on the mountain, are hardly to be described.