Well, whither shall we direct our steps? Let it be to the Rushdiyeh--the Turkish official school. We are informed that the building is under repair. It is actually in a ruinous condition, and no such institution really exists. Then to the remains of the old castle.--There is no such thing as an old castle.--Well, to the site upon which it stood. The climb through the town is really quite worth while. The view from the summit of the hill is extremely pleasing--the bold walls of the valley expanding to the level plain, the mountainous background soaring upwards and white with snow, and in the folds of this expanse the little hill of Mush--a mere button upon which you stand. The neck which connects this eminence with the arm of the main valley is dotted over with the headstones of deserted graveyards, seeming from a distance like bleaching bones. You look down into the glen between the two elevations through which trickles the Garni Chai. In its lap lies a white edifice which is indicated as the barrack, and towards its head you admire the form of a second minaret, resembling its companion in the bazar. The summit of the hill is flat; and, although the houses rise up to the margin, the platform itself is still bare. The debris of the old castle are strewn upon the grass, but not one stone remains upon another. Most have been taken away as building material. Let us proceed to the school of the Armenian Catholics.--Yes, certainly, if such be our desire.--We wind down the town towards the valley on the east, and arrive before the enclosure of a newly-erected church. That is the Catholic Church;--but where is the school? It is situated just opposite;--oh! but it is closed.--Certainly, the school is closed.--The church at least is open; let us pass in.--Certainly, and we enter the building. The first to enter is the commissary, followed by four policemen in military dress. The bleak walls of the brand-new edifice echo the clank of their boots. A single figure is present--the black-robed figure of a priest; and it crouches on the high altar, visibly trembling, such as we may imagine some male Hypatia of olden times. While I greet the priest from the doorway, a soldier walks across, and dares the wretched creature to address a word to us. On our part there is nothing to be done but to keep our tempers.