We slept in an inner room of this clean little tavern, and resumed our journey at eleven o'clock on the following day. The streets were alive with people, a motley band of human beings--for Hasan Kala, with its warm baths and numerous khans and shops, lies on the main road to Tabriz. It is lifted a little above the face of the plain and has an elevation of about 5600 feet. You look back upon its crumbling walls with a certain sympathy for its fallen greatness, and wonder whether it will again rise, like Kars, from its fallen station under a further advance of the Russian Empire towards the Mediterranean. Behind this deserted fortress--which, nevertheless, I was forbidden to photograph--we admired the huge bulwark of the mountain barrier, mocking the works of man. There was the same flat edge, which had so often excited our wonder, to those formidable cliffs. East and west, in a long and horizontal outline, they were drawn beyond the range of sight. The corresponding features on the south of the plain were less emphasised, the long valleys softening the abruptness of the higher ground. Pasin--the reader may remember--is one of the principal links of the chain of depressions which connect the extremities of western Asia, and facilitate intercourse between east and west. From the narrows of Khorasan to the fantastic parapet of the Deveh Boyun, it has a length of no less than forty-four miles. Our way to Erzerum led us along this spacious avenue, and, after crossing the humble barrier which I have just mentioned, debouched upon the city on the opposite side. We were able to ride at leisure, along a course direct as an arrow, free to observe the stream of traffic on the highway. An element of special interest were a number of bullock-carts, laden pell-mell with heaps of Hamidiyeh uniforms, destined for the rank and file. They slowly made their way towards Hasan Kala, groaning and creaking as they went. Long strings of Bactrian camels--huge, large-humped, shaggy animals--defiled with a lulling symmetry of movement and measured, noiseless tread. By their side walked the drivers, Tartars with skins of parchment, their features scarcely visible beneath their sheepskin caps. Of wayfarers there were many, and of the most divergent types. Some were mounted on little hacks, here and there a whole family--turbaned Mussulmans, astride of their overhanging mattresses, to which were attached a jangling cluster of cooking pots. A led horse would be encumbered by a still more formless bundle, which, as you approached, displayed a pair of human feet. Brawny Armenian peasants, a scattering of thick-set Lazes, a Kurdish horseman or two swelled the throng.