Four years had elapsed since the close of my last journey. Armenia had in the meanwhile been the scene of tragedies which had touched the conscience of the West. Petty disturbances among the mountaineers in the wild fastnesses of Sasun, south of Mush, were magnified by the provincial authorities into the appearance of a revolution, and were suppressed with savage cruelty. The example of a single massacre was not sufficient to overawe the Armenians; the Palace had tasted blood, and their special agents throughout the provinces were eager for the work and its rewards. Against the counsels of their best officials and the entreaties of Turkey's truest friends, the Palace organised a series of butcheries on a great scale. The events in Sasun were followed by similar atrocities not only in the towns and villages inhabited by Armenians but also in the capital itself. Europe, deeply pledged to secure good government among the Armenians, was unwilling to embark on a policy of decisive action, paralysed by the mutual jealousies of the principal Powers. During those dark times the country had been closed to travellers; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I was at length enabled to complete the studies which had been interrupted on the former occasion by the rigour of winter. June 7, 1898.--On a day of early summer, when the air was fresh and the sun warm, my friend Oswald and myself set out from Trebizond, to perform the journey which forms the subject of the last chapter in the reverse sense. I have already described the stages from Erzerum to the Vavuk Pass; but it may be desirable to notice briefly the intermediate section between the sea and that natural threshold of the Armenian tableland. For a distance of over a mile the chaussée follows the coast beneath the shadow of that table-topped mass of dark porphyritic lava which is known as Boz Tepe. The view ranges over the considerable delta of the Pyxitis--a strip of sand and pebbles projecting far into the sea, which is discoloured for some distance by the suspended sediment. But the large prospects are at once lost as you enter the river valley and proceed at right angles to your former course. The stream is swirling along, divided into several channels, and overhung at a respectable interval by tall cliffs. In places the outlines open and disclose a country of rolling hills, as where the large and white-faced monastery of Aiana is seen high-seated in a charming landscape on the right bank. It is indeed an admirable approach to the recesses of the Pontic chain, this valley of Deïrmen. It leads with much of the straightness and space of a church's nave through the lofty and intricate outworks of the range almost to its spine at the Zigana Pass.