We pitched our tents upon the plain, above the cañon, on soil consisting of a deposit of lacustrine sands and gravels, overlying the lavas and tuffs from Bingöl. Far and wide, in an immense half circle, stretched the even, treeless surface--a surface scarcely less blank or less receptive of the hues of the sky than the waters which once rippled there. In the opposite direction rose the shield-shaped mass of Bingöl; we stood at the foot of the several terraces of lava which mount like steps from the plain to the upper platform, whence volcanic emissions on a large scale have poured towards the lower levels. Following the outline northwards, on the confines of the plain, its general character is that of a long bank, with scarcely perceptible declivity; until, about in the region of the pass over which we had journeyed, it again rises and becomes almost horizontal, curving over into the precipitous marbles of the Akh Dagh, which oppose a barrier of commanding proportions in the north. The flat edge of the Tekman highlands is due to a capping of lava, from which the Akh Dagh limestones are free. In the recess of the curve, and in front of the horizontal outline stands a hill of marble with a gently rounded summit. The eye returns to the series of gloomy terraces leading upwards to the eastern summit of Bingöl. Deep cañons sear the lower slopes. Khinis was little changed since I had last stood in its gloomy valley; but I noticed a larger sprinkling of Kurds with the vulture features, and a greater display of the Hamidiyeh ensign in their lambskin caps. They appeared to have nothing to do; but the Armenian craftsmen were, as usual, busy at work in their booths. The old, outspoken Kaimakam was dead. I could scarcely conceal my feelings when I was introduced to his successor, who, on his part, was at some pains to dissemble his want of ease. It was my old acquaintance, the Kaimakam of Karakilisa; but I refrained from alluding to the adventure about the gun. I was lost in astonishment at the change in his appearance. Four years ago he was a supple young man, full of spirits, proud of his wit, and spending his leisure in hunting Kurds. He had become middle-aged, almost old. His eyes had lost their lustre and his figure its shape. He rolled on the divan as he spoke. I enquired after Ali Bey, the rascally Karapapakh; the reply came that he too was dead. He had pined away--such was his phrase--under Government surveillance. The resourceful character of my old host was the one quality which appeared to remain to him. My cook had mutinied that morning, and could not be found anywhere; but he soon succeeded in tracking him out. He seemed to regret the society of the stupid miralais, the delighted gallery to which he used to play. A single companion of this description was vouchsafed to him at Khinis--an officer of the regular army stationed in the town to drill the Kurdish yeomanry. I enquired of this individual whether I could be shown a