The block of limestone hills which we crossed from Melazkert extend from Adeljivas along the shore. In the neighbourhood of Akhlat they recess away towards Lake Nazik, leaving an extensive margin of fairly level land. But the coast itself, between Erkizan and the delta of the streams below the older city, has the character of rounded cliffs, shelving to the lake. The soil is composed of purplish sandstones and conglomerates, which, as you approach the older city, are overlaid with lava and pumice. Both the sandstones and the pumice tend to arid, dusty ground; while the yellow pumice reflects an overpowering glare. Yet this ground, when thoroughly watered, becomes extremely fertile; and it is characteristic of Akhlat that the oases are the most luxuriant, and the intermediate spaces the most sterile of all these shores. Thus Erkizan is a deep belt of shady orchards, while the walled city is surrounded by powdery waste. Groves of aged walnut trees clothe the ground on either side of the ravine of Takht-i-Suleyman; but, if you ride from the walled city towards Kulaxis, the light streams, and the dust rises in clouds. In such a waste the number of rivulets is surprising; and they flow with a vigour which is not less strange. It is probable that the more ancient city was surrounded by suburbs. The mausolea are spread over a considerable area; and, even in Erkizan, the houses are built up with the faced stones which are characteristic of the ancient masonry. In this quarter we remark, beside the base of a tomb, a capital, enriched with an Arab ornament, and a large stone, elaborately chiselled. Both these objects are observed at random, lying unheeded on the ground. The Government house is a solid stone building; the graceful pointed arch which we notice over a doorway would seem to indicate that the influence of the monuments is still alive. Adjoining it is placed the prison. There are two or three shops, with deep verandahs over the shop, the whole surmounted by the roof. The dwellings are widely scattered; and, if window glass were universal, they would present an appearance both of solidity and of comfort. Little lanes intersect the gardens; the murmur of water and the scent of the flowering olives fill the air with sweetness and pleasant sounds. Such are some of the notes one makes when on a day of midsummer we wend our way on horseback through the straggling settlement of Erkizan with the purpose of exploring the ancient sites. As we pass the prison, an old Armenian protrudes his head from one of the windows, and begs us to intercede on his behalf. On the outskirts of the oasis we are met by the Kaimakam, mounted on a white mare, with black and yellow trappings, and with a two-months-old foal at foot. In his company, and in that of a green-turbaned khoja, whom he employs as writer, we pass an old mulberry tree on the fringe of the fertile zone, and enter the waste on a westerly course.