One of the Zaptiehs galloped forward with a letter to the governor from the Pacha at Sivas. Presently the official rode out to meet me. He was accompanied by an escort of gendarmes under the command of a captain. The latter, who was mounted upon a spirited little Arab, caracoled his steed to and fro—now bending over the saddle and trying to touch the ground with his hand—then going through all the motions of throwing the Djerrid—evidently wishing to astonish the weak nerves of the newly-arrived giaours. "Lor! what a cropper!" This remark from my English servant disturbed me in a conversation with the governor. On looking round, I saw the captain rolling in the mud. His saddle had turned—hence the fall. "Serve him right, sir!" remarked Radford, catching my eye. "He was a spurring his horse that cruel; now pulling him up short on his withers, and then loosing him off like an express train. He was trying to show us how he could touch the ground. I believe, sir, the fellow thinks that we know nothing about riding, and that is why he wanted to do a Astley's performance out here in Hasia!" The Caimacan led the way to a large house, belonging to a Turkish gentleman, a personal friend of the Pacha of Sivas. My host received me very courteously. He was under the impression that I had come to Divriki on some business connected with mines, and seemed surprised when he was informed that nothing but a wish to see the country had induced me to ride through Anatolia. "There are mines in the neighbourhood," said the Turk, "and, according to tradition, some very rich ones. They were worked several hundred years ago—that is, when people lived who had brains—but now, alas! every man's head is like a blown-out calf's skin. The people do not know how to get at the treasures which lie hid beneath the ground, and, even if they did, would be too idle to do so." I observed that, judging from the ruins about Divriki, all the houses must formerly have been built of hewn stone. "Yes," said my host sorrowfully, "our ancestors were wise men. They lived in stone houses, we are satisfied with buildings made of dried mud. What do you build your houses of in England?" he inquired. "Of bricks made of clay burnt in a fire." "Yes, said the Turk, "you English have advanced. You know more than your grandfathers. Why have we not done the same?" "Probably because you keep your women shut up in a harem, and do not educate them," I replied. "Turkish mothers are very ignorant, and, consequently, cannot instruct their children. The result is that your sons are only half educated. Besides this, you choose your wives—at least I am told so—for their looks, and without any regard to their attainments." "The Inglis is quite right," said an old Turk, a friend of my host. "If I want to breed a good foal, I am as particular about the mare as the sire. He means that we leave the mares out of the question, and then complain that our stock is not so good as that of other nations."