To this there was no dissent, everybody chorussed the wish for a railway. "Do you think that one will ever be made?" inquired the Caimacan. "Probably when you have some money in the exchequer." "We are very poor; why does not your nation lend us some gold?" "We have already given you more than a hundred millions; with that money you might have made railways in every part of Anatolia." "Will there be war?" asked an Imaum (priest.) "I do not know." "If there is," he added, "I shall go—all the Imaums will go; we will fight by the side of our countrymen. We will kill all the Muscovites." "Has it not occurred to you," I here remarked, "that perhaps they may kill all the Turks?" "Impossible! Allah and the Prophet are on our side; they will fight for the faithful." "What do you think yourself?" now inquired the Caimacan; "will Russia beat us?" "Certainly—that is, if you have no European allies." "Why so?" "Because, if your Government had to put out all its strength to conquer the Servians assisted by only 12,000 Russians, what opposition will it be able to make to an army of 700,000 Muscovites?" "May their mothers be defiled!" said an old farmer. "They are always interfering with us. All my sons have gone to the war, and I—well, if the Padishah wants me, I will go too." He was apparently an octogenarian. This announcement on his part was received with great applause by the rest of the company. "Why do you not give the Armenians arms, and make them assist?" I inquired. "They are friends with the Russians," said the Imaum. "They would turn against us. Have you Armenians in your country?" "No." "But you are a Christian, and they are Christians—you must be the same." I now had to explain to the company that there is as much difference between an English Protestant and an Armenian Christian, as between a Sunnite and a Shiite. "And do you hate the Armenians as much as the Shiites hate us?" "We do not hate anybody. Our religion does not allow us to do so." "You Christians are a strange people," said the priest. Rising, he left the room, followed by the rest of the visitors. The scenery is very lovely in this neighbourhood, and as we ascended an incline which leads in the direction of Angora, I could not help wishing that I had been born a painter, in order to have placed on canvas a picture of the landscape. A succession of hills, each one loftier than its fellow, broke upon us as we climbed the steep. They were of all forms, shades, and colours, ash-grey, blue, vermillion, robed in imperial purple, and dotted with patches of vegetation. Our road wound amidst these chameleon-like heights. Silvery rivulets streamed down the sides of the many coloured hills. A rising sun showered its gleaming rays upon the sparkling cascades. They flashed and reflected the tints and shadows. A gurgling sound of many waters arose from the depths below.