In the plain was no vestige of human habitation visible, except the tents of a battalion of regulars, and a two-story blockhouse on a spur of hill which projected into the plain. We rode into the camp, and were received with emphasis by the Pasha, who, with true Eastern diplomacy, expressed unbounded, surprise at my visit, "so entirely unexpected;" and, learning the result of my attempts at feeding in Lakus, called to the mess-boy to bring me the remains of the breakfast, apologizing abundantly, and informing me that I should be expected to dine with him and the commander of the post at eight. The residual breakfast, supplemented by a plate of kibaubs, the mutton-chop of the East, despatched; the ceremonial pipes and coffee finished, and the more than usually complimentary speeches said, the shadows meanwhile falling longer on the plain; I accepted the Pasha's offer of a fresh horse, and rode across to the famous descent into the glen of Samaria, the Xyloscala, so-called from a zigzag colossal staircase made with fir-trunks, and formerly the only means of descent into the glen. There was a detachment of troops building a blockhouse to command the upper part of the glen, and the commander kept me salaaming, coffee-taking, etc., until I saw that the sunlight was getting too red to give me time to explore the ravine, and I contented myself with a look from the brink down into the blue depths. I doubt if, in the range of habitual travel, there is another such scene. It was as if the mountains had gaped to their very bases. In front of me were bare stony peaks 7,000 to 8,000 feet high, whose precipitous slopes plunged down unbrokenly, the pines venturing to show themselves in increasing number as the slope ascended, and ended in a narrow gorge. At the side, the rock rose like the aiguilles of Chamouny, cloven and guttered, with the snow still lying in its clefts, and broad fields of it on the opposite eastern peaks. I looked down through the pines and cedars that clung in the crevices of the rocks below me, and the bottom of the glen looked blue and faint in their interstices. The Xyloscala, destroyed by the insurgents at the beginning of the insurrection, was replaced by a laborious zigzag road, which sidled off under crags, and came back along slopes, blasted out of rock, and buttressed up with pines, seeming to me, where I stood, as if it finally launched off into mid-air, and would only help another Dædalus into the mystery of the labyrinth of pines and rock gorges below. As I watched, the flame of the sunlight crept up the peaks across the glen, the purple-blue shadow following it up, changing the snow-fields from rosy to blue, and the peaks of pale-gray rock to russet, as the day died away. The chill of night reminded me to put my overcoat on. We rode back across the plain in the twilight, accompanied by the building gang, whose polyglot murmur was as cheerful and full of mirth as though they were peasants going home from the vintage.