September 7th.—Great animation in town to-day on account of the arrival of Moussa-Pasha, the chief of the Turkish army in Asia-Minor. The Russian commander of the citadel with a squadron of dragoons and a military band has gone out to meet him as far as the Postern of Kars. At about ten o’clock in the morning a Guard of Honour was placed before the house of the Mouchir. We mounted on the roof of the Turkish military school, from whence we could see the road leading to Trebizond. We waited a long time; at last sounds of music were heard from afar, a cloud of dust arose, and we discerned long files of cavalry. Our dragoons rode ahead, bringing in the Turkish commander mounted on a splendid horse and surrounded by a numerous suite. The Turkish troops brought up the rear. As soon as Moussa-Pasha perceived my husband he waved his hand to him exclaiming in perfect Russian: “Your Excellency, how happy I am to see you!” Moussa-Pasha is an aborigine of the Caucasus; he has been educated in St. Petersburg in the _Corps des Pages_, and has served a long time in the Russian army. It is only since he rose to the rank of general, that he turned traitor and went back to the Turkish government. Moussa-Pasha dismounted and came up on to our roof to give my husband a warm greeting, holding out both hands. Then, in sight of the whole crowd of bewildered Turks, he kissed my hand gallantly. After having seated himself between us, the Mouchir ordered his troops to continue their march through the town, meanwhile being awfully nice to me; he expressed his satisfaction that I hadn’t left Erzeroum before his arrival and told me that the rumours of my stay in Erzeroum had reached Constantinople, and that my bravery was held up as an example to the Turkish officers and soldiers. He also related to me that prude, Ismail-Pasha, was highly displeased that I rode through the streets of Erzeroum in the company of men and with my face uncovered, pretending that it thoroughly offended the notion of propriety in the Turkish and Armenian families. When the infantry had passed, Moussa-Pasha took leave of us and rode off whilst his troops continued to defile. Each battalion was preceded by sappers, each carrying a hatchet. The Turkish soldiers had a fine deportment and marched in good order, but their officers looked oldish and round-shouldered. The batteries began to defile now, followed by a regiment of “souvaris” (dragoons) in brilliant uniforms, laid all over with red and yellow galoons. Closed arabas, occupied by the families of the Turkish army, filed off now amidst luggage-vans. The occupants of these harem conveyances were invisible; one of the women having the curiosity to peep out was brutally pushed back by a soldier. A band of dervishes, bearing the standard of the Prophet, came galloping up, brandishing glittering swords; behind them advanced files of Osmanlies striking up a clamorous flourish of trumpets, beating the war-drums and blowing the war-horns.