xhibits itself
suddenly at a dip in the road long before the plains are in sight.
Well may the Armenians glory in "their" Ararat, peerless among the
mighty works of the Creator, almost symmetrical in its outlines,
and rising to an altitude of 16,916 feet above the sea, Lesser
Ararat, 12,840 feet, looking almost dwarfed by the side of its mighty
neighbour.

At Erivan, the largest city in Russian Armenia, the traveller will
find fairly good accommodation, but the place is dull enough, whether
in the Persian quarter, where crooked lanes are lined with high walls,
that mask the dwellings within like the defences of a fortress, or
in the broad streets and unpaved quarter laid out by the Russians
since their occupation of the province in 1829, even though enlivened
by a boulevard and gardens fair to look upon. The population is
Armenian and Persian, for Persia ruled here during a considerable
period until vanquished by Russia; but at the bazaar one meets
with other nationalities, such as Tartars from the Steppes, Kurds,
Greeks, and Turkish dealers in search of good horses, upon which
they will fly across the frontier, defying Cossacks and custom
officers alike.

Within a short distance of Erivan, and the post-station nearest
to the Persian frontier, is Nahitchevan, the first abode of Noah
after he came forth from the ark, and probably also his last, since
his tomb is reverently shown by the inhabitants, who eagerly escort
strangers to see it. Other still more important towns in Armenia,
available by carriage-road, are Alexandropol and Kars, the former
being the largest and most powerful fortress and the principal
arsenal in Transcaucasia; the latter, long a Turkish fortress town,
was gallantly defended in 1855 by Sir Fenwick Williams and a few
British officers, until the garrison was starved into surrender
by General Mouravieff. Kars was finally ceded to Russia by the
Treaty of Berlin in 1878.

[Illustration: TIFLIS.]

A Tartar city brought into prominence of late years through the
introduction of railways is Elizavetpol, on the line between Tiflis
and the Caspian, where we must now pick ourselves up after having
retraced our steps from the plains, to journey by rail to dismal
looking Baku--a town of recent creation, approached through a desert
of sand and stones, where neither vegetable nor animal life can
possibly find an existence. Viewed from the sea, Baku presents a
distinctly picturesque appearance, with its somb