ining powers; but yet their pace did not seem nearly fast
enough to satisfy the impatience of two men, dressed in Persian costume,
who rode at the head of the troop.

The well-kept royal road ran through fields of good black, arable land,
planted with trees of many different kinds. It crossed the outlying
spurs of the Tmolus range of mountains. At their foot stretched rows of
olive, citron and plane-trees, plantations of mulberries and vines; at
a higher level grew firs, cypresses and nut-tree copses. Fig-trees and
date-palms, covered with fruit, stood sprinkled over the fields; and
the woods and meadows were carpeted with brightly-colored and
sweetly-scented flowers. The road led over ravines and brooks, now half
dried up by the heat of summer, and here and there the traveller came
upon a well at the side of the road, carefully enclosed, with seats for
the weary, and sheltering shrubs. Oleanders bloomed in the more damp
and shady places; slender palms waved wherever the sun was hottest. Over
this rich landscape hung a deep blue, perfectly cloudless sky, bounded
on its southern horizon by the snowy peaks of the Tmolus mountains, and
on the west by the Sipylus range of hills, which gave a bluish shimmer
in the distance.

The road went down into the valley, passing through a little wood of
birches, the stems of which, up to the very tree-top, were twined with
vines covered with bunches of grapes.

The horsemen stopped at a bend in the road, for there, before them, in
the celebrated valley of the Hermus, lay the golden Sardis, formerly the
capital of the Lydian kingdom and residence of its king, Croesus.

Above the reed-thatched roofs of its numerous houses rose a black, steep
rock; the white marble buildings on its summit could be seen from a
great distance. These buildings formed the citadel, round the threefold
walls of which, many centuries before, King Meles had carried a lion in
order to render them impregnable. On its southern side the citadel-rock
was not so steep, and houses had been built upon it. Croesus'
former palace lay to the north, on the golden-sanded Pactolus. This
reddish-colored river flowed above the market-place, (which, to our
admiring travellers, looked like a barren spot in the midst of a
blooming meadow), ran on in a westerly direction, and then entered
a narrow mountain valley, where it washed the walls of the temple of
Cybele.

Large gardens stretched away towards the east, and in the midst