dered their father, by the by), hearing of their intended visit to Constantinople, had signified his displeasure at it to the Porte. The Sultan, being anxious to conclude a commercial treaty with the Khan, had refused to see the princes; and they now turned to England's representative for assistance and advice. Sir Stratford Canning promptly and kindly afforded both; and I believe that, after some detention at Brusa, in Bithynia, these wronged and amiable men were received at Constantinople as became the descendants of Tamerlane.

After some hours' sailing, I came in sight of the European shore, and gazed eagerly for some object that might assure me of its identity; when, lo! slowly emerging from the bright horizon, minaret after minaret starts into view; mosque domes and masses of dark foliage follow; with every wave we bound over, some new feature is developed, and at length Constantinople stands revealed in all its unrivalled magnificence and beauty. The Bosphorus shines before us like a lake; its purple waves dance into the sunlight that turns their crests to gold, and reflect along their margin the mingled foliage and fortresses that shadow their deep waters. Over these, rises a richly-mingled mass of palaces, and gardens, and stately towers; and dark groves, with many minarets, and cypress trees, and purple domes, and gleaming crescents. Beyond that gorgeously-crowded hill the peninsula is girded round with the majestic walls and towers that so long defied the Moslem hordes.

The triangular peninsula which Constantinople occupies is bounded on the south by the Sea of Marmora, on the east by the Thracian Bosphorus, and on the north by the Golden Horn, which separates it from Pera. This unique water is only a quarter of a mile wide, and runs, bordered by arsenals, palaces, and storehouses for seven miles, into Roumelia. All the fleets of Europe might here lie at anchor among the very streets, like the gondolas on the canals of Venice. The town of Pera occupies the whole face of the shore, looking down upon the Golden Horn, and out upon the Bosphorus: Tophana and Galata are involved in its general name. Here all the Europeans, with their respective embassies and consulates, have their residence.

I coasted along the Asiatic shore, until I passed the Hill of

Scutari, covered with a forest of cypresses that conceal the burial-place of the city, and then steered across, under Leander's tower, for Pera. This tower is built upon a rock, in the midst of the Bosphorus, whereon rested the central links of a strong chain, with which the simple people of early times checked the course of the ancient navies.

So much has been said and written of Constantinople, that I shall only add that it seems to me impossible to exaggerate its beauty and commanding appearance. There is something so strange in those fairy-like towers and minarets among their rich groves and gardens, contrasted with the imposing situation of the city, and the proud array of castle and fortress that lines the shore, added to the beauty of the bright blue sea in which the city stands reflected, and the clear atmosphere that gives brilliance to the whole, that it is impossible to describe the effect produced by such various causes.

Landed at Pera, I passed a long examination before the civil authorities, and then repaired to Missirie's most comfortable hotel. It was a real pleasure to find myself once more in Europe, and the crowds of people with hats on their heads, and without moustache upon their lips, appeared quite strange to me. I can easily understand the Moslem's contempt for and dislike to the shaven face once accustomed to the majestic beard and the manly moustache, the human countenance certainly assumes a very mean appearance when deprived of these natural adjuncts. The unveiled women, too, seemed very surprising, as they wandered about the streets at their own free will, and for the first day or two I felt more inclined to ask a question of the courteous orientals than of the smart, foppish-looking Frank.

The streets of Pera are steep and narrow, but otherwise strictly European in their appearance. Missirie's hotel would be considered excellent any where, but to a man who for nearly a twelvemonth had known no shelter but such as boats, khans, or tents could afford, it was absolutely luxurious. I found many friends here, moreover; and it was with some regret I ordered horses and set off for Buyukderé, the summer residence of our ambassador.

A gaunt black slave, mounted on a camel-like horse, preceded

me with my saddle-bags, and we passed at a gallop over the wide, bleak downs that surround Pera towards the North. In some of the valleys we're tracts of great richness and fertility, and some comfortable farm-houses and homesteads delightfully reminded me that I was in Europe. After an hour's hard riding we came to Sthené, and thenceforth our path lay along the beautiful shores of the Bosphorus.

This celebrated water somewhat resembles the straits of Menai in its shape and windings, but is on an infinitely larger scale: its steep shores are mostly wooded to the water's edge, and an almost continuous village runs from Pera to Buyukderé. Occa. sionally this scattered array of cottages and palaces collects into a town, as at Therapia, where the greater number of the ambassadors have summer residences: sometimes it is broken by terraces shaded with trellised vines, or shady recesses among the cliffs, where the inhabitants sit sipping sherbet, and smoking their chibouques. Most of the women wore the picturesque Greek dress, and there was a sufficient sprinkling of oriental costume among the men to confer a very imposing appearance on these groups. Pleasure seemed to be the only business of their lives, every scene disclosed a garden, every building was a palace, or a fort, or a cottage ornée. On we went at a gallop along the shore, or above the hills, or thundering through the towns, except where some gaily-painted car, full of women, and drawn by two white oxen, blocked up the way. The sun's last light fell upon the Black Sea, as I rode into Buyukderé.

Here I passed two or three most pleasant days, which did not require the contrast of solitude, privation, and hardship, to render appreciated the gifted society and the refinements of life which I enjoyed there.

Buyukderé is a very picturesque village, with green verandahs, and red-tiled roofs, and a pretty little quay, and other seaport appendages in miniature. Men-of-war, with flags of the different nations which the ambassadors resident here represent, are moored a short distance from the shore. These contribute to vary the view, which reaches through a vista of high cliffs and fortresses to the Black Sea: numbers of caiques are shooting constantly across the bright blue bay to Therapia; the vine-clad hills and grassy

cliffs are mottled with the bright garments of the Greek inhabitants, and the whole scene is full of interest and animation.

One morning I took a caïque to visit the Symplagades and the Black Sea: these graceful boats are the principal means of transit along the Bosphorus, as gondolas are at Venice; their bows are very sharp, and rise so far out of the water, that only one half of the caïque rests upon the water. Their sides are formed of a single plank of very thin beech, and are quaintly adorned with gilding and oak-carving; you recline on silk cushions that supersede all seats, and are thus shot along with incredible rapidity.

Rowed by two athletic Turks, I passed by a succession of bold cliffs and verdant valleys opening from the strait, with numerous forts close to the water's edge, and in less than an hour I was bounding over the waters of the Euxine. The light caïque leapt from wave to wave of this troubled water like a seagull, and it was with some difficulty we disembarked on the mass of dark and rugged cliffs that represent the Symplagades, or Cyanean rocks. This singular pile starts up from the sea to a considerable height, surmounted by an altar of pure white Parian marble. The view from thence is very striking, commanding a wide range of the European and Asiatic shores, and of that gloomy and turbulent sea so celebrated in the songs of the sunny Archipelago. The light-houses of Europe and of Asia serve to guard, as well as to enlighten the entrance to the Bosphorus, and their strong fortresses add to the effect of the bold and naked cliffs on which they stand. Who raised the lonely altar on this wild island none can tell, but imagination will have it to be a votive monument of some rescued mariner in the times when Argo sailed these seas.

We went one evening from the ambassador's palace to visit Unkiar Skelessi, an old fortress crowning one of the Asiatic hills. The sunset was magnificent, and the Bosphorus beneath us seemed one sheet of burning gold; while far away, over hill, and vale, and ruined tower, and broken aqueduct, the crimson light lent a new charm and marvel to the splendid landscape. Yet when the sun was gone he was scarcely regretted; evening came on with so beautiful and bright an aspect, with such diamond stars, and azure sky, and fragrant flower-smells, and softened sounds. As we glided away from that grand old castle of the Genoese, it

seemed restored by the doubtful light to all its strength; the hanging woods and beetling cliffs were reflected in the star-spangled stream; the air seemed exquisitely sensitive to the faint fragrance and the distant song; and it was like the breaking of a spell when the caïque struck lightly against the marble terrace of the Palazzo.

This caïque was beautifully appointed, and might have figured proudly in the wake of the Bucentaur. It had the same graceful shape and trim as the smaller craft of its kind; but it was richly gilded, and its lofty stern enabled the steersman to look over all the crew. Two janissaries, in the gorgeous Greek dress, sat in the stern-sheets, two servants occupied a space next the numerous rowers, and these last, dressed in light silken jackets, pulled with a swift but easy stroke, to which they scarcely bent. As the barge approached a Russian man-of-war, she beat to quarters, and the men remained with cap in hand, the marines presenting arms, until the ambassador had passed by.

I do not attempt to describe the Bosphorus; Lady Mary Montagu's description of it is as faithful to this day as it is vivid. The stream runs at the rate of about four miles an hour, and is haunted by dolphins below, and "âmes damnées" above, its waters: these "lost souls" are dark-coloured birds, about the size of a teal, that keep forever wandering with rapid wing up and down these straits. Their restlessness, and shrieking cry, and apparent homelessness, have obtained for them the above appellation: the Turks are said to believe that they are human souls in a state of probation; but it seems strange that such a paradise should be selected for a place of purgatory.

My caïque shot rapidly away along the bright blue stream towards Constantinople; on the eastern shore, the "Sweet Waters of Asia" with the Sultan's palace claimed a visit; and the beautiful village of Candalie may not be neglected, if it were only in memory of Jupiter's adventure with Europa, and the deep allegory it contains.

Constantinople is a delightful summer residence, but the climate in winter is very disagreeable, and has none of those counteracting comforts that make us warmly welcome winter to our English hearths. The view from the burying-ground at Pera is one of