CHAPTER X.

THE BREACH.

CHAPTER XI.

ATHENS.

WE left Messina on the afternoon of the 15th of October, and on the following morning were in sight of the Island of Malta. By noon we were at anchor in the harbor of Valetta. It was really refreshing to see something like cleanliness and civilization once more. The houses of Valetta, with their light cheerful coloring, their varieties of elevation, their pleasant verandas and balconies, are the neatest specimens imaginable of toy-work on a large scale; and the streets are the very queerest streets conceivable, with their uprisings and downfallings, their steps of stairs, their crowds of darkly hooded women and noisy men, and the strange mixture of races and languages, Europeanism, Orientalism, and Barbarism, scents and sounds, and all the varieties of life that abound in them. But British ascendency is apparent at the first glance. All one need do, after casting an eye upon the endless rows of cannon peeping from the fortifications, is to look at the banded and gilded officers strutting about every where, the red-coated guards armed to the teeth, and stationed at every gateway and public building, the never-ending drill of companies in the public squares, the bristling armories, the theatres, porter-houses, billiard saloons, club-houses, and army-tailor shops; and above all, at the places of worship, where the teachings of the Gospel are expounded, and peace and good will enjoined toward all mankind--to be convinced that he is once more among a progressive and enlightened people.

Doctor Mendoza and the Madam, who were on the same steamer from Messina, were charmed with the hotels of Valetta. I saw nothing of this party in my rambles about the streets; but afterward was informed by the Doctor that they were fatigued by the voyage, and had spent the time in their hotel, which was very comfortable; the wines were excellent; the Madam was "indispose;" the mutton uncommonly fat and tender; and altogether they were tres contents to repose awhile after the perils and hardships of the voyage.

I took passage in the French steamer for the Piraeus. The sea was rough and the weather very unpleasant. Compelled as I was, in all my traveling, to take the cheapest places, ranging from deck-passages up to the second cabin, I did not discover until we were in sight of Greece that my friends Dr. Mendoza and the Madam were on board the steamer with me again. They had eventually, upon consultation with the Portuguese Consul, as to the hotels, concluded to pursue their travels to the East. The purse of the Doctor was well lined, and of course he spared no pains in making himself and the Madam comfortable. Unlike most people with full purses, they were generous to a fault; indeed, I was often forced to interfere between the Doctor and his guides in order to prevent him from being cheated. If there was any one thing that troubled this amiable couple, it was the dreadful and unheard-of hardships which they supposed I must encounter in my second and third-class passages. Repeatedly melted by the pictures of starvation and desolation which they conjured up in my behalf (partly because I carried no baggage, and partly no doubt on account of my being naturally of a meagre habit) the Doctor offered me the use of a hundred pounds, payable at any convenient point in the world, or at any date however remote; and I never could make him understand the philosophy of traveling on the principle of Rough and Tumble; studying bodily deprivations, like Socrates and other renowned characters, as a practical science; enjoying the luxuries of hardship in European travel by comparison with past experience in flat-boats on the Mississippi, whalers off Madagascar, and bushing it in California; nor could he see how any reasonable man could take pride in such a way of traveling, even when that pride was based upon necessity.

After a dreary passage of two days and a half from Malta we reached the Piraeus, or sea-port town of Athens. The first thing that struck me upon landing was the absolute absurdity of being surrounded by a whole legion of boatmen, porters, and hack-drivers in petticoats. Their very earnestness in gesticulating for fees and baggage and a thousand other things, partly in Greek and partly broken English, while they sauntered about in all the pomp of mustaches, whips, and petticoats, was the most irresistibly ludicrous sight I had seen for many a day.

We took a large hack-man, with a splendid mustache, and an uncommonly fine pair of legs, petticoated in the most imposing style, who drove us through seas of dust, till we reached the half-way house. There we had to stop for sweetmeats, because it was the custom for all people of quality upon their first visit to Athens to stop at that place for that purpose. Why, I don't know; unless that a trifle of change might be divided between the hack-driver and his friend who keeps the establishment.

The distance from the Piraeus is about seven miles; but the road being covered with a thick bed of dust which covered up the hack, we saw nothing of the Acropolis or other ruins till we were within a mile or two of the place.

On our arrival in Athens, my Portuguese friends went to the "Orient." It was a new hotel, and was recommended in the guide book as the best in the city. The "Angleterre" was very good; perhaps a little larger than the Orient, but it was not mentioned so favorably in Doctor Mendoza's book. Probably the author had fallen out with the proprietor on account of an indifferent beef-steak; for I rather incline to the opinion that the Angleterre is a better hotel than the Orient. However, neither of them suited my limited means; and I was reluctantly forced to leave my friends at the Orient, and go in search of the worst hotel in the place. Having no baggage except what I carried on my back in the shape of a knap-sack principally filled with leaves and small pieces of various ruins for my friends at home, I was not troubled about porters. I soon found a very indifferent-looking hotel. It was the Hôtel de Vienne. If there be any worse in Athens, it must be very bad indeed. The price for a small room, was three francs a day, and no reduction made for vermin. I had limited myself to four, all expenses of living included; and the consequence was that while I remained in Athens, being obliged to pay five cents out of the franc for domestic service, my means of support were reduced to fifteen cents a day. I breakfasted generally on bread and grapes, dined on grapes and bread, and supped on bread and grapes again. It agreed with me wonderfully. Never in my life did I feel stronger, or more capable of enduring fatigue. I had some. letters of introduction to present on the day after our arrival; and it was not until the following morning that I had the pleasure of meeting my friend Doctor Mendoza. He shook hands with me very cordially, and said he liked Athens; he thought he would stay some time; the Orient was a very good hotel; he was very comfortable at the Orient; he had seen the Acropolis, the temple of Theseus, and some few other ruins, but the Orient was the best thing he had found in Athens; the dinners were excellent; he liked the way the dinners were cooked and served up; the Madam was "indispose;" and altogether he thought he would repose for a week or two at the Orient, as it was "imposs" to find such comfortable quarters on board a steamer.

Having studiously avoided, up to the present writing, all flights of fancy on the subject of the classics, I shall endeavor to suppress the inspiration derived from a ramble on the Acropolis. It is not for an unpretending General in the Bobtail Militia to attempt a description of the glorious old Parthenon, the ruined temples, the columns and cornices that lie broken and scattered upon that classic spot, the view of naked and desolate hills, with all their glowing associations, wherever the eye is cast; or to indulge in poetic reflections upon the fall of Greece from its Attic eminence to its present state of barbarism. A few practical facts, however, from recollection, may be of interest to the reader. The Acropolis is a rock or pile of rocks, some three or four hundred feet in height, crowned with the ruins of the principal temples of ancient Athens, which are encircled by a wall. It is situated at the edge of the modern town, toward the interior; is ascended by a good pathway to the principal entrance, where a guard receives tickets of admission, or pay, or something, and takes down the name of the visitor, in order that he (the visitor) may be found out in case he pockets a temple or a piece of one. On the whole, the Acropolis is a very respectable mass of ruins, besides being conveniently situated for a general view of the country. There are shops in Athens where French lithographs of the principal ruins throughout Greece may be had in every variety of size, so that the tourist, who has but little time to spare in Athens, may carry them all home secretly, and describe the details in full to his friends, as if he had carefully studied the original ruins. By a little tact and a glance now and then at the guide-book, aided by a good memory, the most ignorant person is enabled in that way to puzzle, confound, and completely triumph over the most learned professor in the universities—provided the professor has not acquired his fame in the same manner. I should be sorry to have it supposed that this is intended as irreverence toward the ancients, or contempt for the learning of the moderns; but if it be taken in that light, I can only say that one who attempts to think with his own brains and see with his own eyes (both of which may be defective) is apt, unintentionally, to run against the prejudices of his fellow-creatures, and should rather be pitied for his folly than censured for his presumption. Besides, the classical tourist and learned professor, who have striven so hard to enlighten the world in regard to ancient times, should console them selves with the reflection that--

Modern Athens is a small town, composed chiefly of frame houses. The population is about seventeen thousand, principally degenerate Greeks. A considerable number of Italians, French, Germans, Russians, and some few English families, are included in this estimate. The streets are rambling and irregular, narrow and wide by turns, dusty or muddy according to the season, abounding in streams of filth from the house-doors, and over-run with miserable dogs, as in most of the cities of the East. In the poorer parts of the town, the houses are mere hovels of mud; the filth is such as to render it difficult oven to pass through; and the inhabitants are in the most wretched condition. The bazaar or market-place is perhaps the most pleasant place of resort for the stranger who wishes to study the manners and costumes. Here all the country people come with their mules and packs of produce, and here are gayly-dressed idlers lounging about, in all the glory of silks, and sashes, and swinging petticoats. The "shaggy capote," referred to by Byron, is seen on all sides, and shaggy enough it is, being made of sheep-skins, and dirty enough too, in all conscience; for the country Greeks (town Greeks are above shaggy capotes) live in their sheep-skins as they do in their own skins, neither of which they are in the habit of washing more than once or twice in a life-time. In all their rags, however, and in all their filthiness, these degenerate sons of glory are fine-looking fellows, with bold, prominent features, eagle eyes, and commanding forms. Some of the handsomest men I ever saw were Greeks, dressed in the Albanian costume. The free, graceful bearing, the manly stride, the undaunted air of self reliance, the expression of energy and intelligence in every feature, struck me as something admirable. It is a little remarkable that even the lowest classes of the men are handsome, yet not one in a thousand of the women even comely in form or feature--at least of such as are seen in ordinary places of public resort.

On a Sunday afternoon, during my stay in Athens, I went to see the king and queen-not to call upon them personally at their palace, because I had heard of a difficulty that had originated in a matter of etiquette between a party of Americans and the royal party, not long before, and I was resolved to keep clear of trouble by seeing them in public. There was an exhibition of rope-dancers in the open space near the Hôtel d'Angleterre. At an early hour the place was crowded with spectators--Greeks, Italians, French, Germans, English, and Americans. The Greek women did not seem to me at all remarkable for beauty. In the whole crowd of several hundreds, I saw but three or four passably pretty faces: and they owed more, perhaps, to fine suits of hair, dark eyes, and rich head-dresses, than to any thing really striking in their features. The ordinary classes of Greek women to be seen about the streets are about the most uncouth and miserable looking beings one meets any where in this part of the world. I looked in vain for the Maid of Athens. She lives at the Piraeus, and I thought it likely she might be in the crowd. Perhaps I saw her; if so, however, I did not recognize her from Byron's description. There was no Greek maiden present on that occasion, from whom any man of ordinary taste might not part without an application for the return of his heart. The young German girl who walked on the rope from the ground up to the fourth-story window of a house, took a much stronger hold upon my affections than any of the Maids of Athens. She was a beautiful little blonde, radiant with cheap jewelry and gauze: she waved her wand majestically; smiled triumphantly; twirled her pretty legs provokingly; and bowed to the unanimous applause of the spectators bewitchingly. Then there were splendid-looking fellows in flesh-colored hose, who came out and rode in a most extravagant manner upon the tight-rope; turning heels over head, and head over heels again; and shaking their locks when they bowed, in a way that must have won a great many hearts from the Greek maidens before they parted.

But my business is not with rope-dancers. Hang the rope dancers! What did I care about such buffoonery! I could see rope-dancers enough at home; but it was not every day I could see a live king and queen.

There was a buzz in the crowd; a suppressed hum of voices; a rattling of swords and guns; a clattering of horses' hoofs; I knew by instinct that the king and queen were coming. By Jove! there they came sure enough, prancing along gallantly on a pair of spirited steeds, side-ways, and front-ways, and every possible way, right up between the two files of soldiers, opposite to where I stood, and there they halted, as if to enjoy the general sensation. I was perhaps the most enthusiastic person in the whole crowd. The probability is that I would have shouted, God save the King!--God save the Queen! had I not been apprehensive that the soldiers might mistake my meaning, and run me through the body for an attempt to create a revolution. As it was, I pressed my way through the crowd to the very first rank, and, in my zeal for royalty, displaced two officers who were standing before me, and who, upon seeing that I was a foreigner, looked daggers at me, in Greek.

King Otho was dressed in the Greek costume. The costume looked well enough, but the king looked rather insignificant for a king. I expected to see a man seven feet high at least, with a head as big as a five-gallon keg, crowned with diamonds, and the nose and eyes like those of an eagle; but King Otho is rather a small man, with a small head and face, and rather a small show of character in the expression of his countenance. He is a pale, ugly little man, with dark eyes, dark hair, a dark mustache, and a very meagre face. To me he looked uncommonly unwholesome in mind and body. His dress was rich, but not more striking than many of the Greek costumes in the crowd. I thought he wore it to show his subjects that he was Greek to the back-bone—at least to the outside of the back-bone. There is not much Greek inside of him, according to all I could glean from the people of Athens, or much love for the Greek people; and for this reason, perhaps, he puts on as much Greek outside as he conveniently can.

The queen was dressed in a plain riding-habit, with a plain black riding-cap, instead of a golden crown, as I expected to see. She is a buxom young woman, of about thirty, of light complexion, blue eyes, full face, rather plain in features, but lively and good-humored looking. In Washington City, which I have the honor to represent, she might pass for the daughter of a neighboring farmer, more accustomed to jumping fences and hunting up the cows than to the atmosphere of royalty. However, I like Queen Otho, and for this reason I feel disposed to compliment her by the comparison. God bless Queen Otho! She was born for better things; she might have been the life and soul of some happy family circle; she looks ready for a laugh or a romp even now, with all the cares of royalty upon her mind. Besides, how could I help liking her when she smiled at me? she, Queen Otho, of Greece, smiled at ME, reader; not that I hold myself at all cheap, but it is no every-day matter to be smiled at by a queen. I saw her do it; I smiled back again; she saw ME smile; then she stopped smiling, and I stopped smiling. When I stopped smiling, Queen Otho smiled. I liked that in her; it showed delicacy of feeling; it showed that she appreciated delicacy of feeling on my part; it was intended as a reward for my forbearance in not continuing to smile when she stopped smiling. Consequently, when she smiled again, I smiled likewise, to show her that I understood it; upon which she quickly stopped smiling again, and turned away her face; and I also stopped at the same time, and turned away my face; I turned it toward the king. The king frowned at me. Otho, King of Greece, had the audacity to frown at ME, a General in the Bobtail Militia! My republican blood was up in a moment. I frowned at Otho, King of Greece. He saw me frown; he saw the danger that might result from it; he stopped frowning; and when I perceived that I had frowned him down, I also stopped frowning. King Otho was so little pleased at being frowned down in this way that as soon as I had stopped frowning, he frowned again. Of course I returned the frown in the most emphatic manner. The queen, perceiving that King Otho and myself were frowning at each other, began to smile; in fact she fully smiled. I understood her; I returned her smile. We both smiled together. King Otho saw that we understood one another; that we did our smiling together; that consequences unpleasant to himself might ensue. Therefore he frowned more darkly than ever; and I, knowing that jealousy was the cause, was determined to show him that I was not the sort of person to be intimidated by a frown. Hence I frowned back again. King Otho quickly stopped frowning, the queen at the same time stopped smiling; and I, having no further cause either to smile or frown, turned away and looked at the rope-dancers.

Up to this date, I had always supposed that there was not in my nature the slightest leaning toward royalty; that I was republican to the heart's core. But I now began to doubt it. I felt a most unmistakable leaning toward royalty. To be noticed in this manner by a real king and queen, was flattering to my feelings. Had any President of the United States frowned at me, I should have simply asked him what he meant; had the lady of any President of the United States smiled at me, I should have thought nothing more of it than that she had mistaken me for some acquaintance; but to be smiled and frowned at by royal blood, was something calculated to produce novel and agreeable sensations. There were thoughts within, which I hardly dared to own even to myself--thoughts of high offices which might be had by proper influence, if we had a king and queen in America. It was natural to suppose that it must be gratifying to the ambition of any MAN to be made Prime Comptroller of the Kitchen; Chief Examiner of the Bed-chambers, Lord High Admiral of the Duck-ponds; Commander-in-chief of the Royal Nurses, or General Superintendent of the Cake Department, and Feeder-in-chief of Sugar-candy to the Royal Babies; with a salary of forty or fifty thousand dollars a year, and the privilege of occasionally beholding in private life the royal couple. In this train of thought I called to mind a great many of my lady friends (some traveling on the Continent, and some at home), whose chief ambition I strongly suspect is, to be associated in some way with royalty. There might be some little difficulty at first in regard to providing titles sufficiently long and high sounding, but I am certain there would be no difficulty in picking out of the first ranks in Boston, New York, and elsewhere, Ladies of the Royal Bed-chamber, Train-bearers to her Majesty, Holders of her Majesty's Combs and Brushes; High Powderers-in-chief of her Majesty's Face and Elbows; and Lady High-washers of her Majesty's Babies-especially when there would be brilliant prospects of matrimonial alliances with the Grand Comptroller of the Kitchen, Lord High Admirals of the Duck-ponds, Knights of the Bed-chamber, and other distinguished men of rank.

Men did I say? MEN? Pardon the slander! It was unintentional. I mean no disrespect to my fellow-creatures of the male sex; the word is used in a conventional sense. There is, however, in certain countries where royalty exists, a class of creatures who consider it no degradation to occupy positions of this kind; and there is in our own country a class so slavish in their devotion to rank and station, that they are ever ready to worship such creatures-to bend the knee before the titled minions of royalty. It may be said that these titles are nominal. Does that make them the less degrading? He who would suffer himself to be called the Prince of Flunkeys, or the High-chief of Sneaks, and deliberately accept the title as merely nominal, is a flunkey or a sneak at heart, whether he be paid in money for the indignity, or rewarded with imaginary honors; and he who would accept the title of a base born menial, not from necessity but from choice, is more despicable than the basest of menials; he is one, who, in the language of Junius, could never aspire to hatred, never rise above contempt: to claim for such a creature any attribute of manliness, is to desecrate God's own image in which man is made.

But really, I had almost forgotten in the struggle between my growing passion for royalty and the prejudices of education in favor of democracy, the high hopes of preferment suggested by the attentions of King Otho and his amiable spouse. The fact is, my zeal on both sides has been productive of some slight discrepancy. I can only account for it in this way that we tourists who visit the old world, have our share of that natural weakness which causes the mass of mankind to sacrifice principle where vanity and self-importance are concerned. We like to astonish our untraveled brethren at home by boasting of our intimacy with people of rank in Europe; we scorn titles as a matter of principle, and worship them as a matter of personal ambition. We fashionable people who travel, as well as some of us who don't travel, are just as prone to aspire to what we condemn in others, as the weakest; just as rabid in the improper use of power when we obtain it, as the most despotic. The frailties of human nature abound under every form of government; the principles of right exist every where, and are every where sustained or abused, according to the interests which they involve; hence we should be careful that the mote be not in our own eye, before we point to it in the eyes of others. There are principles of liberty and of right implanted in us by the Deity; the most enlightened of mankind have ever recognized them as the only true basis of government, the only enduring foundation of human happiness; let us, therefore, while we condemn the errors and follies of others, profit by the condition to which we see them reduced, and aspire to be the most consistent as well as the freest and most liberal of nations.

Doctor Mendoza and the Madam having seen all that was to be seen in Athens, invited me to join them in an excursion down to Eleusis, which I very gladly did, inasmuch as it enabled me to enjoy their society, and at the same time see something of country life in Greece. We hired the only guide that happened to be unemployed at the time--a lean ill-looking fellow, whose expression of countenance gave us but little promise of being enlightened by his intellectual researches. There was no help for it, however; and having employed the best carriage the place afforded, and moreover provided ourselves with some cold chicken and bread from the Orient, we set out at an early hour, and were soon rolling along over the dusty road toward Eleusis. A short distance from Athens we came to the Academical Groves, where we descended to see the sights. The only sights we saw were an old villa, in a very dilapidated state; a few dust-covered trees and grape-vines of modern growth, some fine bunches of grapes; a ditch of water that one could jump over with ease, called the river Ilissus, and some ragged and dirty Greeks lying on their backs in the shade--descendants probably of the ancient philosophers.

Some miles farther on, we came to a sort of way-side inn, near the Convent of Daphne, where the Doctor thought it expedient to stop for refreshments; "because," said he, "de-Madam is indispose: 'tis imposs to proceed without some wine."

While my friends were sipping their wine and "reposing" after the fatigues of the "voyage," I stepped into the adjoining yard and made a sketch of the old Convent, which may be seen here on a small scale, just as it appeared to me on a large scale, except that it looks rather better in print, and leaves more room for exercise of the imagination. It is built upon the ruins of the temple of Apollo, which may account for the fact that it is really a very beautiful piece of Byzantine architecture. The priests were all asleep or dead. I neither saw nor heard any thing of them.

Not far beyond the old Convent we came to a pass with a rugged bluff on the right, upon which were some ancient inscriptions. Our dragoman stopped the carriage, and in a very imposing manner called our attention to the fact that we were now at a most interesting point in our journey. Doctor Mendoza never suffered any thing mentioned in the guidebook to escape his attention; but unfortunately he had forgotten his book in Athens, and was reduced to the necessity of depending solely upon the classical attainments of our dragoman.

"Wat you call dis place?" said he; for the dragoman spoke nothing but English, in addition to his native language, and Doctor Mendoza was not very proficient in either tongue; "Wat hiss de name of dis place?"

" Um call um-er-r-a--e-r-r-a; wat you say, sare?"

" Wat hiss de name?"

"Oh, de name; me know de name; me tell you by'm by. Dis great place, shentlemans ; much great ting happen here in ancient time; grand ting happen here. Dey stop here; much grand feast; plenty people; Oh, great ting happen here."

" But wat hiss it? Wat gran ting--wat gran feast you call her?"

" She call 'um feast, wat de plenty people have wen dey come dis way; Oh, much fine time! Dere's de mark, shentlemans; on de rock dere you see de mark."

Doctor Mendoza looked at the rock, but could make nothing of the mark. Evidently it was all Greek to him, for it perplexed and irritated him exceedingly.

"By darn! you no conosce nienta! Mal-a-detta! wat you call herself? heh? you call herself dragoman? One multo buono dragoman she be! Sacr-r-r-r diabolo!"

"Yes, shentlemans; me dragoman; me plenty recommendation; me know more all dragomans in Atens! All American shentlemans say me good dragoman; all English shentlemans say me good dragoman; every body say me good dragoman."

"Den wat for you no conosce de name of dis place?"

"De name? Oh de name sare? yes sare: me know de name well as any body. De name's er-r-ra--er-r-ra; you know dis de place, shentlemans, were de plenty peoples come for de gran ting; much grand feast. Dat's de name; same name wot you find in de book, yes sare. Me best dragoman in Atens; all de shentlemans say me de best. Me know de name all de place."

"Andate!" roared the Portuguese, turning furiously to the driver; "Tis imposs to understan dat, she no speak Inglees!" and away we rolled over the road, as fast as two skeletons of horses could drag us. Presently the carriage stopped again and the dragoman informed us that we had arrived at another important point.

"Dere, shentlemans, you see de water; much sheep come dere in old time; two tousan sheep?"

"Wat?" cried the Portuguese, "dat de bay of Salamis? Dat de place were Xerxes come wid two million sheep.

"Yes sare; dat de same place, sare; de sheep all fight de Greek mans dere; de Greek mans kill all the sheep and sink 'em in de water. Greek very brave mans; kill two hundred sheep dere. Yes sare."

"Wat dey do wid all de dead mans?"

"Oh, dey bury all the dead mans down dere were you see de tombs. Yes sare. De Greek mans dere, and de oder mans wot come in the sheep be dere in that oder place wot you see. Yes sare. Oh, me know all de ting--me no tell lie; me good dragoman."

"Poh! 'Tis imposs to comprehen. 'Twill be necess to have de book," said the Doctor in great disgust; "de sheep be buried in de tombs, and de Greek mane be buried in de sheep--imposs! imposs! Andate, diabolo!"

So the carriage rolled on again, not exactly in the direction indicated by the Doctor, but certainly to a place that appeared to have no great local advantages over the residence of the dark gentleman referred to. It was the far-famed city of Eleusis--a most abominable collection of pigsties, inhabited by filthy Greeks. From the time of our departure from Athens I had seen no inhabitants on the roadside at all superior in point of civilization, either in their way of living or general appearance, to the Indians of California--certainly none that were not in an absolute state of barbarism.

We ascended the hill of Eleusis, and stood upon the Acropolis. The utter desolation of the scene all around presented a striking and melancholy picture of the fall of Greece. Nothing could exceed the weird and impressive grandeur of the scenery. All was ruin, barrenness and decay, wherever we looked; not a spot of verdure within the vast amphitheatre of mountains; the whole face of the country arid and blasted; all still, dreary, and deathlike---all wrapt in hopeless desolation.

Our return to Athens was devoid of incident. Doctor Mendoza and the Madam were delighted to get back to the Orient. The Madam was "indispose;" and the doctor declared that without dinner it was "imposs to exiss."'

I spent the evening at the residence of Mr. Hill the American Missionary. No American who has visited Athens and enjoyed the acquaintance of this gentleman, can feel other than the highest sentiments of esteem and admiration for his character and talents, and a national pride in his successful dissemination of knowledge and of the true principles of Christianity among the rising generation of Greeks. His school is well attended by the most intelligent classes of Greek children; who by the admirable manner in which it is conducted soon become capable of teaching what they have learned themselves; and in this way the cause of education and Christianity is making rapid progress. Some of my most agreeable recollections of Athens are associated with the few brief hours spent in the society of Mr. Hill and his accomplished family.

Bidding good-by to my Portuguese friends, who had made up their minds to "repose" a while at the Orient after the fatigues of the "voyage" to Eleusis, I looked for the last time at the glorious Acropolis, shook from my feet the dust of Greece, which is living Greece no more, and departed on my journey eastward.

CHAPTER XII.

SYRA.

I TOOK passage in the Austrian steamer from the Piraeus to Syra. The decks were crowded with Greek, Italian, and French merchants, and a fair show of English tourists, on their way to the various ports of the Levant. I was a good deal surprised upon getting into conversation with a Greek to hear him quote the "Isles of Greece" from beginning to end; and still more surprised to find that he was the redoubtable Professor Castanis of rhetorical memory, whom I had heard lecture fifteen years before in Louisville, Kentucky. He carried a book in his hand, written by himself, containing his portrait in full Greek costume; so being both in the scribbling line, and somewhat known to each other, and moreover in the same reduced circumstances, we were very good friends and went to a very bad hotel in Syra, kept by a Greek, where we got exceedingly small and rather cheap accommodations. I did not remain long there, however; for having a letter of introduction from Mr. Hill to Evangelides, the American Vice Consul, he provided me with much better quarters in his own house, contrary to every assurance on my part that I was very comfortable at the Greek hotel. Evangelides is not only the most hospitable, enthusiastic, and obliging consul imaginable, but the very perfection of a Greek gentleman; dashing, off-hand, and intelligent, with a touch of wild romance in his character that renders it a real pleasure to become acquainted with him. He speaks English uncommonly well, and is thoroughly versed in all the Oriental languages. The history of Evangelides is a romance. His father was a Klepht, or mountain robber, of which he is rather proud; for it is considered no disgrace to be a robber in Greece; indeed, it is looked upon as a token of a daring and chivalrous spirit. The old gentleman carried on his operations by land and sea, much after the fashion of Conrad. Falling in love, with the daughter of a rich Greek merchant in one of the neighboring islands, he contrived to get her on board one of his feluccas, and carry her off to his own island, and secrete her in his rendezvous in the mountains. Of course she was moved by this extreme devotion and became his Medora; but unlike Medora she bore him a son, and that son was Evangelides. During the massacre of the Greeks by the Turks in 1822, they were both slain; and Evangelides was left an orphan. He was taken to the United States in some American ship, where his history excited much interest, and he was educated at one of the first colleges of Massachusetts. After fifteen years of collegiate life, he returned to Syra, where he established a school for the education of Greek children; and soon after, finding his business prosperous, he got married to a lady of Syra. He now has a flourishing institution, filled with pupils from nearly every port in the Levant, is well off; and holds the position of Vice Consul of the United States.

Hermopolis, the sea-port town of Syra, is the principal commercial depot of Greece. Within the past ten years it has acquired considerable importance as a stopping-place for the various lines of steamers bound to and from the Levant; and its trade and population have enjoyed a proportionate increase. The harbor is safe and convenient; the situation of the island central, and the inhabitants generally enterprising and intelligent, for this part of the world. One of the first things that strikes the attention of the traveler is the romantic position of the town, especially the Catholic portion of it back on the hill, which rises in the form of an immense pyramid. All around the environs, are seen innumerable windmills; the houses along the wharves are remarkable for their fanciful shapes and gay coloring. The population of the entire island is about twenty-five thousand.

To the classical tourist the fountain of the Nymphae, back of the town, is the most interesting relic of antiquity. I walked out there on the afternoon of my arrival, in company with two English gentlemen. Nothing remains of the fountain, except the water, which it is but reasonable to suppose is of modern formation. The location perhaps is the same as it was in the time of the Nymphae, who, according to the Greek historians, were in the habit of bathing there. It is more than the Greeks themselves, who live in the vicinity, are in the habit of doing at the present date--if one may judge by their appearance. While we were looking for some more portable relic of antiquity than the water, and enjoying the pleasure of being stared at by some scores of ragged women and children, who were waiting for their pitchers to get filled, a very little old man, with a thin and withered face, and a very sharp pair of eyes, came out through a doorway in the wall near the fountain; and making a profound bow to us all, said in English, or something intended for English, that he was the proprietor of that establishment; it was his own property, and he hoped we would make ourselves at home, and look at it as long as we pleased. He was always happy to meet the countrymen of Mélor Beeron, because Mélor Beeron and himself were intimate friends. They had traveled together through Greece; had fought together in the wars against the Turks; had sailed together among the Greek islands; had lived and loved together in Athens; in short for many years they were inseparable. He was Mélor Beeron's friend. Mélor Beeron was his friend. He was Mélor Beeron's dragoman, guide, interpreter, courier, and valet, as occasion required; and Mélor Beeron was his master--a very kind master too; sat up rather late, but good pay. He remembered Mélor Beeron's personal appearance as if he had only seen him yesterday; very tall, very large man; red hair, blue eyes, raw-boned figure; great man to fight; very fine looking man; wrote poetry about Greece and was author of a book called the History of England. He had read them in the Greek language, and considered them very fine. Hoped our honors would excuse him, but thought we would like to see a friend of Mélor Beeron, who was acquainted with him personally and could tell us all about him. Was in very reduced circumstances now; lived by means of the fountain; gentlemen who came to see it always gave him a trifle of change.

Of course after receiving all this information we could not do less than give the old man a trifle of change. He bowed very low again, expressed his devotion to the English, his undying attachment to Mélor Beeron, and gradually disappeared through the doorway in the wall.

Our walk back from the fountain was over rugged and precipitous rocks. The distance to the town is about two miles.

I chanced next day to be passing the Hôtel de Commerce, rather a dirty establishment kept by an Italian, but the best in Hermopolis, when it occurred to me that it would be well to look in and see if there were any late arrivals. I did so; I looked in, and saw some late arrivals that astonished me not a little. Seated at a table, in all the glory of omelette, coffee, bread, and wine, were my friends, Doctor Mendoza and the Madam, who had arrived that morning in the French steamer. "Oh, mon Dieu!" cried the Madam, "Voila le General!" "Very bad Hotel dis," said the Doctor; "come sit down; no much for mange here. I no like Hermopolis. Sacr-r-r! Diabolo! One miserable Sporkeria dis hotel! Eh, bien! I shall be tres contents to leave Hermopolis! 'Tis imposs to remain here!"

The coffee was muddy to an excess; it choked the Doctor; and this excited him to such a degree that the Madam was forced to interfere in order to prevent him from chastising the waiter for not making better coffee. However, we made the best of what there was, exclusive of the coffee, which indeed was no worse than any I had tasted in Syra; and then the Doctor informed me that he had concluded to go on as far as Constantinople, having heard that there was an excellent hotel in Pera, kept by one Missêri, a celebrated oriental dragoman.

I was very glad to meet my friends again; and we spent the rest of the afternoon rambling about the suburbs of the town in search of novelties, and enjoying such conversation as we could carry on in a mixture of French, English, and Italian. The Madam was quite enthusiastic on the Acropolis of Athens; but the Doctor could not rid his mind of the vast difference that existed between the Orient of Athens and the Commerce of Hermopolis--especially in the matter of coffee, which he declared was one of the necessaries of life. He hoped, however, to get some clear coffee on the French steamer to Constantinople, by means of which he anticipated being enabled to wash the grounds of the Hermopolis coffee down his throat by the time he arrived at the Hôtel de Missêri.

The Island of Syra, described by Homer as one of the most beautiful and fertile in the Grecian Archipelago, must have suffered a considerable change in its aspect since the days of the great poet. Certainly there is no beauty about it now, save that of a pleasant climate and richly-colored atmosphere; and its fertility seemed to me to consist chiefly in rocks, which grow all over it with wonderful luxuriance. The green spots, if there be any, are few and far between I saw nothing that looked at all green there except the green spectacles of Doctor Mendoza, and an English tourist, with a red guide-book. The fact is, I have always been of opinion that Homer drew largely upon his imagination. His battles are rather tough, to say the least of them; his heroes somewhat given to marvelous deeds of courage; and his poetry and facts a little on the blood-and-thunder order. Besides what could he tell about the beauty or fertility of Syra, except from hearsay? He was perfectly blind, according to all historical accounts, and if he saw the island at all when he wrote about it, he probably saw it in imagination, which every body knows is a very delusive way of seeing. Now plain facts, upon being distilled through the brain of a poet, often become highly charged with the colors of fancy. Homer distilled largely; his brain was an extensive establishment; he worked up facts and fictions with equal facility; a thirsty public swallowed with avidity; and thirsty publics have swallowed ever since as a matter of fashion. The fashion is kept up chiefly by other distillers of facts. Byron did a large business in that way; he did it well; his brain was on a grand scale; nothing passed through it without acquiring as intoxicating power. Who is there, with a soul in his body, that has not been glorious on draughts of Byron? Lamartine distills also; I recommend him as an antidote; he produces soda-water that allays the thirst; he sobers people who have been made drunk by all the poets, from the days of Homer down to the days of Lamartine. No man, however intoxicated by the powers of genius, can read Lamartine's experience in Greece without becoming instantly sobered., The dying request of this great poet, when attacked by a slight indisposition, that he should be buried under a certain classical tree; that on the bark of that tree but a single word should be inscribed to mark his grave--no other word than the name of his Maker, so that the world might know where Lamartine lay--is the most intensely affecting piece of bathos, to say nothing of its blasphemy, in the whole range of sentimental literature. If that fails to make the tourist weep who follows, he should be condemned to read Raffaelle the remainder of his days.

CHAPTER XIII.

SMYRNA.

Our passage from Syra to Smyrna was very pleasant, notwithstanding a stiff breeze which compelled us to lie close in under the lee of Chio. The weather was clear and bracing; and upon entering the Gulf of Smyrna nothing could surpass the rich glow of the atmosphere, and the variety, and beauty of the scenery. By the time we reached the anchorage, every passenger was ready to go on shore and enjoy a day's ramble on terra firma. While we were waiting for the officers of the port to come alongside, and give the required permission, I made a hasty sketch of the town including the neighboring hills and the old Genoese castle, which I have since filled up more in detail from a drawing kindly presented to me in Florence by my esteemed friend Kellogg, the artist. It will give a better idea of Smyrna, perhaps, than pages of description.

In the course of two hours, during which we were forced to restrain our impatience and listen to the most barbarous jargon of tongues on board and all around the steamer, it was formally announced to us by the Captain that Smyrna was in quarantine, and that any body who went ashore would have to remain there until the quarantine had expired. We were at liberty to go ashore if we pleased, because the steamer was not in quarantine, but we were not at liberty to come on board again because Smyrna was in quarantine, and the steamer required pratique for the next port. Smyrna and every body in it had been laboring under the influence of quarantine for the past five days, and would continue to labor under it for three days to come, by which period he (the Captain) hoped to be safely at anchor in Constantinople. This piece of information enabled me to comprehend certain proceedings which had occasioned me much anxiety of mind for some time previous. I saw now that the dark looking men in the boats, with flashy uniforms, who were taking little slips of paper from the officers and passengers of the steamer, in wire tongs and strange-looking boxes with long handles; and shouting fiercely to all the boatmen who dared to approach us--sometimes giving them a thrust with the boat-hooks--were not really convinced that we had the plague on board; but that they were simply doing their duty in the usual form. It was my first experience in the mysteries of quarantine; and I was much interested in all the forms and ceremonies. The wrath of the chief officer in the boat, when there was any danger of contact; the excessive caution of the men with the little tongs; the intense fear under which all parties seemed to labor, that the smallest scrap of paper, or the slightest touch of human flesh, even in its most healthy condition, would carry death and destruction somewhere, either into Smyrna or out of it, was a very curious and striking exhibition of the power of fancy. It was enough to fill the soul of any timid man with such dreadful visions of cholera, plague, fevers and other diseases, as could scarcely fail in the end to result in a serious fit of illness, if not in plague itself. The cause of the present quarantine was equally as absurd as the ceremonies. It appeared that some vessel under quarantine, was taking in a supply of water, which is permitted under certain rigid rules, in regard to the handling of the hose. One of the men in the water-boat lost his balance and touched the hose with his hand, by which means he brought himself and Smyrna with its hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, under the restrictions of quarantine for eight days.

I had no great desire to go ashore, previous to this unpleasant piece of intelligence, simply because there appeared to be no difficulty in the way; but I now became inspired with an irresistible desire to take a ramble through Smyrna; and although it was my intention to stop here on my return from Constantinople, it was impossible to wait that length of time under existing circumstances. Such a taboo as this, in a country professing to have some intercourse with civilized nations, was not to be borne; it was an outrage upon the rights of man. My ticket was for Constantinople; it was good for the next steamer--if the next steamer should not be laid up in quarantine by a similar misfortune to its hose-pipe. But I was not going to sacrifice the rights of man for a miserable piece of leather. The water-boat was going ashore, and so was one individual from the steamer, if he was destined never again to leave the precincts of Smyrna. Taking my knapsack upon my shoulder, I bade an affectionate farewell to Doctor Mendoza and the Madam, who looked exceedingly concerned for my future fate; and jumping into the boat was soon under way for the wharf. It was quite probable, from the uncertain contingencies upon which the liberty of locomotion depends in this part of the world, that I should never see my worthy friends again; so I turned to take a last look at them before the boat reached the landing. The Doctor was shaking his head gravely; as if he thought it "imposs" that all could be right in a certain quarter; and the Madam was talking with rapid gestures as if she fully concurred in that opinion, and was enabled from observation on various occasions to confirm it by the most ample testimony.

One Salvo, the son of a ship-chandler, took possession of me, and led me off victoriously to a small hotel, kept near the wharf by his father, Salvo the elder. There I was fed on ham and eggs, in the most sumptuous manner by the whole Salvo family, who were not only proud, but extremely happy in being enabled to claim acquaintance with so distinguished a guest. Salvo Junior had spent three years in America, where he was certain he had seen me hundreds of times, and Salvo Senior was the father of Salvo Junior, and had furnished American ships with articles of chandlery for thirty years past, and, consequently, on both grounds had a perfect right to know me; and Mrs. Salvo, although she spoke nothing but Greek and Italian, and had never seen me either in America or elsewhere, up to the date of my arrival at the Salvo Hotel, yet being the wife of Salvo Senior, and the mother of Salvo Junior, and, moreover, a very fat and good-natured old lady, I was forced to acknowledge that I had seen either herself, or somebody a good deal like her, before. It was really a luxury to receive so much kindness in a strange land, accompanied as it was by ham and eggs and several cups of excellent black tea; and I was altogether too happy to analyze the motives. That it was all genuine kindness, I found to my great satisfaction before leaving Smyrna, for the bill was unusually moderate, and it required some persuasion to induce that worthy family to accept any thing for service, which is rather a rare occurrence at the best establishment in Europe or Asia Minor.

Salvo Junior gave himself up wholly to my pleasure during my sojourn in Smyrna. We rambled about the bazaars, explored the ruins of the old Genoese fort, rode out to all the neighboring villages, and smoked the chibouck and sipped caffé in every respectable establishment throughout the city.

A few days may be spent very pleasantly in Smyrna. The costumes of the inhabitants are remarkable for richness and variety; and the bazaars and different places of public resort, both for business and pleasure, afford an excellent idea of Oriental life. The beauty of the Smyrniote women (some travelers call them ladies) is proverbial; nor has it, like most accounts of the refined state of society in Smyrna, been exaggerated. They certainly deserve their reputation for dark flashing eyes and classical features; and that being the only flattering reputation they do deserve, from all I could learn on reliable authority, as well as from my own limited observation, it affords me great pleasure to accord it to them.

Lounging about the bazaars a day or two after my arrival in Smyrna, I thought I recognized a familiar voice. A fashionable-looking tourist was making a bargain for a fez. His dress was new to me; but there could be no mistake in the voice. I went up cautiously and looked at his face. It was the face of an American gentleman whom I had met in various parts of Europe. Bimby was his name. He was in the most exquisite distress in regard to the texture of the fez. The fact is, poor Bimby was the victim of want; not that he was in want of money; he had plenty of that--too much for his own happiness; but he always wanted something that it was very difficult, if not quite impossible, to find in this world. Every morning he got up, oppressed with wants; every night he went to bed overwhelmed and broken down with wants. I never saw a man in comfortable circumstances in such a dreadful state of destitution in all my life. When I first saw him, he was on the way from Florence to Milan, in quest of a pair of pantaloons of a particular style. No man in Europe understood cutting except Pantaletti. There was a sit in Pantaletti that made him indispensable. He (Bimby) had tried the Parisian tailors, but they were deficient in the knees. It was his intention to proceed at once from Milan to Leipsic for boots; the Germans were the only people who brought boots to perfection, and decidedly the best were to be had at Leipsic. He expected to be obliged to return to Paris for shirts; there was a sit in the collar of the Parisian shirt that suited him. His medicines he always purchased in London; his cigars he was forced to import from Havana; his Latakia tobacco he was compelled to purchase himself in Smyrna, and this was partly the occasion of his present visit. As to wines, it was nonsense to undertake to drink any but the pure Johannisberg; which he generally saw bottled on the Rhine every summer, in order to avoid imposition. His winters he spent chiefly in Spain; it was the only country where good cream was to be had; but the coffee was inferior, and he sometimes had to cross the Pyrenees for want of a good cup of coffee. No mode of traveling suited him exactly--in fact, he disliked traveling. Riding he hated, because it jolted him; walking, because it tired him; the snow, because it was cold; the sun, because it was warm; Rome, because it was damp; Nice, because it was dry; Athens, because it was dusty. (By the way, I disliked Athens myself, chiefly on that account; Bimby was right there.) But it was impossible for him to live in America again. What could any man of taste do there? No pictures, no ruins, no society, no opera, no classical associations--nothing at all, except business; and all sorts of business he despised. It was a ridiculous as well as a vulgar way of spending life. In fact, the only decent people he had met with were the French; a man might contrive to exist a while in Paris. Not that he approved altogether of the French language; it wanted depth and richness; the only language worthy a man of sense was the Sanscrit. As soon as he had suited himself in boots at Leipsic, he was going to perfect himself in Sanscrit at the University of Berlin; after which he hoped to recover the effects of hard study by a tour through Bavaria, which was the only country on the face of the earth where the beer was fit to drink.

Unhappy Bimby! miserable Bimby! Man wants but little here below, as a general rule; but there are exceptions. Bimby will be the victim of want to the last day of his life. If not born in him, it was bred in him by bad training, or no training at all.

But enough of human frailties. Bimby has a kind heart, and really wants nothing to make him a very good fellow, except ten hours a day of useful employment.

The next steamer for Constantinople was fortunate enough to escape the vexations of quarantine. I got my ticket duly viséd at the Bureau; and, having taken leave of my unhappy friend, who was bound to Athens; in search of a Greek capote, and of Salvo Senior, and Mrs. Salvo, and Salvo Junior, I bade good-by to Smyrna, and departed for the City of the Sultan.

CHAPTER XIV.

CONSTANTINOPLE.

THERE is no longer the charm of romance in Mediterranean travel; steam has swallowed up every thing--even in great part the beautiful turbans and flowing robes of the Turks, which are fast disappearing in all the traveled routes, and it seems likely to swallow up their prejudices and beards at last. Now one is whirled along at such a rate that he has to keep a book in one hand and a map in the other to know where he is. Tourists are even known and cheated according to the color of their books; red indicating Anglo-Saxon origin, full purses, and abundant credulity; black denoting cunning, and all other colors the poverty and insignificance of mongrel nations. It is a mere summer excursion all over the Mediterranean. Starting from Marseilles, you are steamed all round Spain in a few days; or if you like you take a glance at Africa from Algiers to Tunis, or a peep at Italy, commencing at Nice and ending at Naples; and then you have Neapolitan lines all around Sicily, and the French lines again to Malta; and from Malta English and French lines to Alexandria, or to Constantinople, touching at Athens and the Greek islands, and Austrian lines all over the Levant, and Russian and Austrian lines throughout the Black Sea and up through Eastern Europe. It is nothing now to be steamed from New York to Vienna, all the way by water, or from California into the interior of Russia. Even the Nile is done by steam from Alexandria to Thebes, and the old temples of Egypt reverberate with the thunders of the escape-pipe, while the Arabs of the Libyan Desert look down in wonder front their camels on the thing of life that plows its way against the rushing waters. And as for railways, I will not undertake to say with what facility one can become a traveled gentleman in Europe, lest you should deem me guilty of raillery, or at how cheap a rate a man may become classical, with the aid of Murray and steam, lest I should be suspected of puffing.

Near the Dardanelles we had a fine view of the plains of Troy, upon which stood in ancient times the famous city of that name, now the site of a small town called Taos. There stands in bold relief to this day the tomb of Achilles at Sigaeum, where Homer says the hero was buried. It was hers that most of the battles between the Greeks and Trojans were fought; and on this tomb Polyxena was sacrificed, and Alexander, in after ages, paid tribute to the "bravest of all the Greeks"--for which see Homer, Lempriere, and Murray, especially the latter, who given the particulars neatly done up in a hand-book.

On entering the Dardanelles, we looked out for the place where Leander was drowned in swimming to his lady-love, and where the beautiful Hero threw herself from the tower in despair; also the precise spot where Byron caught a cold in swimming for fame, and where Xerxes built his bridge of boats, and made a fool of himself a long time before by beating the sea because it swamped his ships and destroyed his labors--all of which we probably saw, but I can not assert it as a positive fact.

We entered the Sea of Mariners, by sundown, and became poetical over its sleeping isles. It was a night for romantic thoughts; the moon was so minutely visible through the clear atmosphere that its seas and mountains lay outspread upon it like a chart of silver, the sky glittered with stars, the waters of Marmora were as smooth as glass, and the isles softly steeped in a mellow light, and the dim outlines of the mountains of Europe and of Asia loomed up like sleeping giants in the mystic background.

About the decks lie bearded Turks, smoking their chiboucks, and Greeks in petticoats, and pale Armenians in tall turbans and long robes, sipping their coffee and talking of the money-market; and dirty Arabs, in their brown capotes, doing nothing at all, and not likely to do any thing for some time; and Jewish peddlers and pilgrims, nodding and reading aloud from the Talmud, or praying in dark corners; and Mohammedans of all castes, spreading their mats in the most inconvenient places, and bowing down toward Mecca, regardless of the world and all its prejudices. Some hundreds of stupid Turkish soldiers, with heavy faces, half sea-sick, are gathered in huge piles on the forecastle deck, or gamble in groups about the gangways; and abaft the break of the quarter-deck is a large cross-barred cage, covered over like a tent, filled with masked, and black-eyed, laughing, romping Turkish women and squalling babies, belonging to the Harems of those old gray-bearded Mussulmans close by smoking their chiboucks or bobbing at Mecca; and now and then there emerges from the cage an ugly African, who draws her mask over her thick lips if you look toward her, with as much coquetry as if she thought it would not do to let too much beauty be seen at once. Officers without number, mustached, gilded, brass-banded, and buttoned to excess, go up stairs and down stairs, and smoke cigars about the decks, and never seem to be doing any thing but passing the time as pleasantly as possible: sometimes you see a gold-banded cap; with a gentleman in uniform under it, parading itself on a high plank amidships, and if you watch him carefully you will see him raise his right hand or his left, point mysteriously to either side, keep it so a few moments, and then drop it with graceful air, greatly exhausted by the effort. That man has done his duty; he has indicated to the helmsman that it would be advisable to port or starboard a little; and then he comes down, with a proud consciousness of knowledge which the generality of mankind does not share, and resigns himself to cigars and conversation. Stewards and waiters are continually going forward to and returning from the head-quarters of the cuisinier, where important consultations are held on diet, and matters prepared for the table, as in the German Diets. Grim, black-looking firemen, besmeared with coal and soot, come up so unexpectedly out of little round holes in the deck that the passengers standing near are startled out of a week's growth--if passengers in this part of the world can be startled. And we who walk the quarter-deck, speculating upon all these things, and the rise and probable destiny of Mohammedanism; priding ourselves upon our superiority over all other nations in piety, morals, and railroads; discoursing on the progress of civilization under the mighty influence of steam; damning Turks, Arabs, and Greeks when they get in our way; and apostrophizing the heavenly bodies, the scenery, and Latakia tobacco; we are gentlemen of elegant leisure, traveling for our own amusement and the benefit of mankind. We carry red books in our hands, and astonish our friends at home with our proficiency in the classics; we are the men who have seen the world, and are just popping in on Constantinople for pastime.

A wonderful sight is this city of the Sultan, after all; one of the few things the traveler enjoys on this side of the world that approach the enthusiastic anticipations formed by reading works of imagination. I know of nothing to compare with the first view of Constantinople. Any thing like description seems tame and out of place in attempting to give an idea of such a scene. It is purely a matter of feeling; there is no analyzing the sensations experienced by the beholder; he may be perfectly conscious of the nature of his own impressions, yet entirely unable to convey any adequate idea of them to others. To me it seems a renewal of the un-alloyed pleasures of youth; a return after mingling. with the world and its realities, to the first pure, joyous sense of the beautiful. All that I had ever read of the East and its romance was here a gorgeous dream realized; yet not all a reality, for there was no dividing mark between the strictly real and what so imperceptibly merged into realms of fancy.

We reached the anchorage on the outside a few hours before daylight. The grating jar of the chain as it ran out aroused us from our pleasant dreams of home; and soon we heard the Arabs and Turks on deck echo in guttural tones the words Stamboul! Stamboul! There was a charm in the name that drove away from me every vestige of sleep. I was wide awake in a moment. My more experienced fellow-travelers, however, turned over to enjoy another nap, with the philosophical remark that "it's a great bore to be waked up when one can't see any thing in the dark." There was truth as well as philosophy in this, but all my efforts to sleep again were in vain. From the open sky-light came down now and then the magic words Stamboul! Stamboul! bringing before me, as I strove to keep down my eyelids, visions of gilded palaces and seraglios, and Sultans in turbans and flowing robes, and the spray of fountains, and caiques sweeping over the flashing waters, and the countless things of beauty that are involuntarily associated with the first thoughts of Constantinople. It was useless to try any longer-an invisible something lifted me up bodily and tumbled me out on the cabin floor, where I contrived, after slipping on two of three pairs of boots that were much too short or too long, and some trowsers that bagged in the legs with a very Turkish effect, to grope out what belonged to me, and rushing up on deck I just succeeded in not carrying away the roof of the companion-way.

The gleam of approaching day was spread over the eastern sky; low on the water were a few pale lights flickering with a faint glimmer, while overhead all was deep in night, but clear and soft, and spangled with countless brilliant stars. There was a loom of darkness visible in the distance, shapeless and shadowy as a cloud renting on the horizon; all eyes were turned toward it; that is to say, all eyes that were open, for the mass of the deck passengers were snoring away in perfect indifference to the Sublime Sultan and all his dominions. The women in the cage, however, were chattering like so many magpies, as usual whether by day or night; and about the bulwarks were lounging some of the more enthusiastic Turks and Arabs, who were awakened probably by the chattering, or unable to sleep, like myself, from a fevered state of the imagination; the very men whose conversation about Stamboul had so charmed me.

"Where is it?" said I to an old Turk, who reminded me of the pictures of Mahomet, "is that it where the lights are?" "Stamboul!" replied the old man, nodding. "There is nothing in sight but that dark hill, is there?" Stamboul!" rejoined the Turk. " I can't see it," said I. "Stamboul!" cried the old man pettishly. "You don't speak English, do you, sir?" "Stamboul!" he bawled at the top of his voice, "Stamboul! Stamboul!" It was quite evident that the old gentleman was touched on the subject of Stamboul, so I said no more. To the best of my knowledge he never uttered a word but Stamboul while he remained on the steamer; and even long after sunrise, when every body with eyes could see the well-known mosques and minarets within gunshot, he continued to point at them and repeat to every passenger; "Stamboul! Stamboul!"

As the day opened fair and clear, the outlines of the higher points broke out through the morning atmosphere and stood in bold relief against the sky, and soon the whole magnificent view was revealed with the startling effect of an optical illusion. Mosques and minarets there were in profusion, palaces with all the architectural ornament of oriental taste, rising from within the walls of the city, hemmed around with green shrubbery; round white domes; glittering like globes of snow; strangely-colored houses, with projecting roofs and grated windows; the Turkish flags waving on the towers; sails gliding noiselessly out from under the shadow of the ramparts; vistas of valleys and hills steeped in soft glow of purple, through which gleamed villages and pointed minarets, and the moist foliage of groves, the heights beyond tipped with golden rays of sunshine, and the sleeping waters of the Bosphorus, lost in the glitter of palaces and the shadows of mountains. With such a sky, such glowing lights and mystic shades, such soft distances, such strange and fanciful fabrics, looming up its a perfect maze of beauty, it is difficult to reconcile any idea of reality. It is an enchantment beyond all the dreams of fancy; the very soul is rapt in an ideal world, and for a moment reality itself becomes a dream too bright and beautiful for comprehension.

But the anchor is up; the hissing steam sends us dashingly into the Golden Horn, where, amid all the strange sights and confusing sounds possible to be conscious of in so short a time, the chain runs crashing out again, and we are permitted to land wherever the prophet wills, which is any where at all. Here let me solemnly pause, while six hotel commissioners from Pera are endeavoring to tear me to pieces, and relieve my mind of this moral truth; it has troubled me for three weeks, night and day; it has twisted itself into every imaginable shape for the sake of originality, but the truth remains the same--a truth involuntarily spoken by every traveler who has put foot ashore here. He who would fill his soul with a thing of beauty, that he would cherish as a joy forever, let him never go beyond the first full view of Constantinople. To see is bliss; to smell, is reality, to touch, is misery in the last degree.

A very stylish gentleman in petticoats carried my knapsack, and conducted me to the Hotel de Byzant, a clean airy establishment, in view of Stamboul and the Bosphorus. The proprietor is a Hungarian, his wife an Italian, and his daughter a full-blown beauty of sixteen.

I took advantage of my first leisure hour to call at the Misseri for the purpose of seeing my Portuguese friends, Doctor Mendoza and the Madam; having learned from Carlo the guide that they had arrived several days before. The Misseri is a very handsome and fashionable hotel, situated in one of the principal streets of Pera. I recommend it at a glance to all traveling gentlemen who desire to get rid of their money in the most expeditious manner. The ante-rooms and passages are crowded from morning till night with stylish dragomans, guides, domestics and lackeys, who seem always ready and willing to show inexperienced tourists how such a thing can be accomplished without loss of time.

I was ushered up a flight of stairs into a grand saloon, and from the grand saloon out again and up several more flights of stairs, till a door was knocked at, and my name was announced. "Ah, mon Dieu!" cried the Madam, "encore Monsieur Géneral!"—"Very good hotel dis!" said the Doctor, coming forward to meet me, "walk in; sit down; take some wine! very good wine dis De Madam is a little indispose, but to-morrow he shall be better."

We had a very pleasant time of it, in relating our adventures from the day of parting at Smyrna; and having made an engagement to visit the Giant's Mountain on the following day, we shook hands again and parted with a profusion of friendly bows on both sides.

After all the romance of oriental life, as described in books, and the charm of laziness so beautifully depicted by poetical writers, there is a want of real comfort and enjoyment painfully apparent throughout Constantinople. A person of energetic temperament would soon desire a change. The novelty of picturesque costumes and strange languages and customs soon wears away, and one begins to feel the want of more exciting scenes to keep up the interest. During the day it is pleasant enough to ramble about the bazaars, or take a stroll over the hills; but when night comes there is a dreary void, which nothing but the remembrance of more exciting scenes can fill. A miserable opera or a tawdry theatre in Pera may serve to kill time for one or two evenings, but after that you might as well be in the midst of a desert--better, in fact, for then you would not be disturbed by howling dogs or the ever-lasting cries of " Yang far! Yang far!"--the fire in Stamboul that can never be seen. The streets are of inky darkness; not a step can you venture out without a guide and a lantern; and even then it is problematical whether you will return without broken ankles in crossing the grave-yards, or the loss of a coat-tail in a battle with the dogs. In the register of the Hotel de Byzant there is a melancholy statement of an English traveler who complains of having been seized by some Turkish soldiers for throwing stones at what he supposed, in the darkness of night, to be dogs, but which turned out to be the soldiers themselves, who immediately seized him and put him in prison; and it was not until next day that he was liberated. The insecurity of life in the suburbs, and the total absence of every thing like law, are sufficient in themselves to keep the stranger within narrow limits; and, although there is more security now than there was some years past, it is still quite bad enough. Cases of assassination are frequent, and robbery is so common an occurrence as to excite but little attention. The police regulations are so inefficient, if any exist at all, that they have no influence whatever in the prevention of crime. There is no public press, except one or two small papers published in the Frank quarter, and of course very little is known of these occurrences, except what finds its way into other countries through private correspondence. It is but just, however, to state that most of these crimes are committed by persons residing in the Frank quarters--either Greeks, Italians, or the refuse population of other countries. The Turks themselves are too indolent to engage in any thing requiring energy and personal activity, and would sooner smoke the pipe of content on five piasters a day, than run any great risk to gain money or expend their time in useless exertion. They find it much easier to cheat in a quiet way, and enjoy the profits of others, than to incur the labor and inconvenience of open robbery; and for the shedding of blood in a small way they have no taste. It is only when thoroughly aroused by some great cause, as in the war with the Greeks, that they cast off their habitual lethargy, and go earnestly into the business of general massacre, and then there are few nations that can surpass them in deeds of cruelty and wholesale bloodshed.

The Turks are in many respects a most singular and incomprehensible people. Effeminate in their habits; dallying half their lives in the harem, or frittering away their time in trifling conversation; sipping their coffee from morning till night, and never without the chibouck, which must have a stupefying and enervating effect; yet they seem to be capable of enduring extraordinary fatigue; and when once roused into action no race of people exhibit greater physical courage or more ferocious determination. The toils of travel; the torments of hunger and thirst; the extremes of heat and cold; all the privations of military life, and all the terrors of death, fail to swerve them from their bloody career of revenge or rapine. This wonderful power of endurance may be attributed, in some measure, to their simple mode of living, and the frequent use of cold water in their daily ablutions. What would be considered extreme privation in America, in the matter of food and clothing, is habitual with the Turk. A crust of dry bread, with a bunch of grapes, or a dish of soup, is his ordinary meal; and his clothing, in winter or summer, consists of a few simple robes thrown loosely around him. Flesh of all kinds is sparingly used, and strong liquors are almost unknown in Oriental climates; and even here in Constantinople, where the winters are often as severe as in New York, the native population sit whole days in their shops without fire, and never think of destroying themselves by the use of hot-air stoves or the death-dealing salamander. It is a matter of surprise how they exist through the inclemency of the season, without those ordinary comforts which we are apt to regard as essential to life. Their houses are built without fire-places or chimneys, and no provision is made for heating them; so that all who are accustomed to these luxuries find it almost impossible to endure, even for a few weeks, what the Turks endure all their lives. For this reason, perhaps, they know little of those fireside enjoyments which tend so much in other countries to refine and socialize the human family, and cultivate the better feelings of our nature; for, whatever may be the sanitary evils of an atmosphere vitiated by an excessive use of fire, it may be set down as an axiom that in no country where the thermometer ranges for three months near the freezing point can a community of people enjoy the pleasures of domestic life, or the refining influence of social intercourse, without creating a comfortable temperature in their houses. A man must have more than Turkish stoicism, or Turkish philosophy, to retain for any length of time a kindly feeling toward his fellow-man, or a love of the genial pleasures of life, where he is subject to continual physical discomfort, or, what is equally as bad, reduced to a state of torpor, like a caterpillar, or compelled to make a smoking chimney of his mouth and nostrils, like a Turk. This custom, however, of living without fires, whether from taste or necessity, sometimes has an effect similar to that of the five straws a day upon which the horse was fed till he died--it kills a good many every winter. The sufferings of the poorer classes in Constantinople are very great when the winter is unusually severe or protracted; for, unlike the wealthier classes, who can cover themselves up in a cloak, and sit the season through in a state of lethargy, they are exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather, and almost without food or raiment. These facts I state to show that, although people may exist for months without fire, and sustain life on bread and cheese and an occasional scrap of meat, and become hardy animals, yet to be frozen or starved are extremes not calculated to prolong life.

The tearing down of a portion of the bridge extending from Galata to the opposite side of the Golden Horn, and certain repairs thereto, which have been in progress for some days past, have given me some idea of the manner in which work is done in this country. I expected to see laziness in its perfection, and am not disappointed. Several hundred workmen are engaged upon this extraordinary job. The bridge is constructed of wood, and a very creditable piece of work it is--quite as good as most bridges of the kind--built, I believe, under the auspices of the present Sultan, Abd-ul-Mejid, by native workmen; but I have forgotten my information on that point. It is a remarkable sight, this tearing down and putting up of the bridge by men in turbans and loose breeches-worth sitting down on the pile of lumber near the toll-hours to enjoy for an hour or so. There is a gang not far off engaged in pulling some large beams out of the water. A small windlass would pull the whole raft up in ten minutes; but they work by hand in preference, or because their ancestors did it. Twenty able-bodied men are doing the labor which could be done in half the time by two, with proper machinery. See them tug at that beam! Not one putting a fourth of his weight on the rope. It moves two inches, after a tremendous amount of yelling and tugging, and an incessant confusion of tongues. There seems to be no master, unless the sleepy fellow sitting on the bridge, with a chibouck in his mouth, be the master, of which there is no evidence. Another fit of lugging and yelling ensues; all hands now give up work, and betake themselves to their respective pipes--the chattering of voices never flagging for a single moment, except when momentarily arrested by the chibouck. The smoking lasts a good deal longer than the other part of the work; but it is over at length, and they go at the beam again with renewed energy. Each man tugs on his own responsibility, without reference to the exertions of the others, and only at such long intervals as suit his peculiar views of the subject. By accident a general pull takes place, in the course of time; and the beam comes up two inches further. All hands are again exhausted, and find, by reference to the sun, that it is the hour of prayer; so to prayer they go--first, however, carefully making their ablutions. It is a picturesque and impressive sight, after all, to see these rude barbarians, in the midst of the busy turmoil of life, cast off all thought of worldly affairs, and bow down their heads toward Mecca, the sacred city of their Prophet. Absorbed in devotion, they seem unconscious of all the petty cares of humanity, and, for the time at least, are elevated above the mere animal man. Even Christians might profit by their earnest sincerity. Unmoved by the prejudices of other races; regardless of the busy world around them; for getting that there is aught upon earth to claim a moment's time, save the salvation of the soul, they give their whole being up to the, worship of God and the Prophet. Is it for vain and self-constituted judges to say that these people, taught from infancy to regard their peculiar belief as the only true means of salvation; shall be rewarded for their sincerity by everlasting torture? Oh, ye who are wrapt in the selfishness of a single idea! ye who bode destruction to others! look out upon the broad universe, and learn that there are millions of human hearts as sincere and devoted as yours, and that there is a Divine power, great and good and merciful enough to save all, even to the weakest and the most benighted.

At last the prayers are ended, and now the toils of the world commence again. But first, a general smoke is necessary to refresh the system for another tug. The chiboucks being emptied in due time, a few skirmishing attempts are made at the log again--mere individual trials of strength. The whole gang finally prepare to begin work in earnest; but just as you imagine they are going to run the log out of the water with a general rush, a casual remark, dropped in conversation, arouses the attention of the whole party. This has to be discussed in all its bearings, controverted, illustrated by anecdotes, sustained and repeated, till the subject is sufficiently exhausted for the present; and then the ropes are stretched, the shouting commences, and the beam, after many back-slides, is fairly landed on terra firma. You feel a sense of relief, an inward thankfulness, when this victory of human force over inert matter has been achieved; and, leaving the turbaned gang to smoke the pipe of triumph, and talk over the struggle past and prepare for the struggle to come, walk on in search of further novelties. All the workmen, those who wield the adze, the hatchet, and the saw, the master mechanics; as well as the common laborers, are so much like our friends of the beam, in their various branches of industry, that it is unnecessary to call your attention to them; and we leave them now, chatting, smoking, and praying, in the hope that, by the threats and promises of his Highness Abd-ul-Mejid, and the spiritual aid of the Prophet, the bridge will be completed some time during the present month--or century.

The difficulty of introducing any thing having a tendency to improve the condition of the Turks, except where the effect is immediate and palpable, as in the use of steamers, is exemplified in all their implements of husbandry, which are of the rudest and most primitive kind. An effort was made some years ago, under the auspices of the Sultan, who seems to have been persuaded into the experiment rather by a paltry ambition to be considered a patron of public improvement; than by any real desire on his own part that it should succeed, to get up a model farm, so that all who had eyes to see might witness the superiority of a judicious system of agriculture. An American gentleman, from one of the Southern States, of known capacity and intelligence, was placed at the head of it, and great promises were made, should the result prove satisfactory. Plows of the most approved pattern, and all the best implements of husbandry, were brought over from tile United States and put in operation; but, notwithstanding the most flattering progress, it failed from want of encouragement. The result was not sufficiently magical to arouse the Turks from their habitual lethargy; the productions of the earth did not spring up in a single night, like some of their fabled temples; and money began to grow scarce, or, at least, was found to be more satisfactorily invested in purchasing good faith from bad ministers, or replenishing the harem with fresh supplies of fat cattle from the mountains of Caucasus. The director and his family, after undergoing all the toils and privations of a long sojourn among a besotted and barbarous people, and suffering in health and purse, were finally compelled to give up all hope of success, and return to their native land; where, it is to be hoped, they are by this time surrounded by the comforts of home and the blessings of civilization.

CHAPTER XV.

A VISIT TO THE BAZAARS.

IT is a strange life here--half-civilized, half-savage. One lives in such an atmosphere of Orientalism that he unconsciously becomes Oriental in his habits, and smokes chiboucks and drinks muddy coffee as a matter of course. If it were not for the civilizing influence of hotels, I believe we Frangi should soon be Turks, even in our dress and the luxury of laziness. No traveler considers himself completely initiated into the mysteries of Oriental life till he has suffered scalding and strangulation in a Turkish bath, purchased a fez, and smoked himself sick at a narguilla. When he has done all this, and learned to go about the bazaars alone, and say Kats grosh? o r, What does it cost? he may congratulate himself upon having mastered the rudiments of Turkism. If he can double up his legs and squat like a tailor, it will be all the better, as he will be invited to sit on the floor whenever he visits a native ho use. Some of the pashaws, indeed, are getting Frankified in their notions, and keep two or three chairs for their guests; but this is an exception to the general rule. For three weeks I have labored hard to surmount these difficulties, and now I ride myself on being a very respectable Turk--in outward show at least, for I should be sorry to say any thing about morals. I have been thoroughly boiled out of my skin in a public bath; have suffered my beard to grow till I can swear by it; smoked narguillas till I came within an ace of getting t he delirium tremens; and purchased a fez, which I wear two hours every night before going to bed, in the hope of conquering a certain bashfulness which yet prevents me from appearing with it in public. Sitting cross-legged on the floor was the great trouble at first; but that difficulty I have also surmounted by hard practice and. some risk of dislocating my limbs, which required an immense deal of twisting and stretching before they would come into the proper position; and now I would defy any Turk in Stamboul to squat more gracefully. In the matter of chiboucks, great caution and judgment are necessary. No person pretending to have the slightest claims to Orientalism will disgrace himself by smoking with a glass mouthpiece. Amber is the only true indication of quality. None but the hamil, or burden-carriers, smoke glass. This fact I state for the benefit of all travelers who have an ambition to be truly Turkish--the glass mouth pieces being so dextrously colored that it requires an adept to distinguish them from amber. When a person pays three dollars for a very pretty one, which he supposes to be the purest amber, and, after discoursing to all his friends upon its superior softness and delicacy of temperature, is quietly told by some kind resident, whose opinion he can not dispute, that it is common glass, worth about twenty-five cents, he has a right to speak feelingly on the subject. The stems must be six feet long, and of the best cherry. Jasmine, for short smoking, makes an admirable stem, and rosewood is not bad. All these can be had and bored to order in the pipe bazaars.

The perpetual risk of life and limb to which the unwary traveler is subjected in rambling about the streets of Constantinople may be regarded as another test of Orientalism. I consider that any man who spends three weeks here and employs his time usefully in lounging about the bazaars and streets of Stamboul, and hanging around the quays and public bridges of the Golden Horn, without losing an eye, suffering dislocation of an ankle, or complete bodily crushing under a, bale of merchandise, deserves ever after to be regarded as a shrewd and accomplished traveler. Running a muck among the Malays is agreeable pastime compared with the running of gauntlets through the streets of Galata or Stamboul. Take as an example a morning walk from the Hotel de Byzant to the bazaars on the other side of the bridge.

We must come over again and look more into the details. At present we have only time to make a small purchase, as a sort of evidence to our friends at the Byzant that this tour has really been achieved before breakfast. It is a pretty trifle, an embroidered something manufactured of silk, which will be very acceptable to a certain fair person--a nice little present from the bazaars of Stamboul.

A grave old man, with a tremendous turban on his head, and a long chibouk in his mouth, sits bundled up among his precious fabrics, totally indifferent to the matter of customers, in fact rather averse to any interruption, for he happens to be listening to a story about some ghouls and genii, which a neighbor is relating at the time. In the next bazaar every body seems to be asleep; though they are all bright enough when they hear the voice of a traveling gentleman; so bright indeed, that in a few moments half a dozen sharp-witted youths are after you from the immediate vicinity, telling you to "Come dis way; no good bazaar dat; bess bazaar dis way; plenty nice ting sheep." This eventually arouses the old gentleman, and he looks up, with a patronizing air; perhaps he might be prevailed upon to sell you something. You are determined not to trust yourself to the sharp-witted fellows who are pulling at your elbow. The indifference of the venerable gentleman piques you; besides you know he must be honest.--"Kats grosh?" you ask, taking up the article carelessly. Something in the shape of an answer is grunted by the old man; of course you can't have the faintest idea of the meaning, the language being Turkish, or Arabic, or some other barbarous compound of guttural sounds. "Kats grosh?" you say again, a little louder. The old man takes a puff of his chibouck, and raises up ten fingers, and shakes them at you four times. It must be forty piasters, or forty dollars. You draw out a piaster, and demand in plain English if he means to say that it requires forty of these to purchase the article? The old gentleman nods assent. Two dollars seems high for such a trifle. You shake your ten fingers at him three times, which means thirty piasters. "Bosh!" says the merchant, with a contemptuous toss of the head, and he coolly resumes his chibouck. As you turn to walk off he beckons you back, takes up the silk, points out all its beauties, grows eloquent upon its peculiar merits, enlarges in the most barbarous tissue of exclamations upon its cost, all of which you have to suppose, not understanding a single word he says. Eventually he concludes by shaking his ten fingers at you three times and five fingers once, signifying thirty-five. You shake back at him three fingers less, upon which you are determined to stand. No, it will not do; the old Turk stands on two, and the purchase can't be made for the sixteenth part of a little finger less. Off you start again, and this time you don't turn to look back. "Hallo! Come back here!" shouts the old man, as plainly as possible in Turkish; and now he goes through an imaginary process of cutting his fore-finger in two. No, sir, you exclaim; not the first knuckle of a fore-finger more! The half of the fore-finger is resigned at last! the article is yours; and with a proud consciousness of shrewdness and self-dependence, you pocket it, and set out for Pera. Experience aids you greatly this time in wending your way through the narrow streets; a few knocks on the head and the loss of a little bark from the knee are trifles not to be thought of. By patience, perseverance, and the sweet oil of a good temper, you at length reach the Hotel de Byzant. Breakfast has just commenced, the purchase is duly exhibited, and extravagantly admired by the ladies; the price is miraculously low; it must have required extraordinary jewing to get it so cheap. It is passed round for the final judgment of a grave gentleman who understands these things thoroughly. Heavens! what a grim smile of pity and contempt; your beautiful specimen of Turkish skill is worth just ten piasters, and has been manufactured in Paris, where such things can be bought for little or nothing!

CHAPTER XVI.

TURKISH BEAUTIES.

THERE has been such a halo of romance thrown around the whole East by a certain class of writers who see every thing through highly-colored spectacles, with bubbles in the centre, that the idea of a Harem is enough to set one off in ecstasies. Who is there with a spark of enthusiasm that can approach Constantinople for the first time without a palpitating heart and a thrilling anticipation of something extraordinary, some thing to lift up the soul above this earth to a realm of houris? The essence of all that one has ever read on the subject comes bubbling up through the memory, and gives rise to the most visionary aspirations for the beautiful. All the fervid imagery of Lalla Rookh; the fascinating splendor of Anastasius; the glowing eloquence of Eothen, fill the mind somehow or other with extraordinary anticipations; a glimmering of something unearthly; a fore-shadowing of Paradise. The Harem becomes a chief ornament in this Paradise, and the perfumes of flowers, and the cooling spray of fountains, and all the witchery of beauty and innocence reclining on soft Persian rugs, involuntary crowd upon the senses. Every yashmack is supposed to cover the features of a Gulbeyez or a Dudu; every grated window to shed light upon an inner world of beauty, the living and breathing realization of that voluptuous picture in Don Juan, of the sleeping beauties of the Harem, where innocent maidens dream of apples, and bees, and butterflies, and such things. Never was an unfortunate admirer of the sex worked up to such a pitch of enthusiastic expectation as your friend of the present writing. It was a purely Platonic devotion to beauty, of course. The first thought upon touching the romantic soil of Stamboul was of yashmacks, and dark flashing eyes, and forms of angelic contour. For a while I thought seriously of shutting my eyes the very first petticoat I should descry fluttering in the breeze; but eyes are indispensable where the hamil are continually bringing their battering rams to bear on one's head. At last a bevy of chattering damsels loomed up in the distance bearing down toward me. Good gracious, what voices! The croaking of ravens would have been music to the coarse masculine sounds that distracted my ear. It was the most barbarous gobbling of gutturals I have ever heard. Black eyes there were, to be sure, black enough all round, even underneath; which was rather a dirty sort of blackness. The yashmacks dropped accidentally, as they generally do when the observer is a Frank, and there are no Turks near. Every vestige of enchantment vanished in a moment. There was not a single passable face in the crowd. The features were coarse and sensual; the teeth disgustingly dark; the costume slovenly and unbecoming. As if conscience-smitten, after having exposed so much beauty to infidel eyes, they hastily drew the covering over their mouths, leaving the upper part of the face partially visible and altogether denuding the breast. After they had passed I turned to enjoy a different view, in the faint hope of discovering some compensating attraction. The case was now still worse. As they drew up their loose cloaks, and gathered around them sundry highly-colored and tawdry rags of drapery, the names of which it is impossible to remember, their bare legs glistened underneath, buried over the ankle in yellow slip-shod boots and slippers; and they waddled over the rough stones very much like a parcel of ducks, making such awkward attempts at progress that it was quite distressing to see them. Surely the Turkish boots for females must have been devised by some clever fellow, who had in view the impossibility of their running away in them.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to judge of the whole sex from these specimens; so I reserved my final judgment until I should see something more of Turkish beauty. Since then I have seen every variety that can be seen beyond the sacred precincts of the Harem, from the highest to the lowest, and I must confess that I have seen very little to change my original impression. What there may be concealed in cages and fed on cakes and rose water, and never suffered to be rudely kissed by the air that common mortals breathe, I do not know from personal experience, having never been in the domestic circle of a Turk in my life, when the ladies were present; nor do I anticipate that pleasure soon, unless my friend, Abd-ul-Mejid, should take it into his head to invite me to a family tea-party, which is not likely. Let it not be supposed, however, that I entertain any hostile feeling toward the ladies of Constantinople. There is occasionally a pretty face to be seen, a young, round, doll-baby thing, that is very much admired by the Turks; nice plump little toys, with black eyebrows and thick lashes, soft peachy cheeks, and the softest possible expression. I saw one on the bridge near Galata that quite struck a tenderness through me. She was about fifteen, and as prettily costumed as a Turkish lady can be without a change of fashion. Dropping the white vail that covered her mouth as I passed, she gave me a good opportunity of admiring her bewitching features, and to be candid, they were very bewitching. The form of her face was round, like a full moon; her complexion of the purest transparency, just tinged with the roseate hue of health; her nose small and round, making a very beautiful natural division between her cheeks; her eyes--but here was the killing attraction--they were so large and wide open, so deeply, beautifully black; so gazelle-like in their innocence of expression, or lack of expression; so indicative of a repose of soul, or unconsciousness of soul; so hedged around with black lashes and eyebrows, or black paint, that made the very darkness there more beautiful than light elsewhere; so liquid with natural tear-drops, or the glare of the sun; these, these it was that brought on the tenderness; these, and the lips which were parted with a smile of triumph, and looked as if they had just been kissed by the breath of a frosty morning, or bathed in twilight dews, or sweetened with a stick of candy, which she happened to be sucking at the moment; and her form! it was so round and soft, and shook so like jelly at every step! But it is entirely useless to undertake a description of her undulating walk: it was the very poetry of motion; rolling in her yellow boots as gracefully as ever rolled a Dutch galliot in the trades. Mashalla! I saw no more that day.

The Armenian women are very much superior in personal beauty to any I have seen in Constantinople; indeed, to any of the Oriental castes, not excepting the far-famed Circassians. The best specimens of the latter that I had the fortune to see were gross and expressionless in feature, and without that compactness and elasticity of form which the more civilized world has assumed to be essential in female beauty. A certain obesity, very attractive to semi-barbarous people, is cultivated to perfection in the Circassians, and the most highly admired seemed to be those who bear the greatest resemblance to a balloon, and who are least capable of exercising the powers of locomotion. The Armenians, however, are tall and graceful, and of much greater delicacy of feature, and in form they approximate more nearly than any I have seen to what has been assumed by common consent as the standard of perfection. I saw many in my rambles about the heights of Chamlula who were really fine looking women; their dark hair twisted loosely under their head-dress; their complexion of the most delicate texture; their eyes bright and not altogether expressionless, fringed with long black lashes; and their forms showing to advantage in a costume resembling what certain of the fair sex at home have attempted to force into fashion in our matter-of-fact part of the world. And here, by way of parenthesis, let me hope that, should that costume prevail, it will never be followed by any attempt to introduce other Oriental fashions, such as smoking the chibouck and sharing in domestic circles the same husband.

The life of these inmates of the Harem has been delineated by writers who have had access to their society; but it has been done in such a way as to throw a halo of romance around them which has no foundation in reality. I have conversed with many intelligent Frank residents of Constantinople on the subject, and have been assured that these accounts of the innocent and luxurious seclusion in which they spend their lives are in the main a tissue of absurdities, gotten up by enthusiastic authors for the purpose of making readable books. Such books are sought with avidity, where the plain truth would make no impression. People are determined to feed the imagination upon something, and those who furnish them with the material are naturally disposed to make it as palatable as possible. The fact is, life in the Harem is one of absolute servitude and disgusting sensuality. Few, even in the highest ranks, understand how to read and write, and their conversation is only trifling inanity. They are purchased as slaves, treated as slaves, and valued according to their capacity to reach the most approved standard of degradation. Encouraged in all that is revolting to the better feeling of man's nature, is it to be wondered that they do not occupy the position of companions. It may be set down as an axiom, demonstrated by all past experience, that in no country where the position of woman is so utterly degraded can a people ever attain to a more exalted rank than that of a slavish and semi-barbarous nation. Abd-ul-Mejid may build frigates, encourage steam navigation and cotton factories, patron