would be." "Oh! that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness, and declare the wonders that He doeth for the children of men." After the sermon, which was well adapted to the congregation, the decks were cleared, and we went over the ship-a screw-steamer of 120 guns and were afterwards sent on shore in a boat belonging to the vessel, having while on board been treated with that kindness and hospitality for which sailors are proverbial. The moon was at its full this night, and it would be difficult to imagine anything more lovely than the view from our window, in her soft bright light; so bright that no other was wanted for reading; so soft, that even the fireworks in a neighbouring garden, beautiful though they were, looked rough as they rose in her delicate beams. We crossed over the next morning to the Asiatic side, and landed near the base of the giant mountain, the highest hill on the shores of the Bosphorus. The Turks call this Jusha Taghi, or the Mountain of Joshua, and have a legend that the leader of the Israelites is buried on its summit. The view from the top is very beautiful, commanding on one side the entrance of the Black Sea into the Bosphorus, by the hill of Anatoli Kawak, with its picturesque ruins of Genoese castles, and on the other the Bosphorus itself, reflecting in its dark blue waters the sky above, and the sunny villages which grace its shores. Friday is, so to speak, the Sunday of the Turks; the Sultan goes on this day publicly to some mosque, all the Turkish vessels on the Bosphorus mount red flags, and all the Turkish ladies go to the Sweet Waters. The Sultan generally chooses a different mosque every week for his devotions. The day we went to see him he selected one near to the new palace he is building on the European side of the Bosphorus, about two miles from Tophanah. We started in a caique, and reached the mosque a short time before the Sultan. A large open space round the entrance of the mosque was kept by soldiers, who, however, permitted us to enter it. The procession was soon seen winding down a hill: first came foot soldiers with a band, after them several led horses richly caparisoned, then pashas and generals; amongst these rode Omar Pasha. They were followed by two individuals, who made rather a ludicrous addition to the cavalcade; they were, first, a man with a long broom sweeping the road; secondly, immediately following him, one of the sakas, or water-carriers, with his leathern bag, whence proceeded a pipe, from which he poured water over the newly-swept ground. Then came Abdul Medjid himself, a poor, mean-looking man, in a blue frock-coat and dark trousers, and wearing a fez. Close to where we stood were two or three carriages, containing Turkish ladies; in one of these sat a very lovely woman, looking, in her gorgeous dress and with her peacock feather fan, like the pictures one sees of the beauties of the harem; so seemed to think the Sultan, for his impassive face lighted up as he passed her, and his lingering glance made one fear the vision of this bright houri might interfere with the fervency of his devotions; however, he rode on to the mosque, the soldiers closing in behind, and we returned to our caique, for the purpose of proceeding up the Bosphorus to the Valley of the Sweet Waters. We soon reached the new seraglio, now very nearly completed; it is of pure white stone, with a great deal of rich gilding, not built perhaps quite according to the rules of architecture, but very beautiful and striking where it stands. The Bosphorus presented on this day a most animated scene: crowds of caiques covered its surface, some bearing richly dressed ladies reclining on silk cushions, others, which might be called omnibus caiques, filled with both men and women, the latter carefully veiled and sitting apart; from every building and from every vessel floated the red flag with its white crescent, and at the different villages on the shore groups of people in holiday attire were standing, either preparing themselves for a start, or amusing themselves with looking at the passers-by. At different points, where the current was rapid, our rowers laid down their oars, and our caique was towed by men, waiting to catch the rope that was thrown to them from it. They drew us along till we got beyond the current, and seemed to think themselves. repaid for their trouble with some very small coin which we gave them. The Valley of the Sweet Waters, on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, lies beneath the hill on which stands the fortress of Anatoli Hissar, exactly opposite to the fortress of Rumili Hissar, on the European side. The Rumili Hissar was built in 1451 by Mahomed II., and is said to be in the form of a Turkish M. It is now quite dismantled, but must, from its position, size, and strength, have been a very Ehrenbreitstein in its day. Gay indeed was the scene which greeted us on our landing: groups of women were already seated round the fountain, or under the trees close to the water; every moment more were arriving, some in caiques, with children and black servants, who carried rich cushions and carpets, which they spread on the ground, some in carriages, others in arabas-native carts drawn by buffaloes, and gaily ornamented with rows of scarlet worsted tassels, not very unlike English pleasure-vans. These were full of gay, laughing women, some black, some white; they were drawn into a good position, and then the buffaloes were unharnessed, and the occupants of the cart amused themselves with pulling about the wares of the pedlers who crowded round it, or with eating ices, or with smoking long chibouques! I sat down on the pole of one of these arabas, but was almost immediately warned off by the black slave; however, his fair mistresses did not seem to think my vicinity so dangerous as he did, and they laughingly signed to me to stay where I was. In different parts of the ground were bands of native music, not particularly harmonious, but very attractive to the Turkish ladies. All seemed gaiety and good-humour; the pasha's wives had established themselves on their cushions, and were gossiping amongst themselves, chatting with their male friends, and playing with their children, very much as ladies do at a pic-nic in England. Some of them were splendidly dressed, and their transparent yashmaks showed a few pretty faces, with almond-shaped dark eyes; but generally the Turkish women are unhealthy-looking painted creatures, with but very little beauty to hide, and the dark red of the henna, with which they stain their fingers and the palms of their hands, gives them a dirty look. It was curious to see how careful they were not to raise the yashmak (which really hid nothing) above their mouths. I saw some drinking, some with ices; but everything went through the muslin. We remained two or three hours in the valley, and left it still crowded; but we saw nothing of the intemperance and riotous behaviour which some writers have described as occurring at these reunions of the Turkish women. A fire is a thing which all travellers to Constantinople desire to witness. One evening I was sitting with my windows open, when I heard the stroke of the iron-shod staff of the watchman on the pavement, followed by the cry of "Yanghin var!" ("There is fire!") This announcement appeared to waken the whole population of Pera and Stamboul: for two hours the rush of people continued. It would be impossible to describe the scene in the way which the French so expressively call " peindre aux yeux." Those who had shoes and lanterns wore and carried them, those who had not, stumbled over the stones without; dogs trodden down and kicked, howled with rage and pain; ever and anon the bustle was increased by the arrival of one of the ridiculous-looking engines, of which I have before spoken, carried by four men, who shouted and struck their iron staves on the ground; and, after all, the fire which produced all this commotion only burned down a small wooden shed on the northern side of Pera. We went to the roof of Messeri's, and were quite disappointed to find how about a very "nothing" all this "much ado" had been made. If a fire burns in Pera for more than an hour, the Sultan himself is obliged to come and superintend, but I do not think he was disturbed this night. The Opera opened at Pera on Sunday, the 21st of September, and a few days after we were invited by some Italian friends to go to their box. The company were all Italians, and, as far as I could judge, sang very well in Verdi's opera of "Louisa Miller." The house, with the exception of the pit, was composed entirely of private boxes; there were no Turkish ladies, but many a red fez proclaimed that their husbands had no objection to indulge their musical taste amongst Christians, though this, we were told, has only been the case since the war. It was curious to see every one, when we came out, carrying the little paper lanterns, which the French call "lanternes à la capucine." These are, however, quite necessary, as there is not such a thing as a street-lamp in Pera. We had desired a servant from Messeri's to meet us with a light at the opera-house, and were amused to see that instead of a paper lantern he had brought with him a large brass lamp from the hall, which produced quite an illumination as he carried it in front of us. So much had been thought and said, and such large sums had been contributed in England towards a memorial church at Pera, that one hoped to see something indicative of the progress of the "Alma;" this, however, was not the case. The site, a very beautiful one, overlooking the Bosphorus, was shown me, but not a stone had then been moved, and, from all I heard, it seemed very probable that the English Protestants of Constantinople must remain for some years yet contented with a room in the English ambassador's palace for their church. The Catholics are better off; they have already a very good chapel, built not far from the palace of the Russian embassy. A few days before that fixed for our departure, we went to secure our berths on board the Austrian Lloyd's steamer for Trieste. The office is in Galata, and, like everything else in Constantinople, is difficult to discover; there is not a name to a single street, and no one seems to know or care where any one lives. Postal arrangements there are none. wanted once to send a note across to Scutari, and was told it would cost me thirty piastres-rather more than five shillings! I do not suppose the I Turks would care much about it, but to an Englishwoman the advent of a Rowland Hill in Pera would indeed be a boon. Before I finish my sketch of what I saw in Pera, I must bear my testimony to the consideration with which I was treated by the mosquitoes. I never let down the green gauze curtains with which my bed was provided, and I sat with my windows open long after the candles were lighted, but these little fellows never plagued me. They hummed about me, but I suppose they appreciated the confidence I placed in them, and forbore to bite me. But the day of departure came. The bazaar was visited, Galata hill climbed for the last time. "Good-by" was said after dinner to many, Russians, English, French, Americans, who had shown us courtesy and kindness during our three weeks' stay at Messeri's; and Friday, the 26th of September, found us on board the Egitto, steaming round Seraglio Point into the Sea of Marmora, leaving behind us Constantinople, lovely as a dream in the rosy glow of the setting sun. INDIA'S DARK HOUR. BY NICHOLAS MICHELL. INDIA! that age hath made sublime, On wealth, and gorgeousness, and power, Shall Clive, Cornwallis, all in vain Have conquered on thy bloody plain? And later heroes startled thee, To raise thy grovelling sons from earth, We'll yield no inch of Indian ground! O land! thine aim to quench the torch Shall, e'en for thine own weal, be vain, Britain and Light shall triumph o'er thee, And the red falchion vengeance take, Will cleanse the land, from horrors freed, As thunder sends its floods below, And purer, healthier skies succeed. But must we lose thee? never, never! Though all hell's demons now seem there, And shivers white Dismay. |