sea come so home to a city; there are no pebbly shores--no sand
bars--no slimy river-beds--no black canals--no locks nor docks to
divide the very heart of the place from the deep waters. If being
in the noisiest mart of Stamboul you would stroll to the quiet side
of the way amidst those cypresses opposite, you will cross the
fathomless Bosphorus; if you would go from your hotel to the
bazaars, you must go by the bright, blue pathway of the Golden
Horn, that can carry a thousand sail of the line. You are
accustomed to the gondolas that glide among the palaces of St.
Mark, but here at Stamboul it is a 120 gun ship that meets you in
the street. Venice strains out from the steadfast land, and in old
times would send forth the chief of the State to woo and wed the
reluctant sea; but the stormy bride of the Doge is the bowing slave
of the Sultan. She comes to his feet with the treasures of the
world--she bears him from palace to palace--by some unfailing
witchcraft she entices the breezes to follow her {5} and fan the
pale cheek of her lord--she lifts his armed navies to the very
gates of his garden--she watches the walls of his serai--she
stifles the intrigues of his ministers--she quiets the scandals of
his courts--she extinguishes his rivals, and hushes his naughty
wives all one by one. So vast are the wonders of the deep!

All the while that I stayed at Constantinople the plague was
prevailing, but not with any degree of violence. Its presence,
however, lent a mysterious and exciting, though not very pleasant,
interest to my first knowledge of a great Oriental city; it gave
tone and colour to all I saw, and all I felt--a tone and a colour
sombre enough, but true, and well befitting the dreary monuments of
past power and splendour. With all that is most truly Oriental in
its character the plague is associated; it dwells with the faithful