sophical historian, they have deeper significance. True, their first effect was the introduction of other songs, and, in time, a superior literature in Greece. But this literature proved the salvation of even Christendom. If the classics were the bulwarks around the city of God, laid by the ancients through their own history, is not Homer the strongest tower of defence upon that bulwark? The study of Platonism and of the ethics of the rival school of Aristotle, burned in the cloisters of the dark ages, when even Christian truth was almost gone out. The destruction of Byzantium scattered the Grecian literature. The key to the New Testament thus found its way into Florence under the Medici, and into Wittenberg under the elector, until Protestantism had her lion-hearted Luther, Catholicism her sarcastic Erasmus, and the world its mild Melancthon and fervent Fenelon. England had her Duns Scotus, whose scholastic learning was exhaustless, and who gathered around him thirty thousand students at Oxford, where he taught them the logic of Aristotle, with a power which drew forth the encomium, "had the genius of Aristotle been unknown, that of Scotus could have supplied his place." And it was the ethics of Aristotle, thus taught, which brightened the mind of Wyckliffe, and gave to England her first translation of the Bible, and the reformation. To this Bible and this reformation America owes her present proud position. They unlocked the prisons of power. They unloosed the disfranchised people. The individual was rescued from the congealed hierarchy. The liberties of speech; body; property and conscience were enunciated; and to Homer in the last analysis belongs a great part of the glory! Ah! if the shade of Homer could see (we trust his shade is better off than the original corpus) this steamer of ours, with its poetry of motion, parting the waves more fleetly than his most arrowy pinnace, and working more fearfully powerful than his most potent engine against the Trojan wall; if he could see this phase of a new civilization, his visions of Olympus and dreams of Divinities, would vanish before the solid workmanship of his own brother man.

What avails this pondering? Onward we move; the French flag waves in the wind; the black guns, like sleeping lions, lie about the deck; the huge pipe emits its clouds of smoke; the illuminated compass directs the silent helmsmen; the place of Homer's birth is mute and silent under the shadow of night; a mall "echo further west" than even the blest isles, remembers the blind old bard in his fugitive pencillings; and we-dart away to new scenes and other shores,


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E have seen the Orient, if not Jerusalem. Smyrna, where one of the seven churches was located, and the point whence fruit is exported and where the camels bring the resources of Syria to market, was seen and enjoyed. Its figs and chibouques; its dirt and its dignity; its dogs and donkeys; its dreariness and picturesqueness, were all seen and felt in one day's stay; and our vessel turned her prow toward Constantinople, where Orientalism swells in complete luxuriousness under the dominion of the dervishes and the Sultan. We entered the Dardanelles about evening, having passed the isle of Mitylene, or Lesbos, (Sappho's birthplace), and having had a glimpse of the great mountain of Athos, rising out of the sea beyond the isle of Lemnos. The Dardanelles is generally as wide as the Mississippi, with a strong current toward the Mediterranean from the sea of Marmora. The land is fine, rolling and cultivated; and here and there we meet with enterprising and beautiful villages on the Asiatic and European sides of the straits. Our boat stopped some two hours at the city of Dardanelles, where there are numerous castles, as outposts of defence to Constantinople. The castles are supposed to be the ancient sites of Abydos and A strip of stony shore, projecting between two high cliffs, furnished the European extremity of Xerxes' bridge, by which he crossed from Asia to the invasion of Greece. This part of the Dardanelles is also celebrated as the point where

Alexander's army, under Parmenio, crossed from Europe to Asia. Here, too, the Ottoman first began his inroad upon Europe, in the fourteenth century, under Sulieman. Here "Leander swam the Hellespont" to visit his Hero, and Lord Byron did the same in one hour and ten minutes, and wrote poetry to herald the feat to posterity.


Before leaving the Dardanelles, I made a singular acquaintIt was none other than that of a Bey. He observed me examining a map of Constantinople, and politely undertook some explanations. As I could not understand Turkish nor he English, we had a pleasant time of it-very, until I got a book which contained words of both tongues, when we amused each other by reciprocating the pronunciation of words. He had a large number of servants, and sat on his fine mat, smoking his chibouque, the ashes of which were emptied and the tobacco suplied by a servant, from time to time. The tube of the pipe condescended to rest some feet from his mouth in a shining pan. The Turk always carries a comboloio, or rosary of beads, to assist conversation. What assistance these black beads, which travel over the henna-stained fingers of the lady and the effeminate hand of the gentleman of the Orient, render in the interchange of sentiment, those may understand who feel nonplussed in conversation, without the aid of a watch-key in their hands or a cane head in their mouths. The Spanish lady resorts to a similar inspiration, by the unfolding of her fan and a coquettish snap as she closes it. The Turk, however, converses but little. He prefers a passive occupation. His favorite pastime is backgammon, a board of which our Bey carried along. It is a great game with the luxurious idlers of the Capital, who stake large sums on their success. He was particularly sharp in it, as one of our ladies can testify, with whom he played. I have not seen as fine a gentleman since coming among the Turks. We gave him an invitation to America. He said he would call on us at our Hotel. Would like to have him bring a dozen or so of the Mrs. Beys along.

We found, on approaching Constantinople, many active business places, and we were surprised to see furnaces with tall chimneys, smoking in earnest. These elements of progress were soon left behind, however. Forts and walls begin to indicate that we were passing out of the sea of Marmora into the Bosphorus. We ran between the city of Scutari, in Asia, and Constantinople, on the European side, and turned around the point into the river called the Golden Horn, which divides the city proper from Para-the place for the Franks, Ambassadors, and Hotels. Our first view of this magnificent panorama was a disappointment. We had heard and read much of the view of this famous city, with its towers and domes, beaming and golden. A fog hid the city at first. Before we rounded the point, disappointment began to be dissipated with the mist. The expanding splendors opened. The minarets pointed upward, the cupolas swelled brightly amidst rising eminences of buildings stretching along the hill slopes, and unfolding brilliant involutions, as we rounded the point where the Seraglio rose, like a dream, out of the clear waters, and where Saint Sophia, the graceful Queen of a thousand beauteous mosques, gathered her cluster of minarets and domes. I have seen the vision, since, and know it to be real. Enchantment held her fairy wand before my eye at the first glance, and in the joyful amazement, I could not observe, only wonder-fearful that the dream would be dissolved, like magic views.

The green foliage of the cypress, interspersed as it always is in the Moslem cities, adds to the charm. The mirror of the Bosphorus, ranged around with the unique palaces of the pashas, and the marble, yet airy seraglio, together with royal abodes of gorgeousness, reflects three large and distinct cities, each enormous, and each divided by its own silver waters sleeping at its feet. One half of the magic ring is set within the hills of Asia, and the other half within those of Europe. Far beyond Scutari is spread the long range of Olympus, glistening under the warm sun, with snow, and hanging like pure clouds -hita in the deep sky.

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