at the same time furnishes pipes and tobacco to the visiters; and a marble slab, with quotations from the Koran sculptured upon it, indicates the purposes for which it was raised. At this place we met a young Parisian-looking dandy, who, after a careful survey of our persons, kindly condescended to introduce himself to our acquaintance. He proved to be an attaché to the Russian embassy, and his French was so interlarded with Turkish words, that we supposed him to be in training for a consulate. He kindly made us acquainted with all the petty scandal of Buyukdery, and in a few minutes we learned how many oars were allowed to a chargé, and how many to a minister; the dif ferent strokes of a bell to announce the grade of a visiter; and the last representation of the ombre chinoises at the Austrian internuncio's. Amid all this trifling there was a vein of good feeling, for when we alluded to Polish affairs he expressed his admiration of their gallant conduct, and his hopes for their ultimate success. This from a Russian, and an employé of the Russian government, was not a little surprising, but we had afterward frequent opportunities of hearing similar sentiments openly expressed by Russians in favour of the Polish cause.

While chatting with our new acquaintance, the sound of musical instruments, with a rich nasal twang by way of accompaniment, was heard on the hill above us. Casting our eyes upwards we saw a procession of musicians descending the hill, followed by a portly-looking Turkish officer, who had been amusing himself in this philharmonic manner while strolling over the neighbouring hills. The band consisted of a violin and guitar, with a singer, whose monotonous nasal drawl was only interrupted by an occasional discordant yell like that of a North American Indian. I had previously been in doubt whether to assign to a Scotch bagpipe or to a knife screaming over a China plate the pre-eminence in torture, but it became evident that the palm must be awarded to this Greek nightingale and his

instrumental associates. The Turkish officer took his seat on the edge of the basin; a narghilay, or water-pipe, was placed in his hands; and while his attendants continued their sweet strains, he sat, apparently unconscious of their presence, looking steadfastly into the water, reminding us of a certain bird which may be seen for hours on the edge of a pond watching the motions of the scaly tribe beneath the surface.

South of Buyukdery is the broad valley or plain which furnishes the name to the village. Buyukdery, or great valley, which is a translation of the ancient Greek name Babu xos, or beautiful field, is also occasionally used. One of its most conspicuous ornaments is a plane-tree (P. orientalis) which I should suppose to be unequalled for size in the world. It is so large that the grand vizier pitched his tent within it last year, when he reviewed the troops stationed in and around the metropolis. It can, however, scarcely be said to be one tree, although it springs from one common root. Eight distinct stems or trunks are arranged in a circle, and include a space of about 150 feet in circumference. There were formerly six others, which nearly completed the circle, but these have so entirely disappeared as scarcely to leave a trace of their former existence.

This beautiful plain is memorable as the spot upon which the crusaders under Godfrey de Bouillon encamped, and ancient travellers relate that in their time they found inscriptions and monuments of the crusaders dated 1096. Not a single one of these is now to be found, although, in the vestiges left by the tents of the grand vizier, I endeavoured to persuade myself that I could detect the traces of the crusaders. It was here, too, that those mutinous troops assembled in 1807 under Kachaya Ogloo, which succeeded in deposing and putting to death the virtuous and wise Sultan Selim. This valley looks out upon the Bosphorus, and is surrounded by hills partly covered by vines and partly by forest-trees. Numerous winding footpaths lead

along these slopes, and at different points present a succession of almost fairy scenes.

Another delightful walk is from this valley along the shores of the Bosphorus to the adjoining village of Therapeia. Passing a new hotel, the speculation of an Italian macaroni-maker, where the traveller may have any thing he calls for except decent food or a comfortable bed, the road winds along the bay nearly at the water's edge.

A Turkish vessel, and taking fish on the Bosphorus.

Here one may witness the operation of taking fish, which is effected in the following manner. One or more stout posts are thrust into the water at the distance of one or two hundred feet from the shore. Upon this post, at the height of ten or fifteen feet above the water, a rude shed contains a person whose business it is to announce the appearance of fish to his comrades on shore. A quadrangular space, whose limits are defined by four posts, is enclosed by nets, and the moment a fish appears within it he is inevitably captured. These fishing stations are surrounded by numerous birds, who watch the capture of the fish and frequently deprive the fisherman of his prey. In rough weather they spread a few drops of oil on the surface, which permits them to see clearly to a great depth. I was aware that oil would calm the surface of the sea, but until

recently I did not know that it rendered objects more distinct beneath the surface. A trinket of some value had been dropped out of one of the upper windows of our palace into the Bosphorus, which at this place was ten or twelve feet deep. It was so small that dragging for it would have been perfectly fruitless; and it was accordingly given up for lost, when one of the servants proposed to drop a little oil on the surface. This was acceded to, with, however, but faint hopes of success. To our astonishment the trinket immediately appeared in sight, and was eventually recovered.

The Bosphorus, like the Hellespont, has in all ages been celebrated for the excellence and variety of its fish. Indeed, it could scarcely be otherwise, when we recollect its position as the embouchure of the Black Sea and the Sea of Azof. There is scarcely a month in the year in which the Bosphorus is not crowded with shoals of fish, either pursuing each other for food, or performing their periodical migrations. Among these the tunny (Scomber thynnus) and the sword-fish (Xiphias gladius) are the most numerous, and are a firm and excellent article of food. They are both taken in nets. The name pelamide is applied to the tunny, although it belongs in fact to another species with stripes on its sides (Thynnus pelamys). The most conspicuous of all the inhabitants of the Bosphorus are porpoises (Phocena vulgaris), who, availing themselves of the general amnesty accorded to the brute creation, or perhaps owing their safety to some popular superstition, may be seen at all times tumbling about among the crowds of boats which cover the Bosphorus with entire fearlessness. Shoals, too, of smaller fry infest the shores, and the most frequent spectacle is groups of men, women, and children, with tiny hooks and lines, angling for minnows. The sultan himself is said to be fond of this amusement; and at Beshik Tash,* one of his palaces, which resembles *Beshik Tash, rocking stone.

a Persian kiosk, and is built mostly of blue porcelain, he has a room devoted to this purpose. A trap-door opens in the centre of an apartment over the water, where he can and does amuse his idle hours without being observed by his subjects.

Passing Kiretch Boornoo, or Limestone Cape, we stopped under a clump of majestic trees to refresh ourselves with coffee. The grateful shade, the fountain, and the reservoir invited us to rest, while the fervent heat was here entirely dispelled by the cool breezes from the Black Sea, which faces this charming spot. Crowds of Turks, Greeks, and Armenians were here sipping their coffee, and making kafe, as it is termed. This word implies a frolic, or what we would perhaps express by the term of holyday-party. A fort near this was built in 1807, under the direction of a French engineer, to defend the anchorage in Buyukdery Bay. After devoting some time to the enjoyment of the surrounding scene, we resumed our walk along the seashore, and passed a fountain arched over in the side hill. This fountain, like many others I have noticed in Turkey, is called by the Greeks Agiasma, or Aiasma, and perpetuates the memory of an ancient classical superstition. The Greeks were formerly in the habit of imputing marvellous properties to any fountains whose waters were clear and cold; and Horace, in his ode ad Fontem Blandusiæ, has perpetuated the memory of one of this kind. Sacrifices were offered up to the presiding deity of the fountain, the genius loci, and the modern Greek, ingrafting his crude notions of Christianity upon his ancient pagan idolatry, still performs the same rites. To each of these fountains some monstrous legend is attached; and these are firmly believed by the crowds which flock round them upon the anniversary of certain saints, who merely occupy the niches formerly held by their demigods and heroes. The enthusiasm of the Greeks on such occasions has infected the sober Turks themselves; for although they abhor the