CONSTANTINOPLE. 
117 
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 su¬ 
periority 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 ele¬ 
gant 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 read¬ 
ing works of imagination. I know of nothing to compare 
with the first view of Constantinople. Any thing like de¬ 
scription seems tame and out of place in attempting to give 
an idea of such a scene. It is purely a matter of feeling; 
