134 
A CRUSADE IN THE EAST. 
self with a narguilla and a cup of coffee—both of which as a 
matter of course, are sacrificed. Starting out anew, as soon 
as you have made suitable reparation for the damage, you 
work your way through the crowd very much as an eel 
might be supposed to wind through a stubble-field ; and, by 
dint of perseverance and renewed caution, you eventually 
reach the bridge. Here you stop to draw a long breath, 
wipe the perspiration off your forehead, and enjoy the view. 
It is refreshing and Oriental, the whole thing—just like the 
beautiful engravings in the annuals, only a good deal larger 
and better done. There are the same Turks with turbans 
on, the flowing robes and long beards, and peaked slippers; 
the Persians with their tall shaggy hats, the Greeks and Al¬ 
banians in petticoats, the palefaced Armenians, the bearded 
and turbaned Jews, the dusky Egyptian slaves—just as you 
have seen them in prints of the bridge a thousand times, all 
walking about like any other live people. But, on second 
thought, the whole scene is a good deal better than any thing 
in the line of art. It is absolutely splendid, you exclaim un¬ 
consciously ; by Jove, sir, it is gorgeous ! What a magnifi¬ 
cent effect these mosques and minarets of Stamboul have— 
the domes looming up in the golden haze of the morning, 
high above the house-tops ; the minarets piercing the heavens, 
clear and white, like gigantic ornamented needles wrought 
out of pure ivory; the quays lined with strangely-shaped 
houses, and forests of masts rising from the flashing waters 
of the harbor, with bright colors flaunting in the air; the 
steamers from Therapia and Bayukdere sweeping in gallantly, 
leaving long trails of smoke behind them ; innumerable craft 
with flowing canvas, from the tiny felucca to the towering 
merchantman of the Black Sea, gliding about over the glorious 
Bosphorus ; and far and near the very waters are alive with 
caiques, the most graceful and Oriental of little boats, with 
their smooth sides and pointed bows, darting hither and thither 
with the velocity of birds, skimming over the lucid deep as 
lightly as the swallows that sport around them—a picture of* 
Oriental life that art has never attained. Half the population 
of Stamboul seem to be afloat ; turbans of every color, brill- 
