with infinite care. At the storming of the city by Mahmoud, the wall near which this church stood, was considered impregnable. One of the Greek priests was frying some fish, secure in his situation. On a messenger entering with the news that the Turks were forcing their way in, "I would as soon believe," exclaimed the priest, "that these fish would leap out of the pan, and swim about the room, as such an impossible event." Strange to say, the thing actually happened; and these sacred fish were preserved till lately inviolable, but they too have fallen, with their masters, before the sacrilegious Turks. While we were there, two poor Greeks drew nigh, with marks of the deepest réverence; and one of them shed tears at sight of the ruins. We then took a boat and landed not far from the Atmeidan, or chief square of the city: here stands the splendid mosque of Sultan Mahmoud; but no European at that time was allowed to enter the mosques, and we could only gaze on the outside of Saint Sophia. On passing by one of the gates of the seraglio, it stood open and afforded a glimpse at the rich gardens. within; but this was forbidden ground. At the foot of the gate lay a number of heads of the wretched Greeks, and the boys were tumbling them about like footballs. Near this was a large fountain of a strikingly rich and elegant appearance, carved and gilded on the four sides, with several streams of water gushing out. The care shown by this people to provide the luxury of water for the traveller cannot be too highly praised, and prevails all over the East. At intervals

along the roads and within the city are erected neat stone fountains, placed, if possible, in the shade of trees; with a tin vessel suspended by a chain, to drink out of. We entered next the great bazaar, called the Bezestein. The bazaars are places of high interest to lounge in. Each trade has its own street and department. The circular roof, by which also the light enters, screens them from the heat. It is a great treat to sit beside one of the merchants on his elevated seat, and observe the variety of people of various ranks and costumes who pass before you. The Persian, the Armenian, the Nubian, and the Tartar merchants, arrived with caravans from the most distant parts of Asia; pilgrims from Mecca, with their green turbans, and toil-worn yet haughty features-for each devotee holds his head higher after that enterprise. Dervishes, who traverse all parts of the empire, some half naked, others decked in various ornaments. The Turkish merchant comes here at an early hour, mounts into his little shop, sits in his soft slippers, with his pipe in his hand, and is supplied with coffee at intervals from the seller close by: he never asks for custom, but waits tranquilly till applied to. Thus he remains till sunset.

We spent a few days very delightfully at Therapia, at the house of Mr. L.; where a very singular adventure befel us. After sunset we' set out on a long walk with Mr. and Mrs. L. and ascended the hill above the village. After enjoying a good while the wide and exquisite scenery which the path commanded-the whole channel of the Bosphorus, the Black Sea, and the seven-hilled city in the distance-we proposed to return direct home; but the lady preferred descending to the water-side, and to return by a more agreeable and circuitous path. The tents of the Turkish soldiers, wild and irregular troops lately arrived from Asia Minor, were scattered on the declivities around; and it was certainly not prudent to be walking at so late an hour, and with

out a guard. We had nearly gained the foot of the hill when we were challenged by a sentinel from a bank above: several others soon came up, and arrested our progress. They conducted us to the tent of their chief, in the midst of which he was reclining on a carpet; but the entire ignorance of each other's language rendered the interview useless. The scene was very striking. The group of tents stood on a lofty bank at the water's edge, and the watch-fires at the entrance of each threw a vivid glare around: the whole was overspread by a noble group of trees, through the massy foliage of which the moonlight scarcely penetrated. We were then ordered to a spot outside the tent, where the ropes crossing formed a sort of barrier. They most probably took us for Greeks; for soon after leaving Therapia a party of soldiers came there in search of two Greek gentlemen and a lady; and our companion's dress, in a light blue turban and black veil, favoured this idea. The chief at last allowed us to enter his tent, where he again endeavoured to examine us. He was a bold-looking man, with a handsome black beard and very graceful gesture: his tent was dimly lighted by a large lamp, made of fine oiled cotton; and many of his soldiers, wild-looking fellows, and variously armed, formed a circle round. At last they brought coffee and pipes, the pledges of peace, helping the lady last, as an inferior being in their eyes, who throughout had shown great coolness and presence of mind. We had no prospect now but of spending the night here; and the idea was any thing but pleasant. Mr. L. at last thought of sending a message to Georgi, a French servant in Therapia, who spoke Turkish. The chief in the mean time grew more friendly; he drew from beneath his pillow his beautiful Damascus sabre, two-edged for about half the blade, and inscribed with characters from the Koran. After a long delay Georgi at last arrived, and soon explained who we were: but the bey insisted on sending us under a guard before the Pasha, who with his army was encamped in the beautiful valley of Buyukderé, about two miles distant. Four soldiers attended us; and as we drew near the camp, it presented a scene truly interesting. The white tents in one part were ranged close to the edge of an inlet of the Bosphorus; and the light of their watch-fires, spread over the waters, mingled with the most soft and cloudless moonlight. As we advanced into the wood, large groups of soldiers were seated smoking beneath the trees, and almost shrouded by their deep shade. Farther on in the valley, this camp of seven thousand troops was lighted by numerous lines of fires; or the blaze of the pine-torch suspended from the trees. We reached at last the tent of the Pasha, who was absent from the camp; but his chief officer, the Kiaia Bey, was there, with two more officers of rank. The tent was lined with crimson silk, and floored with a rich Persian carpet. The chief behaved in a very polite manner; apologized for his people having arrested us; but advised us never to walk out late again without a guard, in such disturbed times, as he could not be answerable for the behaviour of the irregular troops. Delicious Arabian coffee was then introduced in small china cups, placed in another cup of chased silver, according to the eastern custom. The spectacle around was truly barbaric; some large pine-torches, hung from the trees, were fiercely burning before the tent, and their light was thrown over the various-coloured and splendid dresses of a number of soldiers ranged around; while at a short distance, amongst the trees, the wild

yet sweet Turkish music was played, accompanied with singing. The general ordered a guard of six soldiers to accompany us back to Therapia, where we arrived at a late hour.

The mosque of the whirling dervishes afforded a singular exhibition during the feast of Beiram. Taking off our shoes at the entrance, we mingled among the assemblage of Turks that was seated on the floor. There was a great deal of simplicity and elegance in the building: a large circular space in the middle was enclosed by a railing, within which were near twenty dervishes. Above was a gallery, with a front of gilt lattice-work, which held a great number of spectators as well as the musicians. The devotions, if so they may be called, began with the chanting some parts of the Koran, by a dervise in the gallery, whose voice gradually became louder, and the dervishes below began to walk round in a circle, slowly, with their arms folded. At last the music struck up a lively strain; and one of them, advancing into the middle of the circle, began to spin round like a top. They all threw off the outer garment, and in their white vest set to spinning, with their arms extended in a line with the top of their head, and their eyes closed. It is really incredible how they could endure such an incessant motion for such a length of time, it being continued for more than an hour, with two or three intervals of rest of a few minutes each. Though so many in a small space, and their vest flung out like a parachute, they did not come in contact with each other.

The same day we had the pleasure of seeing the Sultan go in pro cession to the mosque. He landed from his splendid barge at the entrance of the fort, and advanced slowly on a most beautiful charger, surrounded by his guards and chief officers on foot. First came the janizaries in red; then the soldiers, who wore magnificent plumes of white feathers, in the form of a crescent, fixed on their gilded helmets: these carried battle-axes richly adorned. Immediately around the Sultan were his body-guards, uncommonly fine men, their turban and whole dress of the purest white. He is a very handsome man, with a mild and melancholy aspect, about forty years of age.

THE TWO SWANS. A FAIRY TALE.

IMMORTAL Imogen, crown'd queen above
The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear
A fairy dream in honour of true love-
True above ills, and frailty, and all fear—
Perchance a shadow of his own career

Whose youth was darkly prison'd and long twin'd
By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,
And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind
A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.

I saw a tower builded on a lake,

Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep-
That seem'd a still intenser night to make,

Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,-
And, whatsoe'er was prison'd in that keep,
A monstrous Snake was warden;-round and round
In sable ringlets I beheld him creep

Blackest amid black shadows to the ground,
Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crown'd.

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars, Making the pale moon paler with affright; And with his ruby eye out-threaten'd MarsThat blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and brightNor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite Watch'd their wan looks and tremblings in the skies; And that he might not slumber in the night, The curtain-lids were pluck'd from his large eyes, So he might never drówze, but watch his secret prize. Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, l Watching the lonely waters soon and late, d And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate, Or company their grief with heavy tears :Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears They weep and pine away as if immortal years. No gentle bird with gold upon its wing Will perch upon the grate the gentle bird Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring Freedom's sweet key-note and commission word Learn'd of a fairy's lips, for pity stirr❜dLest while he trembling sings, untimely guest! Watch'd by that cruel snake and darkly heard, He leave a widow on her lonely nest,

A

Το press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.
No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark
Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,
To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark
That bear that serpent-image on their face.
And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,
Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win
His captive lady from the strict embrace
Of that foul serpent, clasping her within

His sable folds-like Eve enthrall'd by the old Sin.
But there is none--no knight in panoply,
Nor Love, intrench'd in his strong steely coat :"
No little speck-no sail-no helper nigh,
No sign-no whispering-no plash of boat + '/
The distant shores show dimly and remote,
Made of a deeper mist,-serene and grey,-
And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float
Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,

Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.
And bright and silvery the willows sleep

Over the shady verge-no mad winds tease
Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep

Their sprinkling leaves-half fountains and half trees:
There lilies be-and fairer than all these,

A solitary Swan her breast of snow

Launches against the wave that seems to freeze
Into à chaste reflection, still below

Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.

And forth she paddles in the very noon
Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing,
Charm'd into being by the argent moon-
Whose silver light for love of her fair wing

"Goes with her in the shade, still worshipingoni
Her dainty plumage all around her grewid
A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring 1 g kê
And all behind, a tiny little clue n bou 'a dan I
Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue
wart his f
And sure she is no meaner than á fay,
Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,
By old ordainment:-silent as she lay,

Touch'd by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,
And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake 95
The verdant prison of her lily peers,o to zano !
That slept amidst the stars upon the lake

A breathing shape-restored to human fears,
And new-born love and grief-self-conscious of her tears.
And now she clasps her wings around her heart,
And near that lonely isle begins to glide
Pale as her fears, and ofttimes with a start
Turns her impatient head from side to side"
In universal terrors all too wide

To watch; and often to that marble keep
Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied!!
Some foe, and crouches in the shadow's steep
That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.
And well she may, to spy that fearful thing
All down the dusky walls in circlets wound;
Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring
Girding the marble casket round and round? A
His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound, -
Terribly larkeneth the rocky base;

But on the top his monstrous head is crown'di
With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face i
Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.
Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,

No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,
So he may never see beneath the wall
That timid little creature, all too bright,
That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,
Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries
Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night
With song-but, hush-it perishes in sighs,

And there will be no dirge sad-swelling though she dies!

She droops she sinks-she leans upon the lake,
Fainting again into a lifeless flower;

But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake
Her spirit from its death, and with new power
She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower
Of tender song, timed to her falling tears-
That wins the shady summit of that tower,
And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,
Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.
And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,
Subdued like Argus by the might of sound-
What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest
To magic converse with the air, and bound

The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown'd -
So on the turret-top that watchful snake
Pillows his giant head, and lists profound,
As if his wrathful spite would never wake,

Charin'd into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!