where it does not stand now—­a city that perished when the world was young.  The poor Trojans are all dead, now.  They were born too late to see Noah’s ark, and died too soon to see our menagerie.  We saw where Agamemnon’s fleets rendezvoused, and away inland a mountain which the map said was Mount Ida.  Within the Hellespont we saw where the original first shoddy contract mentioned in history was carried out, and the “parties of the second part” gently rebuked by Xerxes.  I speak of the famous bridge of boats which Xerxes ordered to be built over the narrowest part of the Hellespont (where it is only two or three miles wide.) A moderate gale destroyed the flimsy structure, and the King, thinking that to publicly rebuke the contractors might have a good effect on the next set, called them out before the army and had them beheaded.  In the next ten minutes he let a new contract for the bridge.  It has been observed by ancient writers that the second bridge was a very good bridge.  Xerxes crossed his host of five millions of men on it, and if it had not been purposely destroyed, it would probably have been there yet.  If our Government would rebuke some of our shoddy contractors occasionally, it might work much good.  In the Hellespont we saw where Leander and Lord Byron swam across, the one to see her upon whom his soul’s affections were fixed with a devotion that only death could impair, and the other merely for a flyer, as Jack says.  We had two noted tombs near us, too.  On one shore slept Ajax, and on the other Hecuba.

We had water batteries and forts on both sides of the Hellespont, flying the crimson flag of Turkey, with its white crescent, and occasionally a village, and sometimes a train of camels; we had all these to look at till we entered the broad sea of Marmora, and then the land soon fading from view, we resumed euchre and whist once more.

We dropped anchor in the mouth of the Golden Horn at daylight in the morning.  Only three or four of us were up to see the great Ottoman capital.  The passengers do not turn out at unseasonable hours, as they used to, to get the earliest possible glimpse of strange foreign cities.  They are well over that.  If we were lying in sight of the Pyramids of Egypt, they would not come on deck until after breakfast, now-a-days.

The Golden Horn is a narrow arm of the sea, which branches from the Bosporus (a sort of broad river which connects the Marmora and Black Seas,) and, curving around, divides the city in the middle.  Galata and Pera are on one side of the Bosporus, and the Golden Horn; Stamboul (ancient Byzantium) is upon the other.  On the other bank of the Bosporus is Scutari and other suburbs of Constantinople.  This great city contains a million inhabitants, but so narrow are its streets, and so crowded together are its houses, that it does not cover much more than half as much ground as New York City.  Seen from the anchorage or from a mile or so up the Bosporus,