the interior of my first Eastern city, and when
I saw the domes and minarets of Constantinople actually before me, the
traveller's instinct was quickened to a passion. We got in at sundown,
and behind the picturesque roofs of the town lay an amber and crimson
mystery of light, which was half-obscured by the smoke and steam of a
score or two of vessels. The whole scene looked like a smeared landscape
from the hand of Turner. He, at least, would have seen to it that the
colour was clear; but Nature is very often behind the artist, and the
effect was grossly muddy and untransparent.

In common with the rest of the world I had heard of baksheesh, but until
then I never understood its magic power. A huge functionary took charge
of my trunk and portmanteau, and impounded them so decisively in the
name of the law that I had made up my mind to see neither of them any
more. The captain of the boat whispered in my ear that a mejidieh
would do it, I tried a French five-franc piece! which proved instantly
efficacious; and a minute or two later I was on shore at Galata, astride
a donkey whose tail was industriously twisted round by his driver,
and who was followed by an unequally laden brother ass, who bore my
portmanteau on one flank and my trunk upon another.

We scrambled up the stony road towards the main street of Pera. The city
had looked like a Turneresque dream from the outside, but known from
within it was the home of ugliness, and of stinks innumerable. The
yellow dogs tripped the feet as often as the abominable pavement, and
seemed as immovable and as much a part of the road itself. Now and again
in the side streets a whole horde howled like a phalanx of advancing
wolves; but they were outside the parish of the brutes who encumbered
the roadway I had to travel, and though the noise of war was near,
the canine regiment not actually called to fight rested immobile, its
members suffering themselves to be kicked by foot passengers, trodden on
by cattle, and rolled over by wheels with an astonishing stolidity.

We reached the hotel in time for an admirable dinner--the precursor of
many admirable meals, whose only fault was that they were built too much
on one pattern. We were served, as I recall too well, with tomato soup,
red mullet, quail, tomato farcie, and cutlet. Next morning at breakfast
came red mullet, quail, and tomato farcie. At luncheon came red mullet,
quail, tomato farcie, and cutlet At dinner came tomato soup,