eft to take her course. Extreme heat or cold have
a favorable effect upon it; but the temperate climate of Constantinople,
with the frequent dearth of water, the dust, and other impurities, tend
greatly to its dissemination.

It was therefore during this painful period that I resided in Galata;
free, as I had hoped, from the contagion; and yet it found its way into
our little family, accompanied by all its horrors.

One morning in the latter part of the month of October, invited by the
clearness of the air and a fresh breeze which had scarcely strength
sufficient to ruffle the water of the harbor, I left my humble apartment
and ascended the steep hill of Pera. The view--from the small tuft of
graves near the Galata tower, some of which were fresh; of the surrounding
villages and the great city itself, where, although devastation had been
and still was being carried on with horror, there seemed to reign the most
perfect tranquility, resembling the calm bosom of the treacherous sea,
quiet over the lifeless bodies of its victims and the wreck of the noble
vessels which had furrowed its surface--relieved the monotony of my
existence. I gazed longingly upon the many ships lying before me at anchor
in the stream, which could in a few days bear me far away from the scenes
of death and desolation that surrounded me; or I exchanged a word with any
passing acquaintance who ventured from Pera to his counting-house in
Galata. A longer walk gave rise to too many sad reflections. Farther on
was the _Petit Champ des Morts_, a small Turkish cemetery, here and there
spotted with new-made graves, over which more than one aged female mourned
the loss of her life's companion, or perhaps it would be one of fewer
years, who wept the fatal destiny of her young husband, brother, sister,
or child.

After spending the best part of the day in walking about, I returned to
the house of my residence. As usual, I found the door fastened; I knocked,
but no one answered me. Again I knocked, and called repeatedly before my
voice was heard. At length a low moan, and then a scream, issued from
within. Petraki, the widow's son, opened the door, and with a pale and
frightened countenance told me his mother had suddenly been taken very
ill. There was no alternative. I entered her sitting-room, where in the
company of the family I had spent many quiet hours. Now how changed! The
mother lay upon the sofa, pale; and breathing with difficulty. Aleuka, the
daug