the exciting topics of the day, but went below and took a vapor
bath in our berths; for I need not assure you that the nights on the
Mediterranean at this season are anything but chilly. And here I must note
the fact, that the French steamers, while dearer than the Austrian, are
more cramped in their accommodations, and filled with a set of most
uncivil servants. The table is good, and this is the only thing to be
commended. In all other respects, I prefer the Lloyd vessels.

Early next morning, we passed the promontory of Cyzicus, and the Island of
Marmora, the marble quarries of which give name to the sea. As we were
approaching the entrance to the Dardanelles, we noticed an Austrian brig
drifting in the current, the whiff of her flag indicating distress. Her
rudder was entirely gone, and she was floating helplessly towards the
Thracian coast. A boat was immediately lowered and a hawser carried to her
bows, by which we towed her a short distance; but our steam engine did
not like this drudgery, and snapped the rope repeatedly, so that at last
we were obliged to leave her to her fate. The lift we gave, however, had
its effect, and by dexterous maneuvering with the sails, the captain
brought her safely into the harbor of Gallipoli, where she dropped anchor
beside us.

Beyond Gallipoli, the Dardanelles contract, and the opposing continents
rise into lofty and barren hills. In point of natural beauty, this strait
is greatly inferior to the Bosphorus. It lacks the streams and wooded
valleys which open upon the latter. The country is but partially
cultivated, except around the town of Dardanelles, near the mouth of the
strait. The site of the bridge of Xerxes is easily recognized, the
conformation of the different shores seconding the decision of
antiquarians. Here, too, are Sestos and Abydos, of passionate and poetic
memory. But as the sun dipped towards the sea, we passed out of the narrow
gateway. On our left lay the plain of Troy, backed by the blue range of
Mount Ida. The tamulus of Patroclus crowned a low bluff looking on the
sea. On the right appeared the long, irregular island of Imbros, and the
peaks of misty Samothrace over and beyond it. Tenedos was before us. The
red flush of sunset tinged the grand Homeric landscape, and lingered and
lingered on the summit of Ida, as if loth to depart. I paced the deck
until long after it was too dark to distinguish it any more.

The next morning we dropped anchor in the harb