w fast asleep my Dolores lies!

EMMA LAZARUS.

GLIMPSES OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

CONCLUDING PAPER.

[Illustration: SCENE IN A BURIAL-GROUND.]

There is a continuous fascination about this old city. The guide-book
says, "A week or ten days are required to see the sights," but though we
make daily expeditions we seem in no danger of exhausting them. Neither
does one have to go far to seek amusement. I never look down into the
street below my windows without being attracted by some object of
interest. The little donkeys with their great panniers of long slim
loaves of bread (oh, tell it not, but I once saw the driver use one as a
stick to belabor the lazy animal with, and then leave it, with two or
three other loaves, at the opposite house, where a pretty Armenian, that
I afterward saw taking the air on the roof with her bright-eyed little
girl, perhaps had it for her breakfast!); the fierce, lawless Turkish
soldiers stalking along, their officers mounted, and looking much better
in their baggy trousers and frock-coats on their fine horses than on
foot; Greek and Armenian ladies in gay European costumes; veiled Turkish
women in their quiet street-dress; close carriages with
gorgeously-dressed beauties from the sultan's harem followed by black
eunuchs on horseback,--these and similar groups in every variety of
costume form a constant stream of strange and picturesque sights.

One morning, attracted by an unusual noise, I looked out and found it
proceeded from a funeral procession. First came a man carrying the lid
of the coffin; then several Greek priests; after them boys in white
robes with lighted candles, followed by choir-boys in similar dresses
who chanted as they walked along. Such sounds! Greek chanting is a
horrible nasal caterwauling. Get a dozen boys to hold their noses, and
then in a high key imitate the gamut performed by several festive cats
as they prowl over the housetops on a quiet night, and you have Greek,
Armenian or Turkish chanting and singing to perfection. There is not the
first conception of music in the souls of these barbarians. Behind this
choir came four men carrying the open coffin. The corpse was that of a
middle-aged man dressed in black clothes, with a red fez cap on the head
and yellow, red and white flowers scattered over the body. The hot sun
shone full on the pinched and shriveled features, and the sight was most
revolting. Several mourners followed the coffin, the ladies in blac