der columns of Byzantine architecture
make a perfect wilderness of pillars. Wherever we stood, we seemed
always the centre from which long aisles of columns radiated till they
lost themselves in the darkness. The cistern has long been empty, and is
used as a ropewalk.

The great fire swept a large district of the city here, which has been
but little rebuilt, and the view of the Marmora is very fine. On the
opposite Asiatic shore Mount Olympus, with its snow-crowned summit,
fades away into the blue of the heavens. This is a glorious atmosphere,
at least at this season, the air clear and bracing, the sky a beautiful
blue and the sunsets golden. In winter it is cold, muddy and cheerless,
and in midsummer the simoom which sweeps up the Marmora from Africa and
the Syrian coast renders it very unhealthy for Europeans to remain in
the city. The simoom is exceedingly enervating in its effects, and all
who can spend the summer months on the upper Bosphorus, where the
prevailing winds are from the Black Sea and the air is cool and
healthful. Nearly all the foreign legations except our own have summer
residences there and beautiful grounds.

[Illustration: OBELISK OF THEODOSIUS.]

Following the old aqueduct built by the emperor Hadrian, which still
supplies Stamboul with water, and is exceedingly picturesque with its
high dripping arches covered with luxuriant ivy, we reached the walls
which protected the city on the land-side, and then, threading our way
through the narrow, dirty streets, we returned to the Golden Horn. I do
not wonder, after what I have seen of this part of Stamboul, that the
cholera made such ravages here a few years since. I should think it
would remain a constant scourge. Calling a caique, we were rowed up the
Golden Horn to the Sweet Waters, but its tide floated only our own boat,
and the banks lacked the attraction of the gay groups which render the
place so lively on Fridays. We were served with coffee by a Turk who
with his little brasier of coals was waiting under a wide-spreading tree
for any chance visitor, and after a short stroll on the bank opposite
the sultan's pretty palace we floated gently down the stream till we
reached the Golden Horn again. On a large meadow near the mouth of the
Sweet Waters some Arabs were camped with an immense flock of sheep. They
had brought them there to shear and wash the wool in the fresh water,
and the ground was covered with large quantities of beautiful long
fle