. Arctic sunbeams: or, From Broadway to the Bosphorus, by way of the North Cape. tractive. InConstantinople even familiar objects do notcease to attract. In our visit to our friends atTherapia, at the head of the Bosphorus, the itera-tion of the scene, like the refrain of sweet melody,ever pleases. So, too, in gazing out of our win-dow of the hotel, the prospect never tires in pleas-ing. Whether, as now, under the noon radiance,the blue waters of the Bosphorus and Golden Hornmingle under a shimmering haze with each other,and a fleecy veil hides but does not wholly concealthe mountains, which c
. Arctic sunbeams: or, From Broadway to the Bosphorus, by way of the North Cape. tractive. InConstantinople even familiar objects do notcease to attract. In our visit to our friends atTherapia, at the head of the Bosphorus, the itera-tion of the scene, like the refrain of sweet melody,ever pleases. So, too, in gazing out of our win-dow of the hotel, the prospect never tires in pleas-ing. Whether, as now, under the noon radiance,the blue waters of the Bosphorus and Golden Hornmingle under a shimmering haze with each other,and a fleecy veil hides but does not wholly concealthe mountains, which curve gracefully on the Asi-atic side ; or whether, as we saw the scene the othernight, when the Ramazan season was closing, andthe minarets were all afire with illuminations, min-gling the double lights of water and sky with thoseof the mosques and their surroundings, there is nomore exquisite scene ! On the south-west roof ofour hotel, and from a height of two hundred feetabove all the neiorhborinor houses, there is a view,with no unpleasant scenes of the front streets to 56. CONSTANTINOPLE AND ITS PEOPLE. 57 detract from its beauty. Scutari likewise is a pic-ture in this vision. It rises gradually from theopposite shore of the Bosphorus, skirted in its rearby graves of green—the burial homes of the Turks,who are sceptical about their permanency in Eu-rope. Scutari looks doubly beautiful by night, asthe closing of the fast adds its illuminations. Aswe gaze upon the nocturnal splendors, new lights,as changeful as the hieroglyphics of the Turkishletters, appear. Indeed, they are texts and names,in fire, from the Koran. They are strung fromminaret to minaret. When we were here many years ago, it wasRamazan season ; but no effort of memory has re-produced such brilliant visions as these from ourwindow. Everything depends on your point ofview. We are now domiciled in Pera, where theFranks live. We are near the great tower, Galata,from which views are often taken of this city ofse
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