the achille, which has a nose for freight, but none for poetry, did not stop at tenedos, puffed steadily past the plain of troy, turned into the broad opening of the dardanelles, and by daylight was anchored midway between the two castles. on such a night, if ever, one might see the evolution of shadowy armies upon the windy plain,—if, indeed, this conspicuous site was anything more than the theatre of homer's creations,—the spectators on the walls of ilium, the greeks hastily embarking on their ships for tenedos, the joyful procession that drew the fatal gift into the impregnable walls.

there is a strong current southward through the dardanelles, which swung the vessel round as we came to anchor. the forts which, with their heavy modern guns, completely command this strait, are something less than a mile and a half apart, and near each is a large and handsome town,—khilid-bahri on the european shore and chanak-kalesi on the asiatic. the latter name signifies the pottery-castle, and is derived from the chief manufactory of the place; the town of a couple of thousand houses, gayly painted and decorated in lively colors, lies upon a sandy flat and presents a very cheerful appearance. it is a great asiatic entrep魌 for european products, and consular flags attest its commercial importance.

when i came upon deck its enterprising traders had already boarded the steamer, and encumbered it with their pottery, which found a ready market with the pilgrims, for it is both cheap and ugly. perhaps we should rather say fantastic than ugly. you see specimens of it all over the east, and in the bazaars of cairo, jerusalem, and damascus it may be offered you as something rare. whatever the vessel is,—a pitcher, cup, vase, jar, or cream-pot,—its form is either that of some impossible animal, some griffin, or dragon, or dog of the underworld, or its spout is the neck and head of some fantastic monster. the ware is painted in the most startling reds, greens, yellows, and blacks, and sometimes gilt, and then glazed. it is altogether hideous, and fascinating enough to drive the majolica out of favor.

above these two towns the strait expands into a sort of bay, formed on the north by a promontory jutting out from the asiatic shore, and upon this promontory it is now agreed stood old abydos; it is occupied by a fort which grimly regards a corresponding one on the opposite shore, not a mile distant. here leander swam to hero, byron to aquatic fame, and here xerxes laid his bridge. all this is plain to be seen; this is the narrowest part of the passage; exactly opposite this sloping site of abydos is a depression between two high cliffs, the only point where the persian could have rested the european extremity of his bridge; and it surely requires no stretch of the imagination to see hero standing upon this projecting point holding the torch for her lover.

the shore is very pretty each side, not bold, but quiet scenery; and yet there is a contrast: on the asiatic horizon are mountains, rising behind each other, while the narrow peninsula, the thracian chersonesus of the ancients, which forms the western bank of the dardanelles, offers only a range of moderate hills. what a beautiful stream, indeed, is this, and how fond history has been of enacting its spectacles upon it! how the civilizations of the east and west, in a continual flow and reflow, push each other across it! with a sort of periodic regularity it is the scene of a great movement, and from age to age the destinies of the race have seemed to hang upon its possession; and from time to time the attention of the world is concentrated upon this water-street between two continents. under whatever name, the oriental civilization has been a misfortune, and the western a blessing to the border-land; and how narrowly has europe, more than once, from xerxes to chosroes, from omar to the osmanlis, seemed to escape the torrent of eastern slavery. once the culture of greece passed these limits, and annexed all asia minor and the territory as far as the euphrates to the empire of intelligence. who shall say that the day is not at hand when the ancient movement of free thought, if not of grecian art and arms, is about to be renewed, and europe is not again to impose its laws and manners upon little asia? the conquest, which one sees going on under his eyes, is not indeed with the pomp of armies, but by the more powerful and enduring might of commerce, intercourse, and the weight of a world's opinion diffused by travel and literature. the osmanli sits supinely and watches the change; the greeks, the rajahs of all religions, establish schools, and the new generation is getting ready for the revolution; the turk does not care for schools. that it may be his fate to abandon european turkey and even constantinople, he admits. but it is plain that if he goes thus far he must go farther; and that he must surrender a good part of the roman eastern empire. for any one can see that the hellespont could not be occupied by two powers, and that it is no more possible to divide the control of the bosphorus than it is that of the hudson or the thames.

the morning was cold, and the temperature as well as the sky admonished us that we were passing out of the warm latitude. twenty-five miles from the chang and eng forts we passed near but did not call at gallipoli, an ancient city with few antiquities, but of great strategic importance. whoever holds it has the key to constantinople and the black sea; it was seized by the moslems in the thirteenth century before they imposed the religion of the koran upon the city of constantine, and it was early occupied by the english and french, in 1854, in the war that secured that city to the successor of the prophet.

entering upon the sea of marmora, the "vexed propontis," we had fortunately smooth water but a cold north-wind. the propontis has enjoyed a nauseous reputation with all mariners, ancient and modern. i don't know that its form has anything to do with it, but if the reader will take the trouble to consult a map, he will see how nearly this hag of water, with its two ducts, the bosphorus and the hellespont, resembles a human stomach. there is nothing to be seen in the voyage from gallipoli to constantinople, except the island of marmora, famous for the quarries which furnish marbles for the palaces of the bosphorus and for eyoub and scutari, the two great cities of the dead. we passed near enough to distinguish clearly its fine perpendicular cliffs.

it was dark before we saw the lights of stamboul rise out of the water; it is impossible, at night, to enter the golden horn through the mazes of shipping, and we cast anchor outside. the mile or two of gas-lights along the promontory of the old city and the gleams upon the coast of ancient chalcedon were impressive and exciting to the imagination, but, owing to the lateness of our arrival, we lost all the emotions which have, struck other travellers anything but dumb upon coming in sight of the capital of the moslem empire.