kerchiefs are switched about it, an extinguisher of unromantic, British-looking tin, is mounted at the end of a long pole and advanced towards it. In vain the accomplished guardian of the tiny light still holds it high, brilliantly shining, while the voice calls out its monotonous, musical battle-cry: "Ecco Moccolo! Ecco Moccolo!" Pictures like these, many and various, greet our eyes before the lights begin to disappear, the carriages become few and far between, and the war-cry of this friendly fight is exchanged for the more melodious burden of "Buona sera-buona sera," which, sung by some, is declaimed by others, as they bow in farewell to each other, and to the Carnival.

Later at night, and long after the sport of the Moccoletti was over, strangely-habited figures, and groups of people in dominoes, haunted the Corso, as if loth to leave the scene of their enjoyment. Some of the faces looked sadly blank now that the excitement of the time was over. And to-day Lent has commenced with a leaden sky and an atmosphere that is even dismal-for Rome. On the road-way of the Corso still remain the traces of the mimic war, the confetti lying thickly there, like dirty snow. And the Roman people have returned to their old propriety, their old gravity, and we meet in the streets the same impassive, dulled faces-with eyes like smouldering fire, whose heat is well restrained and chastened-as we were accustomed to see in the days before the temporary licence somewhat unbound the latent expression in them.

They say this has been the best Carnival in Rome for many years. We marvel what will be the next? How will the gay time pass in the Rome of 1860 ?

V.

PAGES FROM MY DIARY.

BY FREDERIKA BREMER.

SUNDAY, THE 17TH.-" Ajiá Sophia! Ajiá Sophia!" I must, nevertheless, see thee, thou magnificent symbol of a lofty thought, daughter of the united Divine and human wisdom. The desire to see thee was one among other causes which brought me here; but, arrived here, I must give up the hope, because, in order to see thee, a firman is required from the Sultan, and a party large enough to give a "backschich" or fee of several hundred francs; and of either of these I see no chance. Of travellers there are now very few in Constantinople, and amongst this few none who are known

to me. I took, therefore, leave of St. Sophia, and in the morning set out on a solitary ramble to the heights of Pera, thinking that I should not be able to see more nearly any of the great mosques, Achmedan, Sulimanlie, Bajazet, and others, which, with their minarets, crown the lofty ridge on which stands old proud Byzantium.

When I returned to the hotel, I found there an important little man waiting for me, who inquired in French whether I would join a party who were that day, at eleven o'clock, about to visit Saint Sophia, and the other remarkable places on the Seraglio Point? He was the bearer of the Imperial permission for that purpose. How this happened and was brought about I know not, neither how the little foreigner knew my wishes, which I was not aware of having mentioned to any one. But let it be as it would. I love to see in such circumstances, "those apples and pears which," as Luther says, "the great Father sometimes throws to the children, to make them observant of him!" And how many such has He not thrown to me during this, my journey?

At twelve o'clock I stood in the church of Saint Sophia, charmed, enchanted, as I never was before by any temple or work of human art. I understand very little about architecture and styles of building, and still less do I understand the language of this art. I shall, therefore, not speak of Ajiá Sophia as a work of art, but only say a few words about the impression or the image which this temple, amid all earth's temples, has left in my soul, for all time.

Every great church which I have hitherto seen, and St. Peter's in Rome, before all others, have too much of the worldly and the human-have too many chapels, monuments, ornaments, statues, pictures, side aisles, and side thoughts. St. Peter's, in all its grandeur and pomp, is essentially an apotheosis of the Popedom. Pictures of saints, popes, and bishops, and pictures of them who serve the papal chair, are seen on all hands, flying angels, bearing papal tiaras to heaven, human figures, and human affairs obtrude themselves everywhere. In the church of Saint Sophia one single vast thought arches itself all around, which nothing breaks into or interrupts, and which immediately strikes sense and sight with clearness and power. Grandeur and unity, majesty and harmony-behold in this the idea around which the church vaults itself. Everything within contributes to this aim-the beautiful pillars from the Temple of Ephesus, and the Temple of the Sun at Balbeck, supporting its circular vault-the open-arched galleries, higher up in its four corners-the vast majestic vault-the choirs on the east and west-the galleries on the north and south-all contribute largeness and freedom to the space where not a single pillar is out of place, or supernumerary, and above which spans the wonderfully light and lovely cupola, through whose garland of windows light pours in, illumining the whole space harmoniously and beautifully! How marvellously from beneath the gloomy light-where the dark-red and green columns of the heathen temple stand in sombre shadow, yet so beautiful at the same time-all rises, all elevates itself, solemn in

colour and form, but at the same time, the loftier, the freer, the more rejoicing, up to the vast vault, from the highest sweep of which God's light streams in! I would I could make you see it as I saw it, and feel it as I felt it! A low, melodious sound filled the temple. It was the voices of those who prayed, who lay upon their knees here and there on the mat-covered floor, and whose prayers melted together into a soft harmonious murmur. The Mahomedan horror of pictures and gaudy show in their temples certainly conduces more to the sublimity of Saint Sophia than the coloured lamps and lanterns, painted pictures, and endless childish show of Greek worship, which is also singularly spoiled by the nasal singing of the mass. Of human monuments Saint Sophia has now only eight large black shields, bearing in gold letters the names of Mahomed, Ali, Abubekir, and so on, the prophet's faithful followers; but these hang close to the walls, and the effect is good.

The Turks have done all they could to obliterate from Saint Sophia every trace of the Christian church, but have succeeded only imperfectly. One can see on the immense iron gates evident traces of the cross which has been removed; and on the arched ceiling of the chancel may be plainly discovered through the mass of lime-wash and gilding which have been laid on, traces of the picture of Saint Sophia-" full of majesty and gentleness," as it is described by a person who saw it whilst it was yet in the hands of the Christians. The altar, of course, has had to give place to the golden gate, or niche, which is turned towards the Holy Temple, or Kaaba of Mecca. But as this lies in a south-eastern direction from Constantinople, and the church of Saint Sophia, like all Christian churches, has its chancel to the east, therefore in this case the Mahomedan Kyblén is placed in an oblique position, as are also all the long straw mats with which the floor is covered, and, as a consequence thereof, all who kneel in prayer are the same, for their faces also during prayer must be directed towards Mecca.

What the church of Saint Sophia was, when it stood in all its pomp, may be conceived from the remains of golden mosaics, which shine out, here and there; on the arched roofs of the galleries. The Turks have smeared over these paintings with dark yellow colouring, set with black rosettes. When the church stood in all its pomp, its last noble builder, the Emperor Justinian, exclaimed, "Solomon, I have surpassed even thee."

Every mosque in Constantinople is built on the model of Saint Sophia. We also visited this morning Achmedan, or the mosque of Sultan Achmed. Although imposing from its extent and solidity, yet after seeing the church of Saint Sophia, it merely strikes the beholder as a clumsy, tasteless imitation. Achmedan is built upon the site of the ancient Greek Hippodrome, and has a remarkable relic in the tripod of the Delphic oracle, which, brought hither from the foot of Parnassus, now stands in front of the Mosque in a hollow surrounded with iron railing. It is a column consisting of three copper serpents twisted together; their heads are wanting

were cut off, it is said, by Sultan Mahomet the Second. The serpents are hollow, and through them probably ascended the vapour which intoxicated the Pythia when she delivered the oracle.

Sultan Mahmoud's seraglio stands below Saint Sophia, nearer to the waters of the Sea of Marmora. Below Saint Sophia lies the Seraglio Point, which, independently of the seraglio, comprises in its extensive limits many palaces, parks, gardens, kiosks, and large courts with elegant fountains. The Ottoman gate, the "Great Gate," which, however, is not by any means remarkable either for greatness or beauty, stands upon this height, and through this gate you pass to the bureaus of the Grand Vizier, and the other ministers, to the consul's office, and many other public offices and rooms. The Sultan has a private door from his kiosk, and can go whenever he will unseen to the council chamber, and be present at the assembly of his councillors.

The palace of the janizaries is a large building, situated at no great distance from the Seraglio Point, in the halls of which the stranger finds, to his surprise and pleasure, figures of its former, but now for ever vanished population, of the natural size, and in full costume. These figures, which are remarkably well made, by European artists, look, for the most part, so eccentrically ugly and savage, and have besides so much individual character, and are so natural and real, that one is almost afraid of looking at them, and is quite glad to think that they are-of wax.

The costumes are also eccentric, and frequently in the highest degree comic, the turbans towering as if up to the very sky. It was this terrific body which held the Great Gate so long against viziers and admirals, as well as against cooks and confectioners. The great lords became supreme rulers, murdered Sultan Selim and Sultan Mehemet, by the side of his brother Mahmoud, whom they then placed on the throne. Him they defied by their daily-increasing arrogance, until, become cruel himself through cruel treatment, and thirsting for revenge from long-suppressed indignation, he ordered, on a certain day in the year 1821, the cannon from the ships of war and the city to be directed upon the palace and its courts, when ten thousand janizaries were shot down. I have been informed that the waters of the Bosphorus ran red with their blood. The few who survived this massacre fled, and concealed themselves for ever.

Mahmoud now reigned with absolute sway; but that did not save him, some years afterwards, from a death more horrible than that of his victims-death by delirium tremens. The trees now whisper, and the waters of the fountains plash peacefully, amid the scene of the former massacre.

I shall to-day see the so-called dancing or whirling dervishes, who every Sunday throw open their tekie, or church, in Pera, to the curious stranger; and afterwards, we-my incomparable knight,

It is reckoned that sixty thousand is the number of the janizaries w perished on this and the following days.

Mr. W., and myself-shall pay a visit to the "Sweet Waters of Europe," a promenade on the European shore at the end of the Golden Horn.

Constantinople is a gala spectacle-at least for the traveller, who spends merely a few days there, not the least of which in beauty are the sunsets at this season of the year, when the windows of Scutari shine as if they were of fire and gold, reminding him of the old name, Chrysopolis, the Golden City, when the hills of the Bosphorus are tinged with purple, and the more distant heights of Asia, as far as the snowy mountains of Olympus, near the old Turkish capital, Broussa, stand forth in a flood of light. More than one evening have I contemplated this magnificent spectacle from the roof of the hotel, and seen the panorama of Constantinople in the golden glory of the evening sunlight.

18th July. When the planets wheel their shining circles around their life-giving sun, then they beam in its light; when the spheres, inspired by an invisible central power, the fountain of all life-power, beauty, and gladness, again stream forth the life which they have received, then sing they in harmonious choirs, and, themselves intoxicated, they intoxicate all living with the fulness of life which they derived from the life-source of eternal existence. Something like this I imagined would be the interpretation of the ecstatic dances of the Oriental dervishes—a tradition as I have somewhere read from the world's most ancient worship in the Samothracian mysteries, and which are still continued in the great cities of the East, Cairo, Jerusalem-but there secretly in the great mosques-Damascus, Smyrna, and Constantinople. I was curious in the highest degree to see the dance of the dervishes. At two o'clock, therefore, on Sunday afternoon I found myself in their tekie at Pera. After waiting about an hour I was admitted with some other foreigners and a few Mussulmans, into a large light rotunda. Spacious galleries encircled an inner rotunda, within the low enclosure of which a number of human figures, in cloaks and yellowish-white felt hats, very much like upturned flower-pots in form, sat immoveable. They were dervishes. Several priests stood in the place, bowing and mumbling before the sacred gate to Kaaban. After some little time three men entered-two very old, and the third young, with a handsome, intellectual countenance.

They placed themselves at the lower end of the rotunda, with their faces towards the spectators, and the divine worship then began. First, a long monotonous, heavy prayer, repeated by a tall man dressed in black, with a black beard, a long bent neck, and nose to correspond. After this, at a given sign, all the dervishes arose who were sitting within the enclosure, and began to march in a circle with measured, noiseless steps. All wore long cloaks, and turned slowly from left to right with downcast eyes. They then paused, and dropped down upon hands and knees, with their faces to the ground. After this, they all sprang up at once; the cloaks were cast aside, and in long white petticoats and short white jackets