rest upon a group of three small half-domes, so that the entire roof of the mosque, unsupported by a pillar, seems to have been dropped from above on the walls, rather than to have been built up from them.  Around the edifice run an upper and a lower gallery, which alone preserve the peculiarities of the Byzantine style.  These galleries are supported by the most precious columns which ancient art could afford:  among them eight shafts of green marble, from the Temple of Diana, at Ephesus; eight of porphyry, from the Temple of the Sun, at Baalbek; besides Egyptian granite from the shrines of Isis and Osiris, and Pentelican marble from the sanctuary of Pallas Athena.  Almost the whole of the interior has been covered with gilding, but time has softened its brilliancy, and the rich, subdued gleam of the walls is in perfect harmony with the varied coloring of the ancient marbles.

Under the dome, four Christian seraphim, executed in mosaic, have been allowed to remain, but the names of the four archangels of the Moslem faith are inscribed underneath.  The bronze doors are still the same, the Turks having taken great pains to obliterate the crosses with which they were adorned.  Around the centre of the dome, as on that of Sultan Achmed, may be read, in golden letters, and in all the intricacy of Arabic penmanship, the beautiful verse:—­“God is the Light of the Heavens and the Earth.  His wisdom is a light on the wall, in which burns a lamp covered with glass.  The glass shines like a star, the lamp is lit with the oil of a blessed tree.  No Eastern, no Western oil, it shines for whoever wills.”  After the prayers were over, and we had descended to the floor of the mosque, I spent the rest of my time under the dome, fascinated by its marvellous lightness and beauty.  The worshippers present looked at us with curiosity, but without ill-will; and before we left, one of the priests came slyly with some fragments of the ancient gilded mosaic, which, he was heathen enough to sell, and we to buy.

From St. Sophia we went to Sultan Achmed, which faces the Hippodrome, and is one of the stateliest piles of Constantinople.  It is avowedly an imitation of St. Sophia, and the Turks consider it a more wonderful work, because the dome is seven feet higher.  It has six minarets, exceeding in this respect all the mosques of Asia.  The dome rests on four immense pillars, the bulk of which quite oppresses the light galleries running around the walls.  This, and the uniform white color of the interior, impairs the effect which its bold style and imposing dimensions would otherwise produce.  The outside view, with the group of domes swelling grandly above the rows of broad-armed sycamores, is much more satisfactory.  In the tomb of Sultan Achmed, in one corner of the court, we saw his coffin, turban, sword, and jewelled harness.  I had just been reading old Sandys’ account of his visit to Constantinople, in 1610, during this Sultan’s reign, and could only think of him as Sandys represents him, in the title-page to his book, as a fat man, with bloated cheeks, in a long gown and big turban, and the words underneath:—­ “Achmed, sive Tyrannus.”