Already, in effect, Turkey exists only through the jealousy of the European nations.  The treaty of Unkiar-iskelessi, in 1833, threw her into the hands of Russia, although the influence of England has of late years reigned almost exclusively in her councils.  These are the two powers who are lowering at each other with sleepless eyes, in the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus.  The people, and most probably the government, is strongly preposessed in favor of the English; but the Russian Bear has a heavy paw, and when he puts it into the scale, all other weights kick the beam.  It will be a long and wary struggle, and no man can prophecy the result.  The Turks are a people easy to govern, were even the imperfect laws, now in existence, fairly administered.  They would thrive and improve under a better state of things; but I cannot avoid the conviction that the regeneration of the East will never be effected at their hands.

Chapter XXIX.

Farewell to the Orient—­Malta.

  Embarcation—­Farewell to the Orient—­Leaving Constantinople—­A
  Wreck—­The Dardanelles—­Homeric Scenery—­Smyrna Revisited—­The Grecian
  Isles—­Voyage to Malta—­Detention—­La Valetta—­The Maltese—­The
  Climate—­A Boat for Sicily.

  “Farewell, ye mountains,
    By glory crowned
  Ye sacred fountains
    Of Gods renowned;
  Ye woods and highlands,
    Where heroes dwell;
  Ye seas and islands,
    Farewell!  Farewell!”

  Frithiof’s Saga.

In The Dardanelles, Saturday, August 7, 1852.

At last, behold me fairly embarked for Christian Europe, to which I bade adieu in October last, eager for the unknown wonders of the Orient.  Since then, nearly ten months have passed away, and those wonders are now familiar as every-day experiences.  I set out, determined to be satisfied with no slight taste of Eastern life, but to drain to the bottom its beaker of mingled sunshine and sleep.  All this has been accomplished; and if I have not wandered so far, nor enriched myself with such varied knowledge of the relics of ancient history, as I might have purposed or wished, I have at least learned to know the Turk and the Arab, been soothed by the patience inspired by their fatalism, and warmed by the gorgeous gleams of fancy that animate their poetry and religion.  These ten months of my life form an episode which seems to belong to a separate existence.  Just refined enough to be poetic, and just barbaric enough to be freed from all conventional fetters, it is as grateful to brain and soul, as an Eastern bath to the body.  While I look forward, not without pleasure, to the luxuries and conveniences of Europe, I relinquish with a sigh the refreshing indolence of Asia.