part of Seraglio Point, two hundred feet above the water:  below it are the ruins of the palace, and the gardens running down to the shore.  Just before you the Bosphorus empties into the Marmora; in a deep bay on the Asiatic shore opposite are the islands of Prinkipo, Prote and several others; and on the mainland the view is bounded by the snow-capped mountains of Olympus.  On the right is the Sea of Marmora.  To the left, as far as you can see, the Bosphorus stretches away toward the Black Sea, its shores dotted with towns, cemeteries and palaces; on the extreme left the Golden Horn winds between the cities of Stamboul and Pera; while behind you is St. Sophia and the city of Stamboul.  It is a magnificent view, never to be forgotten.  There are several other pavilions near the one just described.  A small one in the Chinese style, with piazza around it has the outer wall covered with blue and white tiles, and inside blinds inlaid with mother of pearl.  The floor was matted, and the divans were of white silk embroidered with gilt thread and crimson and green floss.  A third pavilion was a library.

[Illustration:  MOSQUE OF ST. SOPHIA.]

From the Seraglio we drove to St. Sophia.  Stamboul can boast of one fine street, and a few others that are wide enough for carriages.  When the government desires to widen a street a convenient fire generally occurs.  At the time they proposed to enlarge this, the principal street, it is said the fire broke out simultaneously at many points along the line.  As the houses are generally of wood, they burn quickly, and a fire is not easily extinguished by their inefficient fire department.  Then the government seizes the necessary ground and widens the street, the owners never receiving any indemnification for their losses.  I need not attempt a minute description of St. Sophia.  We took the precaution to carry over-shoes, which we put on at the door, instead of being obliged to take off our boots and put on slippers.  A firman from the sultan admitted us without difficulty.  We admired the one hundred and seventy columns of marble, granite and porphyry, many of which were taken from ancient temples, and gazed up at the lofty dome where the four Christian seraphim executed in mosaic still remain, though the names of the four archangels of the Moslem faith are inscribed underneath them.  Behind where the high altar once stood may still be faintly discerned the figure of our Saviour.  Several little Turks were studying their Korans, and sometimes whispering and playing much like school-boys at home.

[Illustration:  INTERIOR OF THE MOSQUE OF ST. SOPHIA.]

The mosques of Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan Achmed and Mohammed II. were visited, but next to St. Sophia the mosque which interested me most was one to which we could not gain admittance—­a mosque some distance up the Golden Horn, where the sultan is crowned and where the friend of Mohammed and mother of a former sultan are buried.  It is considered so very sacred that Christian feet are not allowed to enter even the outer court.  As I looked through the grated gate a stout negress passed me and went in.  The women go to the mosques at different hours from the men.