A pleasant excursion is to take a little steamer, which runs up the Bosphorus and back, touching at Beicos (Bey Kos), and visit the Giant Mountain, from which is a magnificent view of the Black Sea and nearly the whole length of the Bosphorus.  We breakfasted early, but when ready to start found our guide had disappointed us, and his place was not to be supplied.  The day was perfect, and rather than give up our trip we determined to go by ourselves, trusting that the success which had attended similar expeditions without a commissionnaire would not desert us on this occasion.  The sail up on the steamer was charming.  There are many villages on the shores of the Bosphorus, and between them are scattered palaces and summer residences, the latter often reminding us of Venetian houses, built directly on the shore with steps down to the water, and caiques moored at the doors, as the gondolas are in Venice.  The houses are surrounded by beautiful gardens, with a profusion of flowers blooming on the very edge of the shore, their gay colors reflected in the waves beneath.

We learned from the captain of the steamer that Giant Mountain was two and a half miles from the village, with no very well-defined road leading to it; so on landing at Bey Kos we made inquiries for a guide, and this time were successful.  Horses were also forthcoming, but no side-saddle.  I respectfully declined to follow the example of my Turkish sisters and mount a gentleman’s saddle; neither was I anxious to ride my Arab steed bareback, so we concluded to try a cow-carriage, and despatched our guide to hire the only one the place afforded.  This stylish establishment was not to be had; so, having wasted half an hour in trying to find some conveyance, we gave it up and started on foot; and were glad afterward that we did so.  The road was shaded to the base of the mountain, and led through a beautiful valley, the fields covered with wild-flowers.  I have never seen such masses of color—­an acre perhaps of bright yellow, perfectly dazzling in the sunlight, then as large a mass of purple, next to that an immense patch of white daisies, so thick they looked like snow.  The effect of these gay masses, with intervals of green grass and grain, was very gorgeous.  We passed two of the sultan’s palaces, one built in Swiss style.  The ascent of Giant Mountain from the inland side is gradual, while it descends very abruptly on the water-side.  On the top of the mountain are the ruins of the church of St. Pantaleon, built by Justinian, also a mosque and the tomb of Joshua:  so the Turks affirm.  From a rocky platform just below the mosque there is a magnificent view.  Toward the north you look off on the Black Sea and the old fortress of Riva, which commands the entrance to the Bosphorus.  In front and to the south winds the beautiful Bosphorus for sixteen miles till it reaches the Sea of Marmora, which you see far in the distance glittering in the sunlight.  You look down on the decks of the passing