Since leaving Vienna, I have traveled through Hungary, Servia, Slavonia, and Bulgaria, stopping at Buda-Pesth, Belgrade, Rustchuk, and Varna. For two days and nights I was on the majestic Danube. Most of the time the river was broad, and the country level and uninteresting. But this was by no means uniform; occasionally the river would burst through a rocky mountain ridge, and I remember I opened my umbrella and stood on deck in the cold wind and rain for three hours, rather than go down to the saloon, where I could only half see the rugged cliffs and peaks overhanging the river. Do you say, “That was expensive pleasure?” Well, be it so. But I love nature. Besides, it has been said, and truly, I believe, that we enjoy everything in proportion to what it costs us. I am going to make a strong statement, and yet one that is as true as strong. I know that it will sound like blasphemy to some, but I believe in the old proverb, “Honor to whom honor is due;” hence I now declare that the scenery along some parts of the Danube is finer than anything on the Rhine. The principal productions of Servia, Slavonia, Roumelia, and Bulgaria, seem to me to be ignorance, turnips, soldiers, poodle dogs, and an annual crop of semi-royal, throne-seeking dudes. I would rather own a thousand acres of black land in Texas, or be a well-to-do farmer in Blue Grass, Kentucky, than to have ten such thrones as all these petty kingdoms combined could offer. I settled the Bulgarian trouble, and left the country. (I close for the night). [Illustration: THE DANUBE.] I fell asleep last night little dreaming what the morning held in store for me. About 7 o’clock, A.M., though I was up long before that time, we entered the Bosphorus. We were sailing directly towards the rising sun. Along the eastern horizon great banks of purple clouds lay piled one upon another like Pelion upon Ossa. The clouds rise higher and higher, as now and then the sun climbs up to peep over, like an imprisoned giant from behind the frowning battlements. We were apparently between the two arms of a great horseshoe, and were gliding slowly on into its curve, with the land on all sides sloping up gently from the water’s edge. We were between two continents—Europe on the right, and Asia on the left. Our narrow passage was lined on either side with great torpedo boats, and ironclad men-of-war, trembling for service. These, in turn, were flanked by two lines of impregnable forts, planted with grim and frowning cannon. As we pass the batteries and enter the bay, we behold the great city of Constantinople, crowning the heights that sweep around the curve of the horseshoe. We see its palaces, mosques, towers, and spires, all outlined against a dark background of cloud. Just at this moment, the sun rifts the purple clouds, and pours a flood of golden glory over the whole scene. [Illustration: CASTLE ON THE DANUBE.]