This part of the harbour opens into a deep valley, ascending up to the high grounds on which stands the elevated village, called by the Turks Tatavola, and by the Greeks, Aya Demetri. Small streams, running down the sides of the hills, carry with them all kinds of offal, and the deposit below is sometimes so enormous that the whole surface becomes a most foul and putrid mass, the fumes of contagion, from whence it periodically expands itself over the city. So tremendous was the miasma generated on one occasion, that 1000 persons were brought out to be buried every day through the Top-Kapousi gate. It is in such places that the plague is never extinguished, but remains always slumbering, till some circumstance calls it into activity. But a still more dreadful calamity issued from this valley. It is supposed to be the avenue through which the Turkish fleet was conveyed into the harbour. Ascending from the Bosphorus by a corresponding valley on the other side, and climbing on machines the eminence between, the Greeks, secure as they thought themselves by closing the mouth of the harbour, were astonished to see the enemy’s fleet issue from the side of the hill, and ride directly under their walls. This decided the fate of the city−-paralyzed by terror and despair, they made from that moment a feeble resistance. The next object that presents itself is the village of Hasskui, the favourite residence of the Jews. It is computed, that there are 50,000 of these people living here, and in other districts, in or near the capital. They have a cemetery in this place, of considerable extent; and though the dead are assigned a residence on a healthful, breezy eminence, decorated with sculptured tombs and monuments of marble, inscribed with epitaphs in high relief, the abodes of the living are even more wretched than in any other place. They inhabit a valley shut out from the winds of the north by a high ridge of hills, and open to the sultry heat of the south; while the pestilential effluvia arising from the vegetable decomposition of the marsh, the suffocating smoke of brick and tile kilns, and the metallic vapours of the silver foundery, form the atmosphere they breathe. Their own habits are singularly dirty, and the streets are filled with putrid water stagnating into offensive pools, without any current of air to disperse the foul accumulation of gases in the atmosphere. They are a prey, therefore, to all the diseases resulting from such a combination of evils. Their houses are small, low, damp, dark, and unventilated; yet they contain a crowded population. The women living in such abodes are generally a deteriorated race. They marry at an early age, and bring forth children, diminutive, pale, bloated, and rickety. On every Saturday, their day of rest, they are seen swarming about the open doors, to breathe, as it were, a pure air; and a passing stranger is astonished at so wretched a population. The adult males are distinguished by