Beside these pirate galleys of the Mediterranean, are to be seen moored the lofty merchantmen of the Euxine. The singular structure of these vessels is peculiar to the eastern coasts of the Black Sea, and has been preserved from the earliest times. These immense and unwieldy ships rise to a considerable height out of the water, both at the bow and the stern, and seem altogether incapable of resisting a gale of wind. They have seldom more than one mast and one immense mainsail, and seem to move with so infirm a balance, that they totter along through the water as if about to upset every moment. Approaching Constantinople, they are overtaken, late in the year, by the violent north-easter of the Melktem, or the misty weather that then prevails; and unable to make the narrow entrance of the Bosphorus, or bear up from a lee-shore, less skilful or less fortunate than the Argonauts, they are either dashed on the Cyanean rocks, or driven on the sands. Against this misfortune they adopt many superstitious precautions. Every vessel has a wreath of blue beads suspended from the prow, as a protection against the glance of an evil eye, which is supposed to expend itself on this amulet. But the vessel which gives the “Golden Horn” its most distinctive character and striking feature, is the “light caïque,” It is impossible to conceive forms more elegant; from their levity and fragility, they have been compared to an egg-shell divided longitudinally, and drawn out at each end to a point. They project to a considerable elongation at the stem and stern, and, gracefully ascending from below, seem to touch the water only at a point. They are made of thin beech-plank, not grosser than the birch-bark of an Indian canoe, and finished with considerable care and neatness. The gunwale and sides are tastily carved with beads and various devices of Turkish sculpture, and the pure and polished wood is not defiled by paint. The exceeding levity of the materials of which the caïques are composed, the slight resistance they meet with in the water from the small surface in contact with it, and the great strength and dexterity of the caïquegees or boatmen who propel them, give them wonderful rapidity. The oars are not, like ours, confined in rullocks, emitting a harsh sound by their attrition, and impeding the stroke by their concussion; they are paddles of shaven beech, exactly poised by a protuberance on the handle to counteract the length of the blade, and bound to the gunwale by a single pin, with a thong of sheep-skin leather. This is constantly kept oiled, so that the stem slips freely and noiselessly through the loop, and the blade cuts the water with the whole collected strength of the rower. Each caïquegee pulls a pair of oars, and their skiffs glide along the surface with the speed, silence, and flexibility of a flight of swallows. The only objection to their structure is the difficulty of getting into them. If the passenger step on the stem or stern, his