But after all, Constantinople, with its vaunted charms—charms so much vaunted that they have become almost familiar—was not the goal of our ambition. Our aim was to see something of Asia Minor and, above all, to explore the Trojan Plain. The difficulty was, how to get there? At last we heard of a Russian steamer, the _Grand Duke Constantine_, plying between Odessa and Alexandria—a craft as capricious as a fine lady. First she would, and then she wouldn’t, take us, and finally, “saying ‘no,’ consented.” But not for two days would she make up her mind to start. At last, on the 12th of October, we steamed away from the Golden Horn, leaving behind us the domes and minarets of Stamboul bathed in all the glory of a sunset that would have made Turner wild with delight, and which sent a whole shipload of Russian pilgrims bound for the Holy Land to their knees, piously crossing themselves at the last sight of St. Sophia, always a sacred shrine to the orthodox, in spite of having been for centuries defiled by the rites of Islam. On the following morning we landed at the Dardanelles. The Consul was most kind, and helped us in every way. The trouble was that there were no horses to be had, so we spent a wet, stormy day in visiting the civil and military governors. The former was a delightful, fat old gentleman, brother-in-law to Fuad Pasha, with a very merry twinkle in his eye, almost as entertaining as Kinglake’s immortal Pasha, whose conversation is recorded in “Eothen.” He spoke much about the Prince of Wales, and declared that the Princess was “a gift of cream and honey specially sent by Allah for the good of the English people.” Those were the sentiments of the man of peace. The man of war was not less emphatic over the pipes and coffee. He professed great admiration for Lord Palmerston, Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, and the bagpipes. If ever England should be in trouble Turkey would come to the rescue, with four hundred thousand men, and he would be the man to lead them. But alas! that was fifty-one years ago, in pre-Enver days! What was perhaps more to the purpose, by the help of the two governors we procured horses and a kavass named Hussein, a picturesque warrior bristling with arms, who was made personally responsible for our safety. The good Misseri had found us an excellent dragoman at Constantinople. I recommended him afterwards to Leighton—not yet President of the Royal Academy—who was delighted with him.