The legend runs that the united attempts of all the masons of Stamboul are powerless against the rude masonry that blocks the entrance of this passage, by reason of a wondrous and most potent talisman, which human means have as yet failed to weaken; but that it conducts to an apartment in which a Greek Bishop is seated before a reading-desk perusing an open volume of so holy a nature, that no Moslem eye must ever rest upon it. Nor does the tradition end here, for both the Turks and Greeks have a firm faith in the prophecies which have been made, that St. Sophia will one day revert to the Christians, on which occasion the walled-up Bishop will emerge from his concealment, and chant a solemn high mass at the great altar. The latter portion of the legend would imply that the superstition is of remote origin. I felt glad of this—these mystic imaginings require to be enveloped in the mist of centuries, in order to elevate the ridiculous into the sublime, and to attract our fancy without revolting our reason. From the gallery we passed out upon the leads that cover the inferior cupolas of the building, and screen the mausoleums of the Sultans, and other distinguished personages, whose ashes repose within the holy precincts of St. Sophia; and, after traversing a number of these, and crouching through several low and narrow stone passages, stopping at intervals to contemplate the magnificent views that were spread out beneath us on all sides, and which varied every moment as we advanced, we at length found ourselves at the foot of the ruinous and crumbling stair, or rather ascent, (for the traces of steps are almost worn away) leading to the gallery encircling the dome. Few of the party were disheartened by the difficulty; and accordingly we slipped and scrambled towards the summit, and resolved to see all the marvels of the place; but when the narrow door which opens from the gallery was flung back by the guide, “a change came o’er the spirit of our dream”—and out of the hundred individuals who were lion-hunting at St. Sophia, there were only seven who possessed nerve enough to make the tour of the dome. Many a fair lady and gallant knight leant for an instant over the slender fence, and looked down into the body of the building while clinging firmly to the rail; gazing on men reduced to the dimensions of pigmies, and wide carpets dwindled to the proportions of a pocket handkerchief; but a brief survey contented them, and they drew back from the dizzy spectacle, with swimming heads and aching eyes.