I made my libations with perfumed water—swallowed my coffee from a china cup so minute that a fairy might have drained it—tied on my bonnet—an object of unvarying amusement to the Turkish ladies, who consider this stiff head-dress as one of the most frightful and ridiculous of European inventions—and bade adieu to Fatma Hanoum and her dark-eyed daughter, with a regret which their unbounded courtesy and kindness were well calculated to inspire. A wealthy Armenian diamond-merchant, who held a high situation in the Mint, had offered us a window, whence we might witness the whole ceremony of the Imperial procession, and towards this point we bent our steps. But, alas for our curiosity! our leave-taking had been so thoughtlessly prolonged, that the subjects of his Sublime Highness had blocked up every avenue bearing upon the point by which he was to pass; and, despite all the efforts of our European cavaliers and native attendants, to proceed was impossible. We accordingly took up our station a little apart from the crowd, in order to contemplate at our ease the novel and picturesque spectacle of a Turkish mob. In the distance rose the gigantic dome and arrowy minarets of Saint Sophia; and beneath them, far as the eye could reach, stretched a sea of capped and turbaned heads, heaving and sinking like billows after a storm. Every house-roof, every mouldering wall, every heap of rubbish, was covered with eager spectators; while the windows of the surrounding dwellings were crowded with veiled women and laughing children. What groups were wedged together in the narrow space immediately before us! The pale, bent, submissive-looking Jew was folding his greasy mantle closer about him, as he elbowed aside the green-turbaned Emir, and the grave and solemn Hadje who had knelt beside the grave of the Prophet: the bustling Frank was striding along, jostling alike the serious Armenian, whose furred and flowing habit formed a strange contrast to the short blue jacket and tight pantaloons of the tall, strong-limbed, Circassian—and the bustling and noisy Greek, whose shrill voice and vociferous utterance would have suited a woman—parties of Turkish officers were forcing a passage as best they could, with their caps pulled down upon their eyebrows, their sword-belts hanging at least a quarter of a yard below their waists, and their diamond stars, (the symbols of their military rank) glittering in the clear sunshine—patroles of Turkish soldiers were endeavouring in vain to clear a passage along the centre of the street for the convenience of the Sultanas, and the wives of the different Pashas, whose arabas were momently expected; the mob closing rapidly in their rear as they slowly moved on—and clouds of doves at intervals filled the air, the tenants of the giant mosque before us, scared from the usual quiet of their resting-places by the unwonted stir and excitement beneath them.