The whole of their stay in Russia was rendered so exceedingly disagreeable--first by the savage tyranny of the emperor, and secondly by the evil character of his subjects, which, as being everywhere felt, was infinitely more annoying--that our traveller regarded himself among a civilized and hospitable people when he reached Constantinople. In fact, he found himself in a sort of English society which, congregating together at the palace of the embassy, engaged in the same round of amusements which would have occupied them in London. The time which these agreeable occupations left him was employed in searching for and examining Greek medals, and in viewing such curiosities as were to be found in Constantinople; among other things the interior of the seraglio, where no Frank, he says, had before set his foot. He moreover found time to peruse many of the various publications called forth by the Bryant controversy respecting the existence of Troy; and so unsteady was his faith on this point, that, after dipping a little into the subject, he began to imagine something like a new theory to explain the manner in which we are required to believe Homer might have invented the whole groundwork of the Iliad! However, upon shortly afterward arriving on the spot, this flimsy vagary vanished. Jacob Bryant and his followers were found to be the pettifogging skeptics which they have always been considered by sensible men. “The Plain of Troy now,” exclaims our traveller, “offers every fact you want; there is nothing doubtful. No argument will stand an instant[3] in opposition to the test of inquiry upon the spot; penetrating into the mountains behind the Acropolis the proofs grow more numerous as you advance, till at length the discussion becomes absurd, and the nonsense of Bryantism so ridiculous that his warmest partisans would be ashamed to acknowledge they had ever assented for an instant to such contemptible blasphemy upon the most sacred records of history.” [3] An intaglio purchased by Clarke at Constantinople is exceedingly remarkable, as throwing light upon the original story of Æneas, before it had been deformed by Virgil or Ovid. “There are poor Turks at Constantinople, whose business it is to wash the mud of the common sewers of the city, and the sand of the shore. These people found a small onyx, with an antique intaglio of most excellent workmanship, representing Æneas flying from the city, leading his boy by the hand, and bearing on his shoulders (who do you suppose?)--not his father--for in that case the subject might have been borrowed from Virgil or Ovid--but--his wife, with the Penates in her lap; and so wonderfully wrought that these three figures are brought into a gem of the smallest size, and wings are added to the feet of Æneas, ‘Pedibus timor addidit alas!’