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Is it my fault, that my heart
I SING, I sing of a wondrous thing;
And though some of its deeds be dire,
Then a song for the raging fire!
And it booms from the mighty gun;
And has many a good deed done.
For though some of its deeds be dire,
a song for the raging fire ! The iron roads with their giant loads
Are proofs of its wondrous might,
Like a conqueror armed with right.
In wreaths from the mountain path,
At eve on the wintry hearth.
For though some of its deeds be dire,
J. E. Carpenter.
WE again entered our boats and rowed up the Bosphorus. Coming to a turn, where the stream was unusually strong, we were towed round its corner by a man on the bank, pulling us along by means of a rope; and in about half an hour we landed at “The Sweet Waters of Asia,"—thus, for the first time placing our feet on the shores of the Eastern Continent. Here a sight presented itself
, completely foreign to European eyes, and one which baffles description, if not belief.
By the side of a small, square summer house, built entirely of white marble, used as an occasional restingplace, or pic-nic house of the Sultan, is a small field of about three or four acres in extent, surrounded by shady trees, under which runs a gravel drive. This is the weekly summer resort of the nobility of Constantinople. Here, after the morning service on each Friday (which is the Mahometan Sabbath-day), the Turkish ladies and gentlemen enjoy a holiday. The latter ride on horseback, and the more wealthy of the former drive in handsome carriages, driven by black servants, who do not sit upon a coachman's box, but walk by the side of their horses; while others squat on the ground (covered for the occasion with rich Turkey carpets), smoke long pipes, sip coffee, eat sweet-cakes or boiled Indian maize, drink iced water, and talk gossip; hawkers threading their way amongst the varied groups, displaying their wares of female ornament or tempting eatables.
On our first landing, a gay cäique (a Turkish light boat), adorned with bright green cloth, fringed with gold, dashed proudly up. In its bow there squatted on his feet, in Turkish discomfort, a black slave, who sprang like a tiger to the bank the moment the boat grazed the side. Calling a carriage that awaited his arrival, he assisted his fair mistress to land. She was exquisitely beautiful, her alabaster complexion, with dark eyes and eyebrows, contrasting favourably with his dark skin; while her gorgeous flowing dress of brightest green was rendered more beautiful by the pale pink frock of the lovely little girl, whom she led by the hand. They were, no doubt, the wife and child of some wealthy Turk, come up from the close atmosphere of the Sublime Porte to take an airing in the fresh breezes of the Bosphorus. Darting quickly into their carriage, they drew down the curtains, and were concealed from public gaze, while, at walkingpace, they took their place in the rank of these painted coaches, which now, in a continuous stream, paced backwards and forwards round the green.
It was a very curious sight. Whole rows of ladies sitting together, in companies, cross-legged, on their Turkey carpets, each clad in the flowing cloaks of their country, of the brightest possible hue and every shade of each colour, -no two alike, a brilliant vermilion, mauve, or gold, leaf-green, amber, and fawn. These were the fashionable colours; and chocolate, brown, or black, those of the poorer class. At a little distance were
a stationed sellers of cheap wares,-old-fashioned brown earthenware, crockery, combs, hand looking-glasses, &c.; or again, muslins, shawls, various ladies' requisites—all spread upon the ground like a village fair. The sellers of tobacco, fusees, ice, lemonade, cold-water, and melons, carried round their several beverages, and were generally followed by the hawkers of sweetbread, cakes, and sweetmeats. Under the trees was an out-door cafè, where we could sit on low stools, and sip our coffee from tiny coffee-cups. Under a tree was a small fire-place, like that of a village blacksmith, furnished with bellows, and heated with charcoal, over which the coffee is boiled in a little brass coffee-pot. The coffee, ground with a pestle and mortar into the finest dust, is placed, with sugar and a little water, in the pot, and boiled upon the charcoal fire. When it begins to boil over, it is taken from the fire and shaken, then allowed to boil up again. This is repeated three times, when it is poured into small cups and handed round. Each cup contains about two table-spoonsful; and you are expected to drink the sediment as well as the liquid.
Rev. J. Ridgway.
THE EXECUTION OF CHARLES I.
The street before Whitehall was the place designed for the execution of Charles I.; for it was intended, by choosing that place in sight of his own palace, to display more evidently the triumph of popular justice over royal majesty. When the king came on the scaffold, he found it so surrounded with soldiers that he could not expect to be heard by any of the people: he addressed, therefore, his discourse to the few persons that were about him, particularly Colonel Tomlinson, to whose care he had lately been committed, and on whom, as on many others, his amiable deportment had wrought an entire conversion. He justified his own innocence in the late fatal wars, and showed that he had not taken arms till after Parliament had enlisted forces; nor had he any other object in his warlike operations than to preserve that authority entire, which his predecessors had transmitted to him. He threw not, however, the blame on the Parliament; but was more inclined to think that all instruments had interposed, and raised in them fears and jealousies with regard to his intentions. Though innocent towards his
people, he acknowledged the equity of his execution in the eyes of his Maker; and observed, that an unjust sentence, which he had suffered to take effect, was now punished by an unjust sentence on himself. He forgave all his enemies, even the chief instruments of his death; but exhorted them and the whole nation to return to the ways of peace, by paying obedience to their lawful sovereign, his son and successor.
When he was preparing himself for the block, Bishop Juxon called to him, “ There is, sire, but one stage more, which, though turbulent and troublesome, is yet a very
short one: consider it will soon carry you a great way—it will carry you from earth to heaven; and there you will find, to your great joy, the prize to which you hasten—a crown of glory.” “I go,” replied the king, “from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where