outer aspect, unless we add his carbine, carefully wrapped in fur or oilskin, which swings across his shoulders, and the lance which he never fails to have conveniently at hand. 'But if in pursuit we go deeper,' we shall find he is possessed of a revolver (a thoroughly good weapon), besides a long curved sword, which might be first cousin once removed to a scimitar, were it not for its ponderous proportions. He rides a weedy, gaunt pony, which, though it forcibly reminds one of certain melancholy processions one has seen in the direction of the knackers' yards in the Caledonian Road, is, nevertheless, as wiry as it is bony, and far more equal to forced marches and inadequate food than horses of finer mould.

The Cossack captain varies considerably; he is often a superior if not a highly-educated man, and not unfrequently an aristocratic ne'er-do-weel, who loves to strut en grand seigneur in eccentric magnificence as to costume before his troops. Cossacks, as a race, are more addicted to vodka than soap and water, and are as good fighting men as any irregulars which Europe or Asia can produce.

The foregoing notes were the joint result of my rapid run through Roumania—for it was literally a run for dear life—and the information I picked up at Rustchuk, from which, before sundown on the day of my arrival, I saw the double-headed Eagle hoisted at Giurgevo; so, had I hesitated that morning, I must inevitably have been taken.

Having left the Muscovites behind me, I naturally began to interest myself in the numbers and disposition of the Turkish forces, with whom, on my way to the army of Mukhtar Pasha, I was about to foregather. Now, the Turkish army amounted at the time of which I speak to 170,400, with a reserve force of 148,600 men, to say nothing of 75,000 auxiliaries and 87,000 irregulars-numbering in all about 481,000 men, the European total being 367 battalions, 83 squadrons, 483 guns; while in Asia they numbered 165 battalions, 64 squadrons, and 372 guns. As to their bravery, it is impossible, from my point of view, to over-estimate it; besides which, they were not only well-armed, but inspired by a fanatical fire which placed them beyond comparison with the enemy. We were on the eve of a

war not only of nations, but creeds, and there could be no doubt as to the religious fervour of the one as compared with the other. Whatever the information may have been, and however

reliable, which that Russian spy wished to convey through me as to the proposed point at which the Danube was to be crossed, it would probably have been negatived by subsequent tactics, as it was not till the last moment that I heard that simultaneous feints were to take place at many points, so as to weaken the Turkish line of defence; and that the troops, concentrated at its weakest spot, were to cross by pontoons into Bulgaria. Then came that delay-more terrible than action—the swollen state of the river, and Russian unpreparedness, all tending to postpone the inevitable steps which should in Europe herald the commencement of hostilities; but all this concerned and interested me very little at that particular moment, as my mission was to Asia Minor, and Danubian events were to form subject for other pencils than mine. Indeed, early on the day after I crossed, I started for Shumla, the headquarters of Abdul Kerim Pasha, and thence to Varna, where I awaited the first steamer on its way to Constantinople, and spent some little time by the way in the camp of the Egyptian contingent, who were busy throwing up defences against an attack by sea on that port; nor can I imagine anything much more picturesque than those crowds of ebony warriors in white tunics, like so many gigantic ants, climbing busily in all directions over the huge earthworks which they were raising. Were this a political essay, I might have much to say touching Varna as a strategical port, which, in the coming storm, might play a goodly part; but since I am disposed rather to convey some idea of the everyday life of a war artist at the front, I will confine myself to saying that Varna is a place on the beauties of which one cannot dwell, and which, not having yet slept in a Cossack camp, I found unpleasantly malodorous. It was here, however, that I made the acquaintance of Mr. Suter (son of the late Consul) and his wife, very charming people, who were hemmed in, unhappily, just then by the sudden turn of events. At my instance he wrote to several of the London papers offering his services as a correspondent, and, being accepted, he was enabled before long to emerge from what to him at that time was very like a prison-house, to follow the fortunes of war in that capacity-his name, with that of his delicate young wife, coming, it will be remembered, some time afterwards prominently before the public in connection with their being taken by brigan s while travelling in Macedonia.

I am indebted to Mr. Suter for securing for me one Williams, a Levantine, whose one idea at that moment was to get back to Constantinople, which, having no money, he looked upon as hopeless. I can quite imagine that the prospect of being shut up in Varna during a protracted war was not inviting. Williams, as I have said, a Levantine, spoke English with a slight accent which rather improved it than otherwise. Tall, swarthy as a Spanish mountaineer, and scrupulously neat, though very seedily dressed, this man seemed somehow to win me over. At a glance we understood each other, the result being that I agreed to take him to Constantinople as a sort of factotum though in my own mind I had decided to promote him to the dignity of dragoman through the campaign, a position which he was peculiarly well fitted to fill, having been up country in Asia Minor a good deal, and being one of those born linguists who, associating the confusion of tongues one meets with in the East, are able to converse with 'all sorts and conditions of men.' In short, he was of all others the man I wanted, and thus it was that we were before long smoking the pipe-shall I say of peace?-together on board a steamer bound for the city of the Sultan.

Night had already set in, and a gale was springing up as we ploughed our way through that, to me, particularly Black Sea. The deck was crowded with miscellaneous groups of refugees, like some vast picnic of sea-sick travellers, who sat cross-legged round about us in every direction. Here were a number of yashmacked damsels; there a softa (student) or two, distinguishable by the peculiar shape of their white turbans. These, with a sprinkling of merchants, whose occupation, like Othello's, had gone; shepherds who had left their sheep to whatever fate might await them, together with nondescripts of every degree and nationality, were braving reluctantly the dangers of a night on the Black Sea in view of those other and greater dangers which they left behind.

The approach to Constantinople, from every point, has been so often treated, that I should have made no reference to it, had not Constantinople been conspicuous by its absence on my arrival next morning in the Bosphorus.

The faithful on board, having been called to prayers, were devoutly kneeling as we glided up its comparatively still waters; the sun had risen and lit up the villages which adorn

its European and Asiatic banks. It was like the play of Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark.

'Where,' I asked, 'where is Constantinople?'

'There,' said Williams, pointing in the direction in which. it ought to be, with a confidence which seemed to say, 'I know it's there somewhere'-and echo answered 'Where?' Then suddenly, as if by some mighty magic, its mosques and minarets began to appear in mid-air, above a low-lying bank of clouds and grey morning mist, tinted as they did so by the salmon-pink light of the rising sun, which made the fog which surrounded them look doubly blue. This, too, began now to clear rapidly off, and the Golden Horn, Scutari, Galata, and the heights of Pera came, as in some marvellous transformation scene, into bold relief. There before me, where but a moment before all had been haze, rose the loveliest Oriental city in the world, reflected in the commingled waters of the Bosphorus and Sea of Marmora, on which innumerable craft of every shape, colour, and size lay at anchor. Truly, Constantinople far exceeded all that my most erratic fancy had painted, and so, with a well-sharpened appetite for the picturesque and breakfast, I landed.

Never was the adage that 'Beauty is only skin deep' better. exemplified.

O ye gods and little fishes! the effluvia of Galata before the historic dogs have discussed their morning meal of refuse. It's something terrible; at least, so I thought, as I hastened with Williams, as guide, philosopher, and friend, towards the Mouse's Hole, or the rope railway, which connects the lowlying shipping quarter of Galata with Pera, where I intended to take up my quarters for a few short hours while I decided what the next step should be.

The European and Asiatic quarters of Constantinople compared curiously: Pera being touched by the quicksilverish quiverings (if I may say so) of impending war; while Stamboul, with its spice-laden bazaars, its few dreamy camels, its philosophic salesmen in huge turbans and flowing robes, presented a perfect contrast, in the shape of that Eastern indolence which may be summed up in the one word 'Kismet.'

One of my first objects on arriving, after getting my necessary credentials together, was to avail myself of an introduction I had to Hobart Pasha. His yacht, the Rethymo, was in