Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil Institutions

my stay in the far-famed city of Constantinople was fast drawing to a close; a short visit to the Isles des Princes, that focus of nightly revels, was to put a final seal to my Mahometan review. I went there on a Sunday, and had the pleasure of meeting, amongst thousands, with Admiral Lyons and his maritime staff. Here monks, caidjees, donkeys, green fruit, cakes, fireworks, and gambling-tables thrive in a most flourishing manner. As the night approached, the Admiral left to join his ship, escorted down the silvery Bosphorus by hundreds of lighted torches, and shouts from thousands of visitors. The next day I was on board the _Albert_, anchored before Bujukdéré, and bade adieu to the gallant admiral. I then paid my farewell respects to his Excellency Lord de Redcliffe and his family; the day was now fixed for my departure, everything was packed up, and my Russian boy, Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka, had, with the greatest intelligence and delight, corded my last box, and seemed as if he was already breathing the air of freedom. For some time previous, a monster gipsy party had been in embryo; illness had prevented this rural festivity coming off, but on my return to Pera, it was luckily fixed for the following day--the illustrious Mr. Messirie being the giver of this monster pic-nic. At five the next morning every one was attired in their best summer array, and streams of people were pouring from all directions to the Galata Pier. A steamer, gaily trimmed, was waiting for the guests. When all were on board, the paddles commenced their revolutions; and, as we floated along the limpid bay of the Golden Horn, Greek music kept time with our race. Soon we arrived at Therapia, and landed on the pier of the Hôtel d’Angleterre, where light refreshments were provided for the innumerable guests. About forty caiques with double caidjees were waiting near the shore, while two caiques of large dimensions were filled with instrumental musicians. We then all started, crossing the Bosphorus towards Ibraham Pasha’s marble palace, and to the melodious sound of the