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

departure. Lemonade, cakes, raki, and variegated bonbons, oranges, lemons, &c., were briskly purchased by the promenaders, who, amongst this _cohue-bohue_ of industry, were seen gaily crossing and recrossing the green paths. Some reclined against the grave-stones, forming, as it were, an arm-chair. Amongst them, however, were but few Mussulmans, some turning Dervishes and Howlers, Greeks, Armenians, French, Perotes, Smyrniotes, and here and there gazing with astonishing disapprobation, some of the children of Albion. All excepting the latter might be seen gaily fluttering from tombstone to tombstone, like busy bees from flower to flower, in a perfumed pasture in summer. Here and there clumps of cypress trees looked like the mournful guardians of this desecrated spot. Some of the marble stones are still vividly stained with the blood of the haughty and rebellious Janissaries, whose crumbling bodies lay beneath. Such is the pious veneration of the Oriental population for the remains of their ancestors in the Petit Champ des Morts at Pera. The principal buildings which grace this foreign quarter are the English, French, Austrian, Russian, Sardinian, and Prussian embassies. The former, called the Palais d’Angleterre, now the residence of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, interested me most, as I was in duty bound to pay my humble respects to his lordship and her ladyship the next morning. It brought to my mind from a distance the celebrated building of the Reform Club, which gave Barry his high reputation as an architect, and where your humble servant passed above two lustres of his culinary career. While the new moon was faintly shining through transparent clouds, the hundred minarets of Stamboul and its vicinity had been illuminated for a festival, and their fiery collarettes à la Vandyke proudly carried those rings of diamonds high towards the heavenly sphere. Eight o’clock was striking at the Catholic church of Saint Mary. All was darkness and silence. Hastily retiring to my bed-room, perfectly satisfied with having fed my mind, although I had probably neglected internal restoration, I soon fell into a most profound slumber, in which I saw nothing but churchyards, clumps of cypress trees, mosques,