"My dear Acmé!" replied Sir Henry, somewhat gravely, "I trust the day may arrive, when you will deem Delmé Park, with its mansion bronzed by time--its many hillocks studded with ancient trees--its glistening brook, and hoary gateways--its wooded avenue, where the rooks have built for generations--its verdant glades, where the deer have long found a home:--when you will consider all these, as forming as fair a prospect, as ever eye reposed on. But I did not allude at the time to England; but to the Turkish capital. George! I remember your glowing description of your trip in Mildmay's frigate, up the Dardanelles. What comparison would you make between the two scenes?" "I confess to have been much disappointed," replied George, "in my first view of Stamboul; and even the beauty of the passage to the Dardanelles, seemed to me to have been exaggerated. But what really _did_ strike me, as being the most varied, the most interesting scenery I had ever witnessed, was that which greeted us, on an excursion we made in a row boat, from the Bosphorus into the Black Sea. "There all my floating conceptions of Oriental luxury, and of Moslem pomp, were more than realised. "The elegant kiosks--the ornamented gardens--the pinnacled harems, the entrance to which lofty barriers jealously guarded--the number of the tombs in their silent cities---gave an intense interest to the Turkish coast;--while sumptuous barges, filled with veiled women, swept by us, and gave a fairy charm to the sea. On our return, we were nearly lost from our ignorance of the current, which is rapid and dangerous." "Well! I am glad to hear such a smiling account of Stamboul," rejoined Acmé. "My feelings regarding it have been quite Grecian. It has always been to me a sort of Ogre city." The breeze began to freshen, and the vessel made way fast. As they neared the termination of their voyage, some church, or casino bedecked with statues, or fertile glen, whose sides blushed with the luscious grape, opened at every instant, and drew forth their admiration. Their little vessel swung to her anchor. The busy hum of the restless inhabitants, and the joyous toll of the churches, announcing one of the never-failing Neapolitan processions, was borne on the breeze. The whole party embarked for the quarantine office, and--once authorised to join the throng of Naples--soon found themselves in the Strada Toledo, moving towards the Santa Lucia. Their hotel was near the mole; its windows commanding an extensive view of the purple sea, beyond which the eye took in the changeful volcano; and many a vista--sunny, smiling, and beauteous enough, for the exacting fancy of an Englishman, who conjures up for an Italian landscape, marble-like villas--and porticoes, where grapes cluster, in festoons of the vine--heaving mountains--a purple sky--faces bronzed, but oh how fair!--and song, revelry, and grace.