The female inmates of the seraglio are known by the names of Asseki and Odalique. The first is distinguished by having given birth to a son: she has then separate apartments assigned to her, gardens, baths, and even a mosque for her own private devotions. She has a regular income conferred upon her, called Paschmaklik, that is, “the revenue of the sandal.” It is assigned to purchase slippers, and called Turkish pin-money. Whenever a city is taken by the sultan, he generally reserves one street or district of it as a Paschmaklik. An Asseki sometimes builds a mosque from her immense revenue, and thence, from the source from whence the means are derived, it is called the Djami Paschmalk, or “the mosque of the slipper.” The Odalique is a simple favourite, not rendered eminent by any distinction. Between the Asseki and Odalique a jealousy and a mortal animosity exist, which often cause frightful results; and the annals of the seraglio are full of those tales of horror. The mother of Mahomet IV. made a present to her son of a Georgian slave of great beauty. Zachi, the dominant Asseki, felt those pangs of jealousy so congenial to the place in which she lived, and resolved to get rid of her rival. On one occasion, while the sultan was absent at the chase, in the woods of Belgrade, she sent for her, on the pretext of showing her kindness and respect. The Odalique, though aware of her danger, entered her apartment, and immediately heard behind her that shrill yelp which marks the presence of a mute−-the imperfect sound which the executioners of the seraglio utter, when they are about to fulfil the murderous orders they receive. The unfortunate Odalique turned round, and saw him with the bowstring ready: she submitted at once to her inevitable fate, bent her beautiful head to the fatal loop, which immediately closed upon it, and she lay dead at the feet of her rival. [Illustration: T. Allom. J. C. Bentley. SMYRNA, FROM THE HARBOUR. ASIA MINOR.] The Bay of Smyrna is one of the largest and deepest in the Levant. At the extremity rises the ancient city, crowning the distant hills, while the modern runs along the low ground below, and seems on a level with the sea. Ships from all nations crowd the water, and their various pennons, floating in the breeze, add to the gaiety of the scene. The French are particularly distinguished. On every fête-day there is kept up a kind of jubilee, and the gala of Paris seems transferred to this port: music resounds from every deck; boats filled with joyous company are continually moving from ship to ship on visits of ceremony; and the explosion of cannon, rebounding in echoes along the distant hills, announce their arrival and departure. In fact, of all the Frank nations, the French seem to consider this harbour as their own; and the Turks submit with a grave toleration to scenes of levity, of which they afterwards complain.