The conversation was specially directed to me by the Pacha himself. My dragoman carefully translated what was said, and informed me of all that was going on, and what I was to do. It happened to be the time of the Ramazan, and all the minarets were illuminated. I was remarking to the Pacha what an extraordinary and beautiful effect Constantinople and its mosques illuminated produced upon a European, when suddenly the following cry was heard from the street: “Ingan var Scutari!” A regular panic seized upon all present; and they immediately started to their feet. The Pacha took me by the hand; and while he was giving his orders, my dragoman quickly informed me it was the cry of fire, but I was on no account to take my hand from that of the Pacha. I inquired where the fire was? “I don’t know,” he replied; “somewhere in the town. You had better say good-night, as the Pacha must be present.” The Pacha was now giving his orders fiercely, which I could find, not only by the perpetual motion of his tongue, but by the nervous and strong feeling of agitation of his hand, as he made me walk up and down the large saloon five or six times without even looking at me. The horses were ready, when a fireman, wet through, arrived, and requested the Pacha not to disturb himself, as the fire was already nearly extinguished. All immediately re-entered in order, except myself, as I wanted to be off. “No,” said the Pacha; “sit down; we must have a second chibouque, and a round of coffee.” “Though I did not taste it, I must say I never in my life so much appreciated the offer of a cup of coffee as I did this, which procured the release of my hand, so long a prisoner in that of the Turkish magistrate. Smoking a second chibouque made me feel rather sick, so I requested my dragoman to thank the Pacha for his kind reception, and say that as I was going to the Crimea in a few days, I would do myself the pleasure of paying him a visit before my departure for England. These words being interpreted to him, the first thing he did was to arrest me again, but luckily not by the same hand. He then spoke very fast to my dragoman, who informed me that the Pacha wished me to go with him as far as lower Scutari. It was one of their great Ramazan nights; he was obliged to go, and would esteem it a favour if I could accompany him. “With all my heart!” was my reply, as I really wished to witness the religious ceremony of the Ramazan. Ten horses were waiting for the Pacha, and my dragoman informed me that his highness was anxious to do me the Turkish honours, and would walk hand-in-hand with me through the town. Bowing respectfully to his highness, I begged Mr. Mason (a Greek and my dragoman) to say that I should be delighted with the honour--that I much appreciated the extreme politeness and kind intention of his highness.