But the kiosks! Who shall number the kiosks! those gilt-latticed, many-formed, and graceful toys, which seem as though they had been rained from the sky during an hour of sunshine—see them on the heights of the Asian shore—seek them in the depths of the “Valley of Sweet Waters”—count them as they rise at short distances along the walls of the Seraï—pause a moment to admire their fairy-like beauty as you gallop through some lovely glen, so wild and solitary that you almost fancied yourself to have been the first who has ever explored its recesses—any where, every where, you come upon them; and they are so neatly kept, so brightly gilt, and so gaily painted, that they look like gigantic flowers scattered over the landscape. But back, my truant fancy, to the sea of Marmora, and the shores of Scutari; where the light caïque is bounding over the heaving waters, and Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow, is summoning you to memories of the days when, if Gods indeed were not, men lent them life! Back to the hoary walls of Byzantium—to the lingering relics of the Ancient Romans—to the City of the True Believers! We passed the little bay of Cum-capu, or Sandport, and our caïque shortly afterwards shot into the creek of Yani-capu; but we had not left the boat five minutes when we became suspicious that the servant was not altogether so familiar with the road leading to the palace of the Pasha as he had professed to be. Nor were our suspicions erroneous; for, after leading us up one street and down another; along the foot of the Aqueduct of Justinian; and amid the blackened remains of the last great fire, he fairly confessed that he had lost his way. In this dilemma, we took a guide, who assured us that he was as familiar with the palace of the Scodra Pasha as with his own house, and so he proved to be; though the trifling inconvenience that ensued convinced us that we were as far from our object as ever. After threading a vast number of narrow streets, each more filthy than the last, we at length reached one which, built on a steep acclivity, boasted a somewhat more comfortable and cleanly appearance; the houses were larger and better kept, and the shops less frequent and more respectable. Our guide stopped before a pair of great gates about half way up the hill, and, seizing the knocker, gave very audible evidence of our wish for admittance; after which he pocketed his piastres, and withdrew. On the opening of the gate, we found ourselves in a small covered court, choked with rubbish. A house, literally “tottering to its fall,” and propped on the garden side with heavy pieces of timber, presented itself as the palace of the Pasha; and the door of the harem, which one rude blow would have shivered to atoms, was immediately before us.