I have already mentioned that the Palace of Ortakeuÿ fronts the Bosphorus, from which it is only separated by a broad path or terrace of marble, extending along a considerable portion of the channel, and only broken at intervals by the projection of the different palaces and dwellings that are built against the edge of the stream. While we were conversing with Nazip Hanoum, my attention was attracted by a peculiar signal rising from this terrace, and evidently intended for the ear of some fair inhabitant of the Seraï. As no answer was returned, the shrill wild sound was repeated, when Nazip Hanoum rose quietly from her cushions, and throwing back a small door which opened in the midst of the lattice-work of one of the windows, demanded, in a tone of pretty peevishness, why she was thus persecuted, when she had announced her resolution not to receive another letter. The reply to this appeal, brief as it was, was conclusive, for, shrugging her shoulders with a coquettish gesture of impatience, she flung from the casement a painted handkerchief secured by a silken cord attached to the window-frame, and after the delay of a moment, drew it back, and took a letter from amid its folds, which, having read with a blush and a smile, she thrust into the shawl that was bound about her waist, with all the composure of a person to whom such an occurrence was no novelty. We shortly afterwards proceeded to wait upon all the principal ladies of the household, who occupied apartments opening from the same gallery as that of Nazip Hanoum. The first whom we visited was the mother of the slaves, a serious, stately woman, of about fifty years of age, dressed in an antery and trowsers of black cashmere, very silent, and even sad-looking, whom we quitted as soon as we had satisfied her curiosity; for the atmosphere of her stateliness did not appear congenial to our light-hearted conductress.