The never-failing hospitality of the East prompted the first question of the venerable hostess. She inquired if I had been satisfied with my reception; and assured me of the gratification she derived from seeing me in the Palace of her husband: she then thanked me for the careful toilette which I had made to visit her, and in the most courtly manner admired every thing that I wore. The usual extraordinary queries ensued:—Was I married? Had I ever been affianced? Did I intend to marry? Could I embroider? How old was I? Which was the prettiest, Stamboul or London?—and many others of the like kind; but they were all put so good-humouredly, and so perfectly as a matter of course, that it was impossible not to be amused, although I had answered them a dozen times before. There is a great charm in the graceful _naïveté_ of a well-born Turkish lady. She tells you directly what she thinks of you, without harbouring an idea that even truth may sometimes prove unpalatable. If you do not please her, you are never left in doubt upon the subject; while if, on the contrary, she considers you well-looking or agreeable, she lavishes on you the most endearing epithets, and always terminates her address by imploring you to love her. From the moment that you find yourself beneath her roof, you are as completely unfettered as though you were in your own house. Are you hungry? In five minutes, by merely desiring the first slave with whom you come in contact to bring you food, you may seat yourself at table. Are you weary? Select the sofa you prefer, surround yourself with cushions, and should you wish to remain undisturbed, close the door of the apartment; and when you are refreshed, you will be greeted on your re-appearance with a second smile of welcome. If you are restless, you may wander over the whole house; there is neither indiscretion nor impertinence in so doing. In short, from the first instant of your domestication in a Turkish family, it is your own fault if you are not as much at your ease as your hostess herself. On quitting the apartment of the Buyuk Hanoum, which was oppressive from its closed windows and the extreme heat of the weather, we strolled all over the Palace, which is very extensive, and splendid in its arrangements. One room only was closed against us. It was that in which the mother of the Pasha’s children had breathed her last; and into which he had desired every article, however trifling, of her personal property, to be removed and locked up, until he causes them to be disposed of by public sale, and the proceeds secured to her sons.