The Valley of Guiuk-Suy, thronged as I have attempted to describe it, presents a scene essentially Oriental in its character. The crimson-covered carriages moving along beneath the trees—the white-veiled groups scattered over the fresh turf—the constant motion of the attendant slaves—the quaintly-dressed venders of _mohalibè_ and _sèkèl_ (or sweetmeats) moving rapidly from point to point with their plateaux upon their heads, furnished with a raised shelf, on which the crystal or china plates destined to serve for the one, and the pink and yellow glories of the other, are temptingly displayed—the _yahourt_-merchant, with his yoke upon his shoulder, and his swinging trays covered with little brown clay basins, showing forth the creamy whiteness of his merchandize—the vagrant exhibitors of dancing bears and grinning monkeys—the sunburnt Greek, with his large, flapping hat of Leghorn straw, and Frank costume, hurrying along from group to group with his pails of ice; and recommending his delicate and perishable luxury in as many languages as he is likely to earn piastres—the never-failing water-carrier, with his large turban, his graceful jar of red earth, and his crystal goblet—the negroes of the higher harems, laden with carpets, chibouks, and refreshments for their mistresses—the fruit-venders, with their ruddy peaches, their clusters of purple grapes from Smyrna, their pyramidically piled filberts, and their rich plums, clothed in bloom, and gathered with their fresh leaves about them—the melon merchants sitting among their upheaped riches; the _pasteks_ with their emerald-coloured rinds, and the musk-melons, looking like golden balls, and scenting the breeze as it sweeps over them; the variety of costume exhibited by the natives, always most striking on the Asiatic shore—the ringing rattle of the tambourine, and the sharp wiry sound of the Turkish Zebec, accompanied by the shrill voices of half a dozen Greeks, seated in a semicircle in front of a beauty-laden araba—all combine to complete a picture so perfect of its kind, that, were an European to be transported to Guiuk-Suy, without any intermediate preparation, he would believe himself to be under the spell of an Enchanter, and beholding the realization of what he had hitherto considered as the mere extravagance of some Eastern story-teller. The Valley, or at least that portion of it which I am now describing, is further embellished by a magnificent beech, called the Sultan’s Tree, beneath which the Imperial carpet is spread for His Highness when he visits Guiuk-Suy. And a little beyond this rises a platform shaded with willows, and occupied at one of its extremities by a handsome head-stone. I could not learn what favoured dust had been deposited on this sweet spot.