Immediately before me, on the seaward edge of the fine stretch of turf in which the lane terminated, all the throng of company that had crowded the glen of the Valley during the earlier part of the day, were now collected together under the long shadow of a double avenue of fine trees fringing the border of the channel, and terminating at the elegant fountain to which I have already made allusion. On one side rose the painted kiosk of the Sultan; and near it stood the little mosque, with its slender minaret shooting heavenward, and almost hidden by the leafy branches of the surrounding trees. On the other a cluster of arabas, with their crimson and purple awnings, and fringes of gold and silver—while, in the midst, groups of women were dotted over the greensward, and gaily-dressed children gambolled in their young gracefulness, making the elastic air buoyant with mirth. It was a heart-inspiring spectacle! and it was beautiful to remark the kindness and good feeling which pervaded the whole assemblage. I cannot understand how any European who has once contemplated a scene of this description, can carry away with him an unfavourable impression of the Turkish character. I have remarked elsewhere on the happy freedom from _morgue_ which pervades the wealthier classes of the capital. Neither superciliousness nor assumption on the part of their more fortunate neighbours, withers the enjoyment of the humble and the laborious; the day of rest and recreation levels all ranks, and suspends all distinctions; and thus each is secure to find the pleasure which he seeks; for that pleasure is in itself of so natural and simple a description that it requires no combination of causes to produce it—a bright sky—a balmy atmosphere—a lovely landscape—are all that is necessary to its enjoyment; and they are ever within the reach of the humblest during the long summer season—And when to these are superadded the kindly smile and the ready greeting which are never withheld in Turkey from those who seek them, it must at once be acknowledged that the Osmanlis have made a wise selection, in preferring to the strife and struggle for precedence, and the uncertainty of ultimate success, which clog the more refined and “exclusive” pleasures of Europe, the simple, kindly, and ever-enduring enjoyment of nature and universal good-will. But I am committing an error in thus applying the word “refined.”—Are not such pleasures as those of Turkey infinitely more refined than the elaborated dissipations of the West? Is not the holiness of nature a loftier contemplation than the gilded saloons of the great?—The power to feel and to appreciate the noble gifts of the Creator, eminently more glorious than the talent to discover the finite perfections of the creature? Is not the breeze which sweeps over the heathy hill, or through the blossom-scented valley, more redolent of real sweetness than the perfume-laden halls of luxury?