Hence, a long gallery conducted us to the private apartments of the Sultan; and on every side were graceful fountains of white marble, whose flashing waters fell with a musical sound into their sculptured basins. In one, the stream trickled from a plume of feathers wrought in alabaster; and so delicately worked that they almost appeared to bend beneath the weight of the sparkling drops—in another, the stream gushed forth, overflowing a lotus-flower, upon whose lip sported a group of Cupids. The private apartments, which separated the harem from the state wing of the Palace, were the very embodiment of luxurious comfort; two of them were lined with wicker-work painted cream colour; the prettiest possible idea, executed in the best possible style. The harem was, of course, a sealed book; for, as the ladies of the Sultan’s household have never been allowed to indulge their curiosity by a survey of that portion of the Palace appropriated to Mahmoud himself, it can scarcely be expected that any intruder should be admitted beyond the jealously-barred door forming their own boundary. The Bath was beautiful. As we passed the crimson door with its crescent-shaped cornice, we entered a small hall in which two swans, the size of life, and wrought in pure white marble, were pouring forth the water that supplies the cold stream necessary to the bathers. The cooling-room was richly hung with embroidered draperies; and the mirror was surmounted by the Ottoman arms wrought in gold and enamel. The Bath itself realized a vision of the Arabian Nights, with its soft, dreamy twilight, its pure and glittering whiteness, and its exquisitely imagined fountains—and the subdued effect of our voices, dying away in indistinct murmurs in the distance, served to heighten the illusion. Altogether, the Summer Palace of Sultan Mahmoud is as fair within, as without; and I have already said that it is the most elegant edifice on the Bosphorus. The gardens, which rise to the summit of the steep height immediately behind the Seraï, are formed into terraces, each being under the direction of a foreign gardener, and laid out in the fashion of his own land. Thus there are a Spanish, an Italian, an English, a German, and a French garden. The deepest terrace is occupied by a fine sheet of water, called the Lake of the Swans, on which about thirty of these graceful birds, the Sultan’s peculiar favourites, were disporting themselves in the clear sunshine. Weeping willows, and other graceful trees, were mirrored in its calm bosom, and a couple of gaily-painted pleasure-boats were moored under the shadow of a magnificent magnolia.