About fifty yards from the water, stands a graceful edifice of white marble denominated the “Air Bath;” in which his Sublime Highness passes many a delicious hour during the summer heats. The saloon is paved, roofed, and lined with marble; and exquisitely imagined fountains fling their waters from the lotus leaves that are carved on the cornice of the apartment, through a succession of ocean-shells, fantastically grouped, and delicately chiselled, which divide the stream into a hundred slender threads, and ultimately pour their volume into the basins, whence it escapes to the lake without, keeping up a continual current of cool air, and murmur of sweet sound, which produce an effect almost magical. In the centre of this saloon, whence several inferior apartments branch off on either side, stands a magnificent vase of verd-antique, about eight feet in height; a present to the Sultan from the Emperor Nicholas. The hill is crowned by a gilded kiosk, glittering among cypresses and plane trees; and the whole establishment is more like a fairy creation, than the result of human invention and labour. On the morrow, we decided on paying another visit to the Seraï Bournou; as the following day was that fixed for our departure. But alas! when that morrow came, we had reason to congratulate ourselves on having already penetrated beyond the “Golden Gate;” for the waves of the channel were running mountain high, and the opposite coast was lost in a dense vapour of sleet and rain. The disappointment was extreme; but, as there was no alternative, we were compelled to submit. For once “our star was bankrupt;” and we were fain to console ourselves with the reflection that our last day in Asia had been so worthily spent. CHAPTER XXVIII. The Bosphorus in Mist—The Ferdinando Primo—Embarkation—Tardy Passengers—The Black Sea—The Turkish Woman—Varna—Visit to the Pasha—Rustem Bey—Mustapha Najib Pasha—Turkish Gallantry—The Lines—Sunset Landscape—Bulgarian Colonies—Discomforts of a Deck Passage. I never beheld the Bosphorus to less advantage than on the morning of our departure from Constantinople; for, as if to lessen our regrets on leaving it, its shores were concealed by mists formed of small light rain, which effectually veiled their beauty. As cloud after cloud rolled by, each succeeded by a denser and darker vapour than its predecessor, we lost sight of every accustomed object; and, though I flung back the casement, and turned “a last, long, lingering look” along the channel, I was unable to distinguish even the most prominent points of view.