The villas, however, are the glory of Yalta. On every slope, peeping through openings in the dark green woods, are the pretty white houses. Almost all are half covered with creepers, and standing in gardens now gay with flowers, have an air of comfort and Heimlichkeit, or homeishness (if such a word can be permitted), to which we have long been strangers. The lovely woods--the green grass--the fresh mountain air make Yalta quite a little paradise. We had the additional pleasure, also, of finding friends here--Prince and Princess B----, who came on board immediately, and whose affectionate welcome, and cheery talk of old times and old friends, made this distant place feel quite like home. We had also another visitor, an American, who, seeing the English flag, came on board to borrow some money. He was one of the unfavourable specimens of Yankeyism who do so much discredit to their country, and whose principle is to ask for a gate when they want a bit of wood. The modest request was for £25, which Mr. Harvey declined to lend, but I suppose his heart being touched by seeing a foreigner so far from home, and in distress, he gave him enough to take him to Sevastopol, with a note to an American there, who would help him if necessary. Our friend then said, however, that he heard we were going on to Circassia, and as it was very difficult to get there, he thought he might as well take "a spell" with us, as he could fix himself down in the yacht very well. As he spoke, the sensible little craft made a sudden roll and a lurch, that caused such an internal convulsion in our would-be companion that he threw himself into the boat and departed, happily for us to return no more. The next day we went with the B----s and a large party to Orianda. Our conveyance was an immense char-à-banc, that could hold quite a dozen people. There were scarcely any springs to speak of, but luckily the roads were excellent. The drive from Yalta to Orianda is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Sometimes the road wound up and down hills, and then we could look over the steep banks of woods or vines upon the intensely blue sea below. Sometimes it passed between great overhanging rocks that almost met overhead; then, again, it would cross sunny bits of rough common, or wind down narrow deep lanes where the damp coolness was delicious, and where the high banks seemed hung with ferns, and woodbines, and other plants that love the warm moist shade. We passed a charming house of Count Potocki's. The broad verandah was quite festooned with passion flowers, roses, and the bright lilac blossom of the Clematis Jackmanni. The gardens and grounds were as well kept as any English home could be. The neat hedges, gravel walks, and smooth lawns made us think we must be in England again.