At Smyrna I found our old friend Mr. Zohrab with his wife. Mrs. Zohrab was a dear, kind, motherly Englishwoman; and when she saw me, the thought of the sufferings that we had all gone through in Erzeroum and the fate which had fallen upon so many of the people whom she knew quite overcame her. She flung her arms round my neck, and burst into tears. Of course Mr. Zohrab was very anxious to hear all that had happened to us since he left Erzeroum, and whether we were comfortable in the house that he was obliged to desert. I told him that we did full justice to his provisions and his wines; and the expression of his face was quite pathetic when I described the delightful little dinner parties that we gave to the Russian officers out of his ample stores. Poor old Zohrab! He listened with much the same feelings that Ulysses might have had when the island princes, over-bold, were feasting on his substance and the steam of the roasting beef (which the poet avers is dear to the gods) rose up in his lordly halls. Recollections of Osman Pasha's ball at Widdin came back to me when I met at Smyrna Zara Dilber Effendi, the skilful entertainer who arranged all the details of that never to be forgotten function. He and I spent the afternoon together, and had much to tell each other. The sight of this polished and dignified gentleman carried me back to my first experiences in Turkey, and his face was almost the last that I saw before I went on board ship again, and said good-bye for ever to that strange empire where the glow of romance and chivalry and the pure flame of passionate patriotism shone among the gathering shadows that have since almost obscured the "light of other days." When I reached London, I found all England ringing with the tidings of the fighting, and there were plenty of evidences of the interest taken in the political situation. The music-halls, where one may touch the pulse of popular feeling, were crowded every night with audiences who tumultuously applauded the patriotic ditties that were encored over and over again, especially the famous song which set forth that "The Russians shall not have Constantino-o-ple."