The call to prayer, "_God is great_," sounded from every minaret in Constantinople, when Solyman the Magnificent raised the renegade Ibrahim to a rank second only to his own imperial station. The newly appointed prime minister received the congratulations of the assembled dignitaries of the empire; and when this ceremony was accomplished, he repaired to the palace of the viziership, which Piri Pasha had vacated during the night. A numerous escort of slaves, and a guard of honor, composed of an entire company of Janizaries, attended Ibrahim to his new abode, the streets through which he passed being lined with spectators anxious to obtain a glimpse of the new minister. But calm, almost passionless, was the expression of Ibrahim's countenance: though he had attained to his present high station speedily, yet he had not reached it unexpectedly; and, even in the moment of this, his proud triumph, there was gall mingled with the cup of honey which he quaffed. For, oh! the light of Christianity was not extinguished within his breast; and though it no longer gleamed there to inspire and to cheer, it nevertheless had strength enough to burn with reproachful flame. The multitudes cheered and prostrated themselves as he passed; but his salutation was cold and indifferent, and he felt at that moment that he would rather have been wandering through the Vale of Arno, hand-in-hand with his sister, than be welcomed in the streets of Constantinople as the Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire! O crime! thou may'st deck thy brow with flowers, and adorn thy garments with the richest gems--thou may'st elicit the shouts of admiring myriads, and proceed attended by guards ready to hew down those who would treat thee with disrespect--thou may'st quit the palace of a mighty sovereign to repair to a palace of thine own--and in thy hands thou may'st hold the destinies of millions of human beings; but thou canst not subdue the still small voice that whispers reproachfully in thine ear, nor pluck from thy bosom the undying worm.