by. I tell the Cadi that this is also briefly
the spirit of the Christian law and then
we doze away in the same passive state of
good-will as before, until the Cadi sends for
some sherbet, which freshens us up again.

I mention in a cursory manner that we do
not appreciate sherbet properly in Britain;
and the Cadi smiles as he pronounces the word
"Wine? " in an interrogative form. " No,"
I answer; " beer is I think, upon the whole,
our national drink." The Cadi grows suddenly
expansive: he has tasted it—it fizzes, and
has a pungent, pleasant taste. He would like
to have some more, but vulgar people would
think it a scandal if he were to send to Smyrna
for some, though bottled beer was by no means
forbidden in the Koran. Perhaps I think
inwardly, because it had not been invented;
but I do not communicate this reflection to
the Cadi. On the contrary I resolve privately
to send him half my stock of bitter ale that
evening. I am not sure that he does not
divine this intention, for he turns the
conversation on tobacco, and says that he has
lately received some of a very fine sort from
Constantinople, and he would like my opinion
upon its merits. The Cadi, in his smiling
way, I see, has been making a bargain; so I
shall find a small leather bag waiting for
me when I get home, and its fragrance will fill
the house. This will be the Cadi's tobacco.

Now I must think about going, and I make
a preliminary observation to this effect. The
Cadi says that " he hopes to see me with grey
moustaches." He means that he wishes me
long life. But, seeing me look puzzled, he
adds—sliding again into one of those dear
sententious stories—" This is a Turkish
compliment. But there was once a wit, who,
seeing a certain sultan go forth to prayer,
cried out, May your Highness and I live to
see your brother's son a greybeard. The
sultan inquired what he meant, and the fool
replied: Your brother has yet to be born.
He must be twenty years old before he has a
son, and that son must be fifty before he is
grey; therefore I am wishing your Highness
a reign of seventy years, and that I may live
to witness it." The Cadi's story had the good
old eastern conclusion; and he assured me
that the sultan immediately raised his
ingenious subject to the highest offices in the state.
I wish there were more Turks like the Cadi.

BRITONS IN TURKEY.

I AM in Mytilene, a small European
colony; the principal occupation of my few
companions and myself, is waiting for the
boats which touch here on their way
between Smyrna and Constantinople. We
are great politicians; but have been lately
much surprised at the conduct of several of
the European potentates, to whom we believe
that we could furnish much useful advice.
Like all small communities we have a notable
talent for prophesying the events which never
happen, and we are obliged to console
ourselves with the reflection that the events
which we foresaw might have occurred—had
things turned out as we expected. We are
also fond of the marvellous, and love to
relate circumstances which did never happen.
We seem to me to live in a strange far-away
atmosphere, which is now rapidly passing
from the whole world like the dim misty
vapours which fly at the approach of morning.
We are in an enchanted sleep, and
dwell in the world of dreams rather than in
the waking life of the busy times over the
water. We are but a few hours from the
quick world of Smyrna and Constantinople,
and if ever they send us a newspaper or a
printing-press, or a lawyer, our repose will
be broken. Even three young doctors who
have just finished their education in France
have begun to trouble us; but their efforts have
been hitherto received with so much
disfavour that it is generally hoped they will
be put down. Thus far, the Hojas and Greek
chanters of charms effectually exclude them
from all practice; so that there is reason for a
belief that they may be even starved out, if we
preserve our ancient institutions a little longer.

We love to congregate around the bright
Mangal in winter time, or on our pleasant
balconies in the soft evenings of summer.
There, we tell each other tales of pirates, which
adventurous travellers have brought us from
the other Greek islands: pirates who have even
perhaps ventured to plunder the barques of a
few poor fishermen on our own coast. Yanni
Catirgi, the famous robber of Smyrna, was long
the chief theme of our discourse, and we have
been sometimes so dismayed by the tales
of his achievements as to be afraid to go to
bed. We keep each other in heart, however,
by the assurance that each of us would be
prepared with some formidable weapon of
defence in case of need; also by relating
fearful stories of our former prowess in
other places. The doctor of the quarantine
assures us that, on one occasion, he took such
a signal vengeance on a small boy whom he
caught in the act of abstracting his pocket-
handkerchief, as caused him to exhibit the
most extraordinary signs of fear and dismay.
He assures us also that a peculiar manner
which he has acquired of looking at people,
has often been sufficient to dismay the boldest
of his patients, and that he has no doubt it
would be found equally effectual against an
enemy. But, notwithstanding these satisfactory
appearances, there are not wanting some
of the more prudent among us, who have
proposed to pay a person to go about industriously
circulating the rumour that we have been
very poor ever since our olives were destroyed
by the cold of eighteen hundred and fifty. He
is to pretend even to be in want of small
sums of money on our behalf, but in no
case to contract a loan, on account of the
heavy interest which clings to all borrowed
money in these countries.

There is a pleasant elderly gentleman, a