on the smooth grassy lawns and under the great
plane trees. The castle is a large ruinous enclosure of walls and
towers, with buildings of all sorts and ages within. The Valideh
herself, attired in green silk and a fur pelisse, her train held by
two negro female slaves, received us at the head of the stairs and
ushered us into a large room with a divan round three sides of it.
Sweetmeats and water and pipes and coffee were brought as usual,
some of the cups and their filigree stands very handsome. We went
out to see the town, preceded by a tall black slave in a gorgeous
blue velvet jacket, with a great silver stick in his hand. Under
his guidance we visited the khans, the bazaar, and the mosque; not
only were we allowed to enter the mosque with our shoes on, but on
Gladstone expressing a wish to hear the call to prayer, the muezzin
was sent up to the top of the minaret to call the azan two hours
before the proper time. The sight of the green-turbaned imam crying
the azan for a Frank was most singular, and the endless variety of
costume displayed by the crowds who thronged the verandahs which
surround the mosque was most picturesque. The gateway of the castle
too was a picturesque scene. Retainers and guards, slaves and
soldiers, and even women, were lounging about, and a beautiful tame
little pet roedeer played with the pretty children in bright
coloured dresses, clustering under the cavernous archway.

We had dinner in another large room. I counted thirty-two dishes,
or I may say courses, for each dish at a Turkish dinner is brought
in separately, and it is rude not to eat of all! The most
picturesque part of the dinner, and most unusual, was the way the
room was lighted. Eight tall, grand Albanians stood like statues
behind us, each holding a candle. It reminded me of the
torch-bearers who won the laird his bet in the _Legend of
Montrose_.

After dinner there was a long and somewhat tedious interval of
smoking and story-telling in the dark, and we called upon Lacaita
to recite Italian poetry, which he did with much effect, pouring
out sonnet after sonnet of Petrarch, including that which my father
thinks the most beautiful in the Italian language, that which has
in it the 'Campeggiar del angelico riso.' This showed me how easy
it was to fal