We have passed between the Castles of the two Continents, guarding the mouth of the Dardanelles, and are now entering the Grecian Sea.  To-morrow, we shall touch, for a few hours, at Smyrna, and then turn westward, on the track of Ulysses and St. Paul.  Farewell, then, perhaps forever, to the bright Orient!  Farewell to the gay gardens, the spicy bazaars, to the plash of fountains and the gleam of golden-tipped minarets!  Farewell to the perfect morn’s, the balmy twilights, the still heat of the blue noons, the splendor of moon and stars!  Farewell to the glare of the white crags, the tawny wastes of dead sand, the valleys of oleander, the hills of myrtle and spices!  Farewell to the bath, agent of purity and peace, and parent of delicious dreams—­to the shebook, whose fragrant fumes are breathed from the lips of patience and contentment—­to the narghileh, crowned with that blessed plant which grows in the gardens of Shiraz, while a fountain more delightful than those of Samarcand bubbles in its crystal bosom I Farewell to the red cap and slippers, to the big turban, the flowing trousers, and the gaudy shawl—­to squatting on broad divans, to sipping black coffee in acorn cups, to grave faces and salaam aleikooms, and to aching of the lips and forehead!  Farewell to the evening meal in the tent door, to the couch on the friendly earth, to the yells of the muleteers, to the deliberate marches of the plodding horse, and the endless rocking of the dromedary that knoweth his master!  Farewell, finally, to annoyance without anger, delay without vexation, indolence without ennui, endurance without fatigue, appetite without intemperance, enjoyment without pall!

La Valetta, Malta, Saturday, August 14, 1852.

My last view of Stamboul was that of the mosques of St. Sophia and Sultan Achmed, shining faintly in the moonlight, as we steamed down the Sea of Marmora.  The Caire left at nine o’clock, freighted with the news of Reschid Pasha’s deposition, and there were no signs of conflagration in all the long miles of the city that lay behind us.  So we speculated no more on the exciting topics of the day, but went below and took a vapor bath in our berths; for I need not assure you that the nights on the Mediterranean at this season are anything but chilly.  And here I must note the fact, that the French steamers, while dearer than the Austrian, are more cramped in their accommodations, and filled with a set of most uncivil servants.  The table is good, and this is the only thing to be commended.  In all other respects, I prefer the Lloyd vessels.