on one or two occasions to English ships
running between America and Europe."
After this, who does not cry, All-hail to the
new race of sailors, who will put this
ignorance aside, and rise to a true comprehension
of their noble calling?

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

THE PASHA.

THE Pasha is a pleasant elderly gentleman,
and a friend of mine. He is about forty-two,
he says, not being very particular on
the subject: but he looks a fair fifty. He
attributes this circumstance to his having
married at fifteen. I inwardly believe this is
a libel on the Turkish ladies, but I could not
banter the Pasha on such a subject, for the
Harem is forbidden ground even for a hint to
stand upon. Upon the whole, therefore, I
think it is best to acquiesce in the forty-two,
and take those years for granted. The Pasha
himself believes devoutly in them. So do I.

Picture a tall, spare, aristocratic-looking
gentleman—Gentleman is the only word which
would give you an idea of the Pasha; it is
written by Nature's own hand on every quiet
dignified movement, in every subdued smile,
in every lofty and winning courtesy. The
man would break his heart if his ermine
were defiled. He was born a knight after the
old romantic idea of such an individual, and
he will live and die with a crest as unsullied
as Bayard or Amadis of Gaul. I believe it
would be physically impossibly for him to
utter an untruth, to forget his honourable
pride, or to do one mean, paltry, or unworthy
action to any human being. I would take
his plain, simply spoken word, in almost any
possible circumstances, and I would place any
interest I held dear in his keeping, fearlessly.
His dress is a plain single-breasted coat of
the rich plum-colour which the Turks love.
It is made of a peculiar cloth which I
understand comes chiefly from Belgium. The
Pasha's trousers are too large for him: I
cannot deny that. They give him the
appearance of being bow-legged. They are too
long, too wide, too baggy, generally. In fact,
it is surprising to me how he keeps them on,
as braces appear to be an undiscovered
mystery in Turkey. The Pasha wears two
pair of shoes, one over the other. The under
shoes are of exquisitely fine Russian leather,
about the consistence of a kid glove. His
overshoes, which he wears when he goes
abroad, are the unromantic blucher. The top
of the Pasha's head is surmounted by a small
fez or red cap, which the late Sultan brought
into fashion. It has a tassel of at least half a
pound weight of corded blue silk. Beneath
it is a finely worked linen lining detached
from the cap, and peeping in a snowy ring all
round it. This is the sign of a Turkish dandy.
His cap is also surmounted by a broad, flat,
circular piece of gold. This is the sign of his
being a Turkish officer, and I wish the sign
were always worn as worthily. It is, of course,
needless to add that the Pasha wears his coat
buttoned up to the chin, and is far too military
a genius to display anything in the shape
of shirt collar. On his right hand little finger,
however, he wears a diamond ring, which
once belonged to the Dey of Algiers, and
cost a thousand pounds. The expression of
the Pasha's face is mild and placid, almost to a
fault. His nose is aquiline, his beard spare,
his mouth well cut, and his eyes are lively
and well opened. His voice is as habitually
low and soft as those heard in English
drawing-rooms. When he is at home he sits
generally wrapped up in a dressing-gown
lined with furs, and put on over his other
clothes (for he tells me the climate even in
June is treacherous). With his legs curled up
beneath him on the sofa, he gives his mild
audiences to suitors, who prostrate themselves
before him when they enter his presence.
When he wants anything he touches a little
spring-bell which is placed beside him—it
makes one tink, and in a minute several of
the fifty-six servants he keeps come noiselessly
in and await his commands, with their
hands placed above their hearts. When he
has spoken they touch their foreheads, in
sign of unquestioning and implicit obedience;
then they disappear as silently as they had
entered.

Generally speaking, it may be said to be
an agreeable thing to be a Turkish Pasha;
he is, nevertheless, a personage of great power
and authority. He is about as absolute a
provincial governor as can be conceived. It
is, therefore, pleasant to add that he is as
easy and good-humoured as the majority of
his fellow Pashas in other places. Indeed,
his power of late years has been rather nominal
than real. He is fettered a good deal by
personal enemies in the Medglis, or mixed
tribunal, by the intrigues of the Greeks, and
by the growing power of the press. He is
obliged, therefore, to be something of a trimmer
in his official conduct; and he is mightily
afraid of the European consuls, who all watch
him like so many policemen in private
clothes, and often worry him out of health
and spirits with their litigious and troublesome
conduct. They interfere in the affairs
of his command on the most improper
occasions, and they hector him with singular
effrontery. Of course, if the Pasha were well
acquainted with European politics, and understood
these gentlemen, he. would not tolerate
their pretensions upon any terms; but the
Pasha is not a traveller. He is of the
old school, and his education has been
neglected.

It would be a mistake to suppose that the
Pasha profits by his post, in a pecuniary point
of view. On the contrary, it costs him money.
His pay is about seven hundred pounds a
year, and his mere charities, with the necessary,
or customary, expenses of his post, must
exceed one thousand pounds. After the