LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.

To the confines of Asia 'tis easy to roam— Here's a bus, going west, which invites You (absurdly enough) to go east to the home Of all manner of Turkish delights. On arriving, at once you embark in a boat Of a name unpronounceable quite, And through vistas of columns are wafted afloat In unspeakable-Turkish delight. The vocab. in the programme is really A1, You can pick up the language at sight, And converse with your Turk in his own native tongue To his infinite (Turkish) delight. Then the making of carpets and Galata tower Are both of them well worth a sight; And the houris you'll view in their shop-window bower. With mild, semi-Turkish delight. 'Twill be long ere the show on the stage you forget, For the ballets are wonderfully bright, There's an interval too, for a "naice segarette"— A Britannico-Turkish delight. When at last to an end the great spectacle comes, You bid Constantinople good night; And you go home enchanted, with several drums Of the genuine "Turkish delight."