A light, white mist, gradually rising from the neighboring marshes, and gathering along the surface of the water, warned me to escape its noxious influence by returning home. The fearful intermittent fever floats along on its white vaporous bosom, and death follows in its rear.

The fine plain stretching from Piræus to Athens, which might be tilled and made to yield an abundant produce, now sends only from its dreary swamps the noisome pestilential fog, to sleep within whose poisonous influence is almost certain destruction. During July and August the Athens fever rages at its height, and the journey of many an English traveller has been cut short by it. It generally breaks out immediately after quitting the spot where the individual has imbibed the contagion.

Our accommodation for the night was most wretched; we were obliged to sleep either upon the earthen floor of a miserable house, or upon a large shutter, which was laid on some loose bricks. During the whole night I was kept awake by the croaking of the frogs in the marsh, whose noise would not be credited, except by those who have passed a night in spring at this spot.

May 9th. When the early rays of the sun had dispersed the white unwholesome mists which extended their damp wreaths along the low winding shore, I sallied out, took a boat, rowed out of the harbor, and bathed close to some ruined fragments of the ancient Athenian walls which once fortified the entrance of the Piræus port, many of whose disjointed masses were seen buried under the clear waves. As the weather was perfectly calm, with every prospect of its continuance, I hired the open boat in which we bathed to take our party on to Syra, it being the cleanest in the place, furnished with a mast and sails, and capable of holding several individuals without any great discomfort.

About ten o'clock, under a dazzling sun and unclouded sky, we left Piræus harbor; a light favorable breeze had sprung up, which carried us slowly away from the classic land of Greece. A brilliant light was shed over the landscape; the distant wavy mountains, the rocky headlands, the Athenian Acropolis, the long line of coast, and every surrounding object, were seen with a remarkable clearness of vision, while on the opposite side the blue Mediterranean spread out its calm waters till they were blended with the azure sky far away in the distance.

Towards evening, the light breeze which had carried us

slowly along the beautiful coast of Attica, died away, and it became a dead calm. Our two sailors, a couple of fine young Greeks, took to their oars, and we thus continued still to glide slowly onwards. The golden disk of the sun was approaching the watery horizon, and we were shortly witnesses to one of those glorious sunsets which Lord Byron has so beautifully described.

"Not as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light."

The vast sea was smooth as a looking-glass; a death-like stillness reigned every where; the distant shadowy mountains, the rocky shore, and the bold headlands, were tinted with a varied and most beautiful coloring, and the sun, as he slowly disappeared in the glowing waters, threw back a long gleaming column of golden light across the wide surface of the sea. The twilight in these latitudes, from the sun's descending more directly below the horizon than hơ does in England, is very short, and turning to the opposite quarter of the heavens, where darkness was already" almost visible," we saw the moon of a deep copperish color, just appearing above the dusky waters. In about a quarter of an hour, as the soft beauty of a Grecian night was spreading over sea and shore, we slowly rowed into the straits which separate the island of Gaidaronisi from the main land, where we cast anchor for the night.

"Twas one of those calm solitary spots so peculiar to Greece; the straits winding between the island and the main land, presented the appearance of a large curving river. The solitary shores were covered with brushwood and a few dwarf shrubs. There were no trees, and the lonely spot, but for the warm coloring of a southern climate, would have seemed bleak and desolate. We ordered the

provision basket to be taken on shore, and ascending a slight eminence on the solitary island, we seated ourselves upon the wild fern in admiration of the softness and tranquillity of the surrounding solitude. The island is entirely uninhabited, and on the opposite main land there was no trace of man far as the eye could reach, and no living thing save a few wild ducks which we saw by the water's edge. The island, according to Pausanias, was anciently celebrated for its ebony wood.

The little remaining daylight soon entirely disappear

ed, and the moon, which was nearly at its full, shone with great splendor. The summits of the nearer hills were boldly conspicuous in the bright moonlight, the winding valleys and ravines were clothed in deep shade, and a light, thin mist was already gradually curling along the surface of the water. We listened to the songs of our Greek boatmen below, plaintive and monotonous airs, and we were startled by the long mournful howl of a jackal from the opposite hills on the main land.

Descending to our boat we pushed off a few yards from the shore, fearing there might be wolves on the island.

'Twas about two hours after midnight when I was awakened by the noise of the sailors weighing anchor. They stated, as there was every probability of the succeeding day being very hot and very calm, they wished to row during the freshness and coolness of the night, and rest themselves during the heat of the day. I sat up in the boat to admire the soft, lovely, brilliant night; here and there a solitary star was brightly shining, and the pure undisturbed splendor of the full moon descended upon the beautiful winding waters.—

"And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving
As an infant's asleep."

"Are not those thin curling wreaths of white mist that hang along the shore very unwholesome?" I asked one of the sailors. "Not unless there is wet marshy land in the immediate neighborhood, or land that is extensively irrigated," was the reply: "There is no fear, signor, of fever, when you are surrounded with high rocky shores like these: what you see is nothing but the vapor from the salt water."

May 10th.-When the first crimson streak of light stole along the eastern horizon, we were at the base of Cape Colonna, the ancient Sunium, on the summit of whose bold height stand the ruins of the magnificent Temple of Minerva, built by Ictinus, the architect of the Parthenon. Twelve majestic marble Doric columns of this noble temple still crown the summit of the bold headland, overlooking the islands of the Ægean sea. It is one of the finest cònceivable situations for a monument of architectural magnificence. The waves beat upon the rocks below, and the solitary marble ruin above attracts the gaze of the passing ma

riner. The marble is of a virgin whiteness, and retains the polish and sharp edge it possessed when first it came from the hands of the sculptor.

The sun, rising above the expanse of water, cast its bright beams upon the numerous rocky islands of the Ægean sea, and over the vast and glorious scene which is presented to the eye of the beholder from this lofty eminence. The rocky coast line of the continent, the bright waters calm and unruffled, the soft dim outlines of the islands, and the distant bold mountains, altogether presented a scene which the pen and the pencil are alike unable faithfully to deli

neate.

About nine o'clock, by dint of rowing, we arrived at the island of Zea, the greenness of whose shores made us hope for more than the usual cultivation, but we were disappointed. There is only one miserable town built upon a mountain. There are some remains of the ancient Ioulis to be seen, consisting chiefly of the ruins of a temple. Most of the Ægean islands, which are so beautiful at a distance, are nought but bare, scraggy, uninhabited rocks.

A breeze springing up, carried us rapidly onward through the islands from Zea for a couple of hours, and then died away. Towards sunset the wind headed us, and began to blow very strong; there was some talk among the sailors of putting back, when I took the helm, and altered the course of the vessel from the northern to the southern point of the island of Syra, which was now in sight. We beat about for some little time, but, the wind becoming a point or two more favorable, we were enabled to lay our course direct for the island. As the breeze increased in strength, the waves came rolling up bristling with white foam, but our little boat danced along merrily over them. We dashed by moonlight along a bold rocky coast, within a stone's throw of beetling crags, against which the waves broke in thunder, and the foam, as it recoiled from them, glittered with innumerable fiery coruscations. Turning sharp round a bluff headland, forming the western point of the island, we gained a safe anchorage under shelter of some high rocks in a little bay. The sea soon went down, the moon shone again with brilliancy, and the usual quiet scene of tranquil beauty extended around.

May 11th. Still calm, and a burning hot sun. The sea is remarkably clear, the rocky bottom is seen at an immense depth, and enormous fish glide about below. Whilst bath

ing, I was alarmed with the cry of a shark, which was luckily a false alarm. After three hours' rowing we arrived in sight of the town of Syra, occupying a most commanding situation on the side of a mountain, and presenting a very imposing appearance from the water. It is the largest and most commercial town in the Archipelago, and has risen entirely within the last twenty years, chiefly in consequence of the excellence of its port, which lies in the direct route for ships bound from the western nations of Europe to Smyrna. It presents a very picturesque appearance, from the extreme whiteness of the houses, the green blinds, and the open terraces. We passed through a port crowded with shipping, our bill of health was examined by dint of a pair of wooden tongs, and we were allowed to land. A motley crowd of people in Turkish, Greek and Frank dresses stared at us as if we had been wild beasts. We were taken through what may be called the only street in the town, bordered on each side by open shops, dirty, and very narrow, to the police; when, after having been well stared at, we were allawed to depart to a miserable hotel, kept by a young Italian in partnership with a Greek, where I obtained the luxury of a room eight feet square, with a hole in the roof to serve the purposes of a window.

The dress of the women here is very curious, a strange aping of European fashions, intermixed with the costume of the country. Some wear the wide spreading bonnets, fashionable years back in England, covered with faded artificial flowers; some have a profusion of ribands about their persons, and some cream colored shoes; others are dressed in immense turbans of white, orange, and red gauze.

May 12th.-the town of Syra is composed of two portions, the one crowning the summit of a lofty conical hill capped by an old Roman Catholic church, is called Old Syra, the other or lower town, lining the sloping sides of the eminences, rising above the harbor, is called Hermopolis. In this lower portion there is only one miserable street, the rest of the town consists of isolated houses, with narrow footpaths leading between and around them; they are stuck about in lumps and heaps, with a sovereign contempt for all order and arrangement.

There are English, Swiss, and French, as well as Greek merchants, established here. There are some good houses, and the British consul, who has an excellent mansion comVOL. I.-8