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ment, and were treated like friends and brothers by our brave naval officers. Hydra exposed to us an entire population, which, after enriching by commerce its principal citizens, now exists by their beneficence. At Poro we found the Admiral-in-Chief of the Greek fleet, Miaulis, labouring with his own hands in repairing his own vessel. At Egina we entered under the modest roof of Canaris, and we saw this intrepid man as simple and as poor as he had always been, wishing for no reward, assisting at no fétes, and confining his ambition to heroism.

Fabvier, in the peninsula of Metana, appeared like Robinson Crusoe in his island, making cannon-shot with marble, mills with planks, bread with roots; in the absence of danger, amusing himself with fatigue, hardly being able to contain his fiery mind in a body of iron.

At last, unfortunate Athens received us in the midst of her ruins. Still living, after so many sieges, a victim to her triumphs as well as her defeats, she no longer contains a single modern edifice; but she continues to exist in her monuments, which are there standing erect, as the genius of ages which barbarism may chain up for a time, but can never entirely overthrow.

On leaving this city, we wished to visit the field where the last battle took place under its walls, where inexperienced chiefs led over an open plain men on foot, without bayonets, without guns, without support. We were shown the Turkish battery, placed at the tomb of Philoppapus, and which carried off large pieces of the columns of the Parthenon. They showed us the most advanced point which the unhappy Greeks had attained, who, already thinking they were about to enter the place, stretched out their hands to their countrymen, when the Turkish cavalry, starting from the ravine, made a horrible slaughter of them; and it was in following the long file of bodies left without burial, that we arrived at the camp of Phalerus whence they had departed. But let us draw a veil over this melancholy picture. Greece is henceforward free, and can no longer cease to be so; her cause has passed, one may say, from the interest of people to the honour of kings. The principle of interference, which till this moment had only been useful to absolute power, is going to give liberty to a people-a liberty which they have acquired by their valour, and which they will one day deserve by their virtues; and, whatever may be the wrongs of the present generation, what man is there who does not wish success to a cause which belongs to the heroic epoch of the human race, and for which so many brave men have again fallen! What traveller is there who does not reflect with delight, that one day, perhaps, a happy and civilised nation will welcome him to this classic land, will do the honours of it in the language of Homer, and will carefully preserve what yet remains of the genius of Phidias, of the glory of Pericles!

After this preamble, I ought to speak to you of the different people who compose the Ottoman Empire, but I can only give you a short sketch. The Arabs, and particularly those who inhabit the borders of the Desert, are still what the Scriptures describe the Patriarchs to be, with their tents, their numerous flocks, their wandering life, and their simple manners. The Greeks, although possessing Sclavonian and Albanian blood, still preserve a great many traces of the ancient inhabitants of their country. With them the same love of place, the same rivalship, the same inclination to theft and piracy, still exist; in short, a mixture of great virtue and great weakness. The Turks, having made but little progress towards civilisation, are still in the kind of feudal state of the latter periods of the empire of Constantinople. This singular coincidence gave me the idea of undertaking a work already advanced, which may possess some interest, and which will bear for its title, 'Manners and Character of the present Arabs, according to the Holy Scriptures. Manners and Character of the present Greeks, according to the Classic Authors. Manners and Character of the Turks, according to the Writers of the Middle Age.' These portraits, to which I have not added a single phrase, a single observation, will, however, appear of great verity; so true it is, that, with nations, as with individuals, vices and virtues are found rather in situations than in characters, and are only modified by institutions.

Notwithstanding the difference of religion, language, and manners, which exists among these people, there are certain qualities which are common to them all, and which seem to belong to the soil on which they received birth. One of the principal, and to which we must pay homage, is the sentiment of hospitality, which is found every where as in the times of Abraham and Homer. In the smallest villages, there is a house for the stranger who arrives, and he is provided for at the public expense, during twentyfour hours, without his name or business being inquired into. Even the forms used in welcoming strangers are nearly the same in the three languages; they convey wishes for what they suppose most dear to you. Adieu, my guest,' was generally said to me; 'may God preserve your son!' Adieu, young man,' said they to my son; may God preserve the life of your father!'

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Our journal might be opened in any part, and the same marks of interest would be observed. I will only mention one, to give an idea of all the others.

Arriving from Palmyra at Homs, after fifteen days of fatigue and privation in the Desert, we found that we were expected by a rich Turkish merchant, named Hadji-Hassan, to whom we were recommended from Aleppo. This excellent man had been entertaining our servants and horses, who had preceded us fourteen days: he received us with a kindness I shall never forget. He insisted that

we should spend four days at his house, to rest from our fatigues; and, during this time, his attention to us, and his kind behaviour, could not be surpassed even in Europe. His conversation was witty andi nstructive; the principal persons in thetown, the governor, and the Greek bishop, visited his house, and entertained the greatest esteem for him. When I was about to leave him, I was preparing to make him a present, as is customary in the East; and, when I presented him a gold watch and a fowling-piece, Do not be angry with me, my dear guest,' said he, if I do not accept your present; other travellers have, before now, forgiven the same refusal; what you offer me is more than what I have done for you, but below what I expect from your friendship. This is what I ask of you promise me, when you shall have returned into the midst of your family, to send me the smallest trifle, but which really comes from your country, which will prove that you have thought of me; for it is not your gratitude I require, but your remembrance.'



Being much affected by these words, I pressed his hands and promised what he asked: 'Stop,' said he, 'we will go out together; I have sent your horses out of the town, the streets are narrow; it will be more convenient for you; and I shall spend the time in your company.' We proceeded slowly, and, in traversing the bazaar, I perceived that we were followed by his domestics, carrying large baskets of bread, which his nephew continued to fill as he passed the shops in the bazaar. Hadji-Hassan,' said I,' you have given us bread enough for our journey.' But this is not for you,' he replied. When we arrived out of town, we found our horses, and a large crowd of poor people who had followed us, and on whom we were about to bestow alms, when our host, raising his voice, Keep order,' said he, and do not ask these strangers for any thing; here is all the bread that could be found on sale to-day: it shall be distributed to you: join with me in praying for this friend, that God may protect him and his companions during his journey.'



Excellent man! He whom you have thus welcomed has returned to his family; he has received from his countrymen marks of respect which he was far from expecting; he is quite happy, but he still finds time to think of Hadji-Hassan, and to wish him all the happiness which his virtues deserve.


A young and beautiful Lady, deserted by her Husband, who went to India.

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There may be light he cannot see;

There may be lights that lure him on ;
Perchance more fair, more bright than me,-
Some roseate beam of the eastern sun.

Oh, blame him not, though he forsake
One who all forsook for him,-
One who dearest links could break,

To bind a link more dear with him.

No tongue may stain, may wound his name,
I could not blame one once so dear;
It may be, there's an inward shame

That yet shall claim his blush or tear.

Oh, blame him not, though he forget
The shrine where vows were plighted
It may be, he'll return, and yet
Be true to her he slighted.

But when will she then welcome him?
Grief o'er her beauty threw a gloom;
Her days of youth closed sad and dim,-
Oh let him weep o'er her green tomb!


The pensive beauty of her brow,
Is like the lights in southern seas,
Which shed around their death-like glow,
And dim the light of brightest eyes.

M. R. S.

I remember, in a tropical sea, these lights, called by mariners 'the complaisants,' visited our vessel after a gale. It was hideous to see the sailors' countenances in the beam of this strange visiting light.


THOU art not bright as is the Orient morn,
That, like a young bride, cometh from the East,
Beaming with gorgeous beauty-thou canst not
To universal nature give the hues

Of her rich loveliness-thou canst not yield
The gladdening freshness of the early dawn;
But yet thy lustre, soften'd and subdued,
Is not less beautiful-thy chasten'd light
Not less delicious-through the tuneful groves
The song of hymning birds is not less sweet,
Although the strain is not so full of life
As the wild bursting harmony of morn,
When the young warblers court the early sun,
And revel in his glorious beams; yet still
Their murmurs are most musical, and soothe
The wanderer with their pensive melody.
All things that in the mellow radiance rest,
Look soft and beautiful-this is the time
For lovers' vows, and this the thrilling hour,
When beauty, in the mazes of the dance,
Looks most voluptuous, and is most beloved.
And thus it is with man-he goeth forth
In life's gay morn, and feels a giant's strength
Stirring within him, and the earth is strewn
With fruits and flowers, luxurious to the eye,
That promise him delight. He wanders on-
His brightest visions perish-all things wear.
The sober hues of dull reality-

He finds he was a dreamer :-happy he,
Who, when the joys in which his spirit lived
Are dead within him-when the fire is quench'd
In which his youth had rioted, can find
Food for the restless and eternal soul,-
That, conscious of its powers, can slumber not,
Nor sink supine in joyless indolence,-
In more exalted paths, and presses on,
With quicken'd pace, to intellectual prime :
And now the shades are falling-all things wear
A dim and dusky aspect-and the moon
Will shortly walk in beauty through the sky.
The distant rocks and lakes of gleaming blue,
Beneath her silver beams, will shadow forth
The beauteous image of a fairy land,—
Proclaiming that the still and silent night
Is full of beauty.


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