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And full of sentiments, sublime as billows
I Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,

Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
, Arrived, retired to his; but to despond
Rather than rest. • Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond
Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

The night was as before: he was undrest.
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress;

Completely "sans eulotte," and without vest;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less:

But apprehensive of his spectral guest.
He sate with feelings awkward to express

(By those who have not had such visitations),

Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations.


And not in vain he listen'd j — Hush! what's that?

I see — I see — Ah, no! —'tis not—yet'tis — Ye powers 1 it is the—the—the — Pooh: the cat! The devil may take that stealthy pace of his: I So like a spiritual pit-a-pat, lj Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,

Gliding the first time to a rendezvous, | And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.


Again—what is't? The wind?, — this time I

It is the sable Friar as before.
With awful footsteps regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more. Again through shadows of the night sublime,

When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore The starry darkness round her like a girdle Spangled with gems —the monk made his blood curdle. CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass, ■

Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,

Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,
Sounding like very supernatural water,

Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas!
For immaterialism's a serious matter;

So that even those whose faith is the most great

In souls immortal, shun them tete-a-tete.


Were his eyes open » —Yes! and his mouth too.

Surprise has this effect — to make one dumb, Y'et leave the gate which eloquence slips through

As wide as if a long speech were to come. Jiigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew,

Tremendous to a mortal tympanum: His eyes were open, and (as was before Stated) his mouth. What open'd next ? — the door. CXVI.

It open'd with a most infernal creak,

Like that of hell. "Lasclate ogni iperanza

Vol ch' entrate!" The hinge seemed to speak,
Dreadful as Dante's rhima, or this stanza;

Or — but all words upon such themes are weak:
A single shade's sufficient to entrance a

Hero — for what is substance to a spirit?

Or how is't matter trembles to come near it?

1 See the account of the ghost of the uncle of Trincc i , Charles of Saxony, raited by Schrocpfer— *• Karl—Karl— 1 I was wollst du mit mlcti 'i"


The door flew wide, not swiftly, — but, as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight —

And then swung back; nor close — but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light.

Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high.
For he had two, both tolerably bright.

And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood

The sable Friar in his solemn hood.


Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but being sick of shaking.

He first inclined to think he had been mistaken;
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking;

His own internal ghost began to awaken

Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking —

Hinting that soul and body on the whole

Were odds against a disembodied souL

And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce.
And he arose, advanced—the shade retreated;

But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,

Follow'd, his veins no longer cold, but heated.

Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce.
At whatsoever risk of being defeated:

The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until

He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.


Juan put forth one arm — Eternal powers!

It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers,

Chcquer'd with all the tracery of the hall;
He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers

When he can't tell what't is that doth appal. How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity Should cause more fear than a whole host's identitj:


But still the shade remain'd: the blue eyes glared.

And rather variably for stony death;
Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared.

The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath ■
A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair "d;

A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath.
Glcam'd forth, as through the casement's Ivy shroud
The moon pecp'd, just escaped from a grey clou>L


And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust
His other arm forth —Wonder upon wonder:

It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust.

Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.

He found, as people on most trials must.
That he had made at first a silly blunder.

And that in his confusion lie had caught

Only the wall, instead of what he sought


The ghost, if ghost it were, sccru'd s sweet soul

As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood: A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole

Forth into something much like flesh and blood; Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl.

And they rcveal'd — alas ! that e'er they shooli: In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, The phantom of her frolic Grace — Fitz-Fulke:

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Note [A]. —Battle Ok Talavera. Sec p. 9,

To feed the crow on Talavera $ plain.

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain."

Stanza xlf.

We think it right to restore here a note which Lord Byron himself suppressed with reluctance, at the urgent request of u friend. It alludes, inter alia, to the then recent publication of Sir Walter Scotts ** Vision of Don Roderick," ot which work the profits had been handsomely given to the cause of Portuguese patriotism:—*' We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lately, and their gallantry. Pray Heaven It continue! j yet* would it were bed-time, Hal, and all were well!' They must fight a great many hours, by ' Shrewsbury clock/ before Uie number of their slain equals that of our countrymen butchered by these kind creatures, now metamorphosed into * cac,adores,* and what not I merely state a fact, not confined to Portugal; for in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished I Tho neglect of protection is disgraceful to our government and governors ; for the murders arc as notorious as the moon that shines upon them, and the apathy that overlooks them. Tho Portuguese, it is to be hoped, are complimented with Uie 'Forlorn Hope,'—if the cowards are become brave (like the rest of their kind, in a corner), pray let them display it. But there is a subscription for these * 3-{«#v-3u>.«,' (they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the Spartans); and all the charitable patronymics, from ostentatious A. to diffident Z., and 1/. Is. Off*, from * An admirer of Valour,' arc in requisition for the lists at Lloyd's, and the honour of British benevolence. Well I we have fought, and subscribed, and it*-stowed peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes; and, lo ! all this is to be done over again I Like Lien Chi (in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World) as we ' grow older, we grow never the better.' It would bo pleasant to learn who will subscribe for us, in or about the year 1815, and what nation will send fifty thousand men, first to be decimated in the capital, and then decimated again (In the Irish fashion, nine out of ten) lu the * bed of honour ;' which, as Serjeant Kite says, Is considerably larger and more commodious than 'the bed of Ware.' Then they must have a poet to write the * Vision of Don Perceval,' and generously bestow the profits of the well and widely printed quarto, to rebuild the ' Backwyml' and the ' Canongatc,' or furnish new kilts for the half-roasted Highlanders. Lord Wellington, however, has enacted marvels; and so did his oriental brother, whom I saw charioteering over the French flag, and heard clipping bad Spanish, after listening to the speech of a patriotic cobbler of Cadis, on tho event of his own entry into that city, and the exit of some five thousand bold Britons out of this ' best of all possible worlds.' Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of Talavera ; and a victory it surely was somewhere, for everybody claimed It. The Spanish despatch and mob called It Cuesta's, and made no great mention of the Viscount; the French called it theirs (to my great discomfiture— for a French consul stopped my mouth In Greece

with a pestilent Paris Gazette, just ai I had killed Sebastian a • in buckram,' and King Joseph ' In Kendal green') —and we have not yet determined what to call It, or whose; for, certcs, it was none of our own. Howbeit, Masscna's retreat is a great comfort; and as we have not been in the habit of pursuing for some years past, no wonder we are a little awkward at first. S'o doubt we shall improve ; or, if not, we have only to take to our old way of retrograding, and there we are at home."


Note [A]. —Removal Of The Wores Of Art From Athens. See p. 17.

** But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast.

To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared"

Stanza xii.

At this moment (Januarys, 1810), besides what has been already deposited in London, an Hydriot vessel Is fn the Pyra?us to receive every portable relic. Thus, as 1 heard a young Greek observe, in common with many of his countrymen— for, lost as they are, they yet feel on this occasion — thus may Lord Elgin boast of having ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first eminence, named Lusieri, Is the agent of devastation; and like the Greek finder of Verres in | Sicily, who followed the same profession, he has proved the I able instrument of plunder. Between this artist and the I French Consul Fauvcl, who wishes to rescue the remains | for his own government, there Is now a violent dispute concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel of which — I wish they were both broken upon It! — has been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint before the Waywode. Lord Elgin has been extremely happy In his choice of Signor Lusieri. During a residence of ten years in Athens, he never had £he curiosity to proceed as far as Sunium (now Cape Colonna), till he accompanied us in our second excursion. However, his works, as far as they go, are most beautiful: but they arc almost all unfinished. While he and his patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little absurdities are as harmless as Insect or fox-hunting, maiden speechifying, barouche-driving or any such pastime ; but when they carry aw ay three or four shiploads of the most valuable and massy relics that time and barbarism have left to the most injured and most celebrated of cities; when they destroy, in a vain attempt to tear down those works which have been the admiration of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name which can designate the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. It was not the lea»t of the crimes laid to the charge of Verres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the manner since Imitated at Athens. The moat unblushing impudence could hardly go farther than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of the Acropolis; while the wanton and useless defacement of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in one compartment of the temple, will never permit that naino to be pronounced by au observer without execration.

On this occasion 1 speak impartially: I am not a collector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival; but 1 have some early prepossession in favour of Greece, and do not think the honour of England advanced by plunder, w hether of India or Attica.

Another noble Lord has done better, because he has done less : but some others, more or less noble, yet "all honourable men," have done best, because, after a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to the Waywodc, mining and countermining, they have done nothing at all. We had such ink shed, and wine shed, which almost ended in bloodshed! Lord K.'s " prig" — see Jonathan Wild for the definition of "priggism" — quarrell'd with another, Gropius1 by name (a very good name too for his business), and muttered something about satisfaction, in a verbal answer to a note of the poor Prussian: this was stated at table to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. The rivals were not reconciled when 1 left Greece. 1 have reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to make me their arbitrator.

Note [B],—Albania And The Albanians.
See p. 20.

"Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men!"

Stanza xxxvii.

Albania composes part of Macedonia, Illy ria, Chaonia,and Epirus. lskander is the Turkish word for Alexander ; and the celebrated Scanderbeg (Lord Alexander) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I do not know* whether I am correct In making Scanderbeg the countryman of Alexander, who was born at Fella in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon terms* him so, and adds Pyrrhui to the list, In speaking of his exploits.

Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a country " within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of America." Circumstances, of little consequence to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country before we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions ; and with the exception of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as thai gentleman very lately assured me. All Pacha was at that time (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strong fortress, which he was then besieging; on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness'* birthplace, and favourite Serai, only one day's distance from Berat ; at this juncture the Vizier had made it his head-quarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly followed ; but though furnished with every accommodation, and escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we were nine days (on account of the rains) in accomplishing a Journey which, on our return, barely occupied four. On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Llbochabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina in size; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier village of Epirus and Albania Proper.

On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably precede this in publication, that I as little wisn to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some few observations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, In dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white; the spare, active form ; their dialect, Celtic in Its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes neither. Their habits are predatory— all are

1 This Sr. Groplns vu employed be • noble Lord for the sole purpose of iketchme, in which he excels; but I am sorry to My, that he bu, through the abused sanction of that most respectable name, been trending at humble distance In the steps of Sr. I.usu-ri. — A shipfut of hit trophies wax detained, and I belie** confiscated, at Constantinople, in IK10. f »m mOM happi to be now enabled to state, that " tins was not In his bond j" that he wa* employed solely as a painter, and that hit noble patron disavows all

armed ; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Chimarlots, and Gegdes are treacherous; the others differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in character. As far as my own experience goes, I can ipeak favourably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople and every other part of Turkey which came within my observation; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service, are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius, the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri; the former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basilius was strictly charged by AH Pacha in person to attend u*; and Dervish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of Achelous, and onward to Messalonghi in JEtolia. There 1 took him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till the moment of my departure.

When, in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. Hobhouse for England, I was seized with a sever* fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if 1 wa* net cured within a given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Rotnanell's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I bad left my last remaining English servant at Athens ; my dragoman wa> as ill as myself, and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have done honour to civilisation. They had a variety of adventures ; for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man, was always squabbling with tic husbands of Athens'; insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance at the Convent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from the bath — whom he had lawfully bought, however — a thing quite contrary to etiquette. Basilius also was extremely gallant amongst his osm persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, whom he cuffed upon occasion In a most heterodox manner. Yet be never passed a church without crossing himself; and I remember the risk he ran In entering St. Sophia, in Stambol. because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered, " Our church is holy, our priests are thieves;'' and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first "papas" who refused to assist in any required operation, as was always found to be necessary where a prie*t had any influence with the Cogia Bash! of his village. Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the Greek clergy.

When preparations were made for my return, my t were summoned to receive their pay. Basilius took an awkward show of regTet at my intended < marched away to his quarters with his bag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for some time he was not to be found; at last he entered, just as Signor Logotheti, father to the cidevant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaintances, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sudden dashed it to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly. From that moment to the boar of my embarkation, he continued his lamentations, and aft our efforts to console him only produced this answer, ** M* *»*.-**>.'' "He leaves me." Signor Logotheti, who never wept before for anything less than the loss of a para (about the fourth of a farthing), melted ; the padre of the convent, my attendants my visitors — and I verily believe that even Sterne's ** foolish fat scullion " would have left her " fish-kettle " to sympathb* with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of this t

For my own part, when I remember* before my departure from England, a noble and mo. associate had excused himself from taking leave of me became he had to attend a relation " to a milliner's/' I fail a* las

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i surprised than humiliated by the present occurrence and the j past recollection. That Dervish would leave me with some I regret was to be expected; when master and man have been scrambling over the mountains or a dozen provinces together, they are unwilling to separate; but his present feelings, contrasted with his native ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart. 1 believe this almost feudal fidelity Is frequent amongst them. One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my service gave him a push in some dispute about the baggage, which he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, but sat down leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, which produced the following answer: —" 1 have been a robber ; I am a soldier; no captain ever struck me ; you are my master, 1 have eaten your bread, but by Mat bread ! (an usual oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog your servant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day forward he never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow who insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of hi* country, conjectured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic: be that as it may. It is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very distinct from the stupid Uomnika, the dull round-about of the Greeks, of which our Athenian party had so many specimens.

The Albanians In general (I do not mean the cultivators of the earth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance; and the most beautiful women I ever beheld, in stature and In features, we saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents between Delvinachl and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is truly theatrical; but this strut Is probably the effect of the capote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory warfare is unquestionable. Though they have some cavalry amongst the Gegdes. I never saw a good Arnaout horseman; my own preferred the Englirh saddles, which, however, they could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue.

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The last stanza would puzzle a commentator: the men have certainly buskins of the most beautiful texture, "but the ladies (to whom the above is supposed to be addressed) have nothing under their little yellow boots and slippers but a well-turned and sometimes very white ankle. 1'he Arnaout girls are much handsomer than the Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They preserve their shape much longer also, from being always in the open air. It Is to be observed, that the Arnaout is not a written language: the words of this song, therefore, as well as the one which follows, are spelt according to their pronunciation. They are copied by one who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens.

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G. Utarapisa vaisisso me slmi 6.1 have loved thee, maid, with

rln ti hapti asinceresoul.but thou hast

Etl ml hire a piste si gui left me like a withered

dendroi tiltatl. tree.

7. Udi vura udorini udiri ci- 7. If I have placed mv hand on cova cllti mora thy bosom, what have I

Udorini taltl hollna u ede gained? my hand is withcalmoni mora. drawn, but retains the


I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a different measure, ought to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to the thought in the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose arm having come in contact with one of his " wrtxehxtet" Critobulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touching them.

Note [D] Thoughts On The Present State Of

Greece. Sec p. 25.

"Fair Greece.' sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more; though/alien, great!"

Stanza lxxlii.


Before I say anything about a city of which everybody, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to say something, I will request Miss Owenson, when she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to somebody more of a gentleman than a "Dtsdar Aga" (who by the by is not an Aga), the most impolite of petty officers, the greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw (except Lord E.), and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres (eight pounds sterling), out of which he has only to pay Mb garrison, the most ill-regulated corps In the 111. regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak It tenderly, seeing I was once the cause of the husband of" Ida of Athens " nearly suffering the bastinado; and because the said " Dtsdar " Is a turbulent husband, and beats his wife; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf of" Ida." Having premised thus much, on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to mention her birthplace.

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Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those associations which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens would render it the favourite of all who have eyes for art or nature. The climate, to me at least, appeared a perpetual spring; during eight months I never passed a day without being as many hours on horseback: rain is extremely rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, 1 perceived no such superiority of climate to our own ; and at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, and part of July (1810), you might " damn the climate, 1 and complain of spleen," five days out of seven. 1 The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the moment you pass the isthmus in the direction of Megara the I change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in his description of a Boeotian winter.

We found at Livadia an *' esprit fort" in a Greek bishop, of all freethinkers! This worthy hypocrite rallied his own religion with great intrepidity (but not before his flock), and talked of a mass as a "coglioncria." It was impossible to think better of him for this; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. This phenomenon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the remains of Chaeronca, the plain of Platea, Orchomcnus-, Livadia, and its nominal cave of ] Trophonlus) was the only remarkable thing we saw before ! we passed Mount Cithseron.

The fountain of Oirce turns a mill: at least my companion (who resolving to be at once cleanly and classical, bathed in 'it) pronounced it to be the fountain of Dirce, and anybody j who thinks it worth while may contradict him. At Castri [ we drank of half a dozen streamlets, some not of the purest, 'before we decided to our satisfaction which was the true I Castalian, and even that had a villanous twang, probably I j from tnc snow, though it did not throw us into an epic fever, '' like poor Dr. Chandler.

I From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the Plain of Athens, Pentellcus, Hymettus, the JEgean, and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at once; in my opinion, a

I more glorious prospect than even Cintra or Istarabol. Not the view from the Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the

j more distant Mount Athos, can equal it, though so superior In extent.

I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but excepting the view from the monastery of Megaspellon (which is inferior to Zitza in a command of country), and the descent from the mountains on the way from Tripolitza to Argos, Arcadia has little to recommend it beyond the name.

I "Sternitur, et dulccs moriens rcminiscitur Argos."

Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none but an I Argive, and (with reverence be it spoken) it does not deserve ! the epithet. And if the Polyniccs of Statius, " In mcdiis audit duo litora campfs," did actually hear both shores in crossing the isthmus ot Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a journey since.

"Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is still the most polished city of Greece." Perhaps it may of Oreece, j but not of the Greeks; for Joannina hi Epirus is universally allowed, amongst themselves, to be superior In the wealth, refinement, learning, and dialect of its inhabitants. The [ Athenians arc remarkable for their cunning; and the lower orders are not Improperly characterised in that proverb, ! which classes them with "the Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the NegTopont."

Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, Ac, there was never a difference of opinion in their estimate of the Greek character, ! though on all other topics they disputed with great acrimony.

M. Fauvcl, the French Consul, who lias passed thirty years principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an artist, and manners as a gentleman, none who have known him can ■ refuse thei r testimony, has frequently declared In my hearing 'that the Greeks do not deserve to be emancipated; reasoning

on the grounds of their "national and individual depravity I** while he forgot that such depravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be removed by the measure he reprobates.

M. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled in Athens, asserted with the most amusing gravity, ** Sir, they are the same canaille that existed m the days qf TAesmk j tociest" an alarming remark to the '* Laudator temporis acti." The ancients banished Thcmistocles; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque: thus great men have ever been 1 treated 1

In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of the Englishmen, Germans, Danes, &c. of postage, come over by degrees to their opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in England would condemn the nation by wholesale, because he was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by his washerwoman.

Certainly it was not a little staggering when the Sieurs Fauvel and Lusicri, the two greatest demagogues of the day, who divide between them the power of Pericles and the popularity of CI eon, and puzzle the poor Waywode with perpetual differences, agreed In the utter condemnation. "nulla virtute redemptum," of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular.

For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazard it, knowing as 1 do that there be now in MS. no less than fire tour* of the first magnitude and of the most threatening aspect, all in typographical array, by persons of wit and honour, and regular common-place books: but, if I may say this without offence. It seems to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, as almost everybody has declared, that the Greeks, because they are very bad, will never be better.

Eton and Sonnlnt have led us astray by their panegyrics and projects ; but, on theother hand, Dc Pauw and Thornton have debased the Greeks beyond their demerits.

The Greeks will never be independent; they will never be sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid they ever should: but they may be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies are not independent, but they are free and industrious, and such may Greece be hereafter.

At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews throughout the world, and such other cudgelled and heterodox people, thej* suffer all the moral and physical Ills that can afflict humanity. Their life Is a struggle against truth; they are vicious In their own defence. They are so unoseal to kindness, that when they occasionally meet with it they look upon it with suspicion, as a dog often beaten snaps at your fingers if you attempt to caress him. "They are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungrateful t ** —this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis! for what are they to be grateful? Where is the human being that ever conferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks? They are tn be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to the Franks for their broken promises and lying counsels. Tbey ore to be grateful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary who carries them away; to the traveller whose janissary flogs them, and to the scribbler whose journal abuses them! This is the amount of their obligations to foreigners.

Franciscan Convent, At&cns, January S3. 1*11.

Amongst the remnants of the barbarous policy of the earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist m different countries; whose inhabitants, however divided ia religion and manners, almost all agree in oppression.

The English have at last compassionated their nrs-ro**, and, under a less bigoted government, may probably one day release their Catholic brethren: but the interposition of foreigners alone can emancipate the Greeks, who. otSerwiw. appear to have as small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as the Jews have from mankind in general.

Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough ; a! least the younger men of Europe devote much of their txase t» J the study of the Greek writers and history, which would be

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