be sure, under British influence and protection. Ionia was ceded to England by the treaty of Paris in 1815, and was thus rescued from the domination of Russia. The internal organization is regulated by a Parliament, consisting of a High Commissioner, a Senate, and a Legislative Assembly. The Commissioner, like our President, has a veto and is the executive, having under his control the police and foreign relations. He is represented by a President in each island, who stands in the relation of our Governors to our States. The Senate is elective. The four larger isles, Corfu, Zante, Cephalonia and St. Maura, send one member each. The lower house is elective, and consists of forty members, and meets every second year. These isles of the Adriatic are prospering under this form of government. The care of Great Britain is tutelage to their inexperience. The Grecia mendax is as common here as in other parts of Attica, unfitting, by its corrupt influence, the people from exercising in its purity the suffrages of honest freemen. Indeed, in Greece itself, where universal suffrage obtains, the government never fails to triumph, by means of false boxes for ballots and other fraudulent contrivances. Hence the Russian party is always dominant. The Liberal party must first reform the morals of the mass, so that they can feel an outrage upon their rights, and then they may be able to vindicate them. Shade of Demosthenes! If you could only fulminate over Greece, and awake the consciences of your degenerate countrymen, then Hope, winged like the image of Victory on the Acropolis, might visit each sacred haunt to revivify the glories of the past.

At Zante, there are three forts very strong and extensive. Several regiments are stationed here, to which belong our two Captain-companions. They were of our party, when the Nubian slave rattanned our firman, and drove us away from the mosque of St. Sophia, in Constantinople. Our ignoble retreat before a negro was a bond of sympathy which has united us ever since. The retreat of the ten thousand under Xenophon was nothing to

ours.

What was worse, we could not "knock the negro down," without danger of instant death in a Moslem mob.

Our captains sent their pleasure-boat for us, and escorted us around the forts, barracks, and esplanade, which make Corfu at once as formidable as it is beautiful. The isles of olive surrounding the harbor break the roughness of the sea, and give to the prospect a lake-appearance encircled by lofty hills. The coasts of Albania shut in the circle with their gateways of rock. The regiment of the Captains is the immortal 47th, celebrated by Harry Lorrequer, and was formerly that of General Wolfe. They stormed the heights of Abraham, and (what was better) were prisoners in Boston during the Revolution. The same plate and other appendages of the regiment have descended to the present "Mess." The Mess is a quasi incorporation, and holds. some thousands of pounds worth of interesting relics. We shall never forget the cordial civility of these officers of the 47th. May they always be victorious, except when Uncle Sam is their enemy! Their courtesy did not end in showing us the Lord High Commissioner's palace, or the splendid intrenchments and forts. We found on our return a basket of fruitage, which could not have grown in any other isle than this, which rejoiced in the ancient gardens of Alcinous. Oranges large enough for cantelopes, bright and golden, with the green leaves and twigs still about them. Plums, purple outside, and sanguine within; cherries black as they were glossy; citrons losing their green in the silvery yellow; apples whose scarlet would put to blush our best horticulture, and mellow as the plums; apricots plump in their mealy lusciousness; figs fresh, and bursting their seams to show the glistening white and red that wooed the tooth; and by no means last or least, large peaches, emulating the color while rivalling the size of our red-cheeked melekatoons (spell it better if you can!)—all these on the first of July, and after we have exhausted the grape season of Smyrna. I would not omit the almonds, pears, and melons, so common I forgot them. tives here, the year round, live on fruits and wine; and keep

The na

good health the mean time. Our health is by no means so bad, but that the above basket will vanish before we "tread water” in the limpid streets of Venice.

66

Before our steamer began to pant away from Corfu, our kind friends sailed by, on their way to Albania, boar-shooting; and stopped to say "good-bye." The last word of the gallant Captain Lowry, an Irishman by the way, was : Mrs. Cdon't forget to go to Killarney!" and as his boat careered away, there was borne on the breeze the words "No more Mahometan niggers! ha ! ha ! ha !"

now

How kindly and warmly the words of friendship and courtesy fall upon the ear of the pilgrim. Not more musically sweet murmurs the fountain which shakes its loosened silver in the sun,' than the voice of a kindred spirit, in a far-off country beyond the sea. To hear a warm-hearted Englishman quote Longfellow with pride, and repeat Chatham's eloquent appeal for America with enthusiasm, were enough to banish 'squint suspicion,' and bid us hail him as our elder brother, had we no substantial evidence of genuine hospitality. If every English captain is as near like Sir Calidore in courtesy as Captain Fordyce or Lowry of the 47th, the army of England is nobly officered.

A fine veil of gossamer begins to invest the receding isles. We leave them in their unclouded canopy. But our memory of them-sweet is the balm which preserves it, as a sacred relic in life's pilgrimage. We leave them with tearful regret, clad as of yore in their azure vesture. Thus have they ever been; what Homer saw of them, they seemed to Byron; what Anacreon beheld in them, Shelley rejoiced to see. What Creation's dawn beheld, this day we see-enriched by the spoils of time and the associations of renown. Sleep on bright isles of Greece! Eternal summer gilds your sea; and ye sleep so tranquil under a sky

"So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God is to be seen in Heaven."

We expected by this time to have been 'within thy gates, O Jerusalem.' But we learned at Athens that no steamer left for Joppa until the 25th of July. Too late that; for the Syrian sun has already all the heat, without the pleasure of a Turkish bath. To have been within ten days of the city which 'sits solitary'-the fulfilment of all prophecy; to have sailed within three days of the excellency and glory of the cedars of Lebanon; and not to have seen them, will it not be forever a drawback upon our retrospect? But suppose we had been in Zion, and surmounted Olivet, where David and a Greater than David went up sorrowfully; how could we have left Palestine without visiting the most beautiful of all cities-Damascus. Could we have had the continency of Mahomet and turned away from it as he did, saying, 'one Paradise is all that is allotted to man. I will take mine in the other world!' We fear not. But regrets are useless. Our face is set as a flint, no longer Zionward. The Adriatic is ploughed by our keel. As we turn homeward, the heart throbs more warmly; and when we are again in our native valley, we shall dwell in much content there, grateful to God if He shall permit us yet a few more years with our friends, and a resting spot at last amid our own Muskingum hills.

WE

XX.

The City of the Sea.

Una Italum regina, altæ pulcherrimæ Romæ,

Æmula, quæ terris, quæ dominaris aquis.

O decus! O lux Ausoniæ!

E are in Venice. For more than a week we have been tossing on the waters of the Mediterranean, straining in every plank to reach this point of the Adriatic. The isles, have passed like unrealities before the mind; the East, with its many-shaped and colored costumes and scenery, has come and gone, leaving but its memory in dreamy outline floating in the soul. The unreality has not yet ceased; for we are again in the midst of wonders, not the least among which is the watery street that plays against our door, and the grotesque and unique architecture which is overlooked by the tower of St. Mark's.

Yesterday (Sunday) we arrived at Trieste, the only Austrian port of any consequence. It is remarkably clean, and handsomely built, at the head of the Adriatic. The streets are finely paved, and the promenades, green and enticing, lie along the harbor in grateful umbrage. It reminded us of New-York, except that each street was a Broadway in the regularity of the tall stone houses and solid paves. We drove about the city. On every side are groups and crowds of people in their Sunday best, laughing and listening to the music. The cafés are all thronged with eaters of ices and drinkers of wine. Our ride extended down between the two lofty hills, within whose scoop the city lies. We found a splendid café upon the side hill, with walks under oak groves winding up to the summit, and all