The description of Mr. Kinnier in his Geographical Memoir of the Persian Empire,' though that of an eye-witness, is scarcely more happy in the nautical part, though it is not so unpardonable for military men to be ignorant of these matters, as for one whose titlepage announces the practical experience of seven voyages to India and China.' Mr. Kinnier fixes the longitude of Bushire at 55° 50′ W. The longitude being made W. instead of E. of Greenwich may be an error of the press; but the position of 55° 50', which is said to differ only two minutes from that of Mr. Bartholomew, is an error of 5° 00', at least, in excess of the truth, and E. of the common position assigned to it in all the late Charts. Even all this may be typographical, since greater mistakes are sometimes made in figures; but a passage follows which baffles all explanation. The outer roads, it is said, where ships of 300 tons burthen can alone anchor, are upwards of six miles from the town.'* The truth is that vessels of any description may anchor here, whether they be of 100, or 1000 tons, and it is difficult to conceive how it could be confined to those of 300. It was, no doubt, intended to be said, that all vessels of 300 tons and upwards are obliged to anchor there from there not being water enough for them inside. This, however, is a very different sense of the passage; but, though this is the best construction that can be given to it, it is still both inaccurate and indefinite. Vessels of 400 tons go into the inner harbour when fully laden, if they do not draw more than eighteen feet, and a ship now here of more than double 200 tons had come in by lightening to that draught of water, this being always the standard, and not a ship's burden or capacity. This, however, may be expected to be known to sailors only; but another unaccountable misconception follows close upon the heels of this which even a geographer ought to have been able to correct, as well as a navigaThe anchorage of the outer roads, says Mr. Kinnier, is tolerably good; but, during the fury of the N.W. winds, ships are frequently compelled to cut their cables and bear up for Karak! This island is precisely in the bearing of N.W. from Bushire, and in such a gale would be immediately in the wind's eye. It is the port of all others, therefore, which a ship could not reach at such a time, unless a vessel could be made to bear up, and stem a gale blowing in her very teeth. The errors of literary men, when they touch on nautical subjects, are often such as to make the most uninformed seamen smile,-as I have often had occasion to remark and the celebrated Bruce's discussion on the monsoons of India to illustrate Solomon's voyage, as well as his constant affectation of sea-terms misapplied in the Red Sea,-Mr. Browne, the African traveller's observations on Arab shipbuilding at Suez,some of Dr. Vincent's remarks on the voyage of Nearchus and the tor. * Kinnier's Memoir, p. 70, Periplus of the Indian Sea, and Mr. Kinnier's description of the evils of the anchorage at Bushire,-may be all cited as proofs of this assertion. It can hardly be deemed unfortunate, however, to be associated in such errors with the illustrious names that stand as the authors of them; and thus much may be said in extenuation, that, if literary men are liable to commit themselves when treating of nautical affairs, seamen are much more likely to fall into equal errors when entangled in literary doubts. The provisions procurable at Bushire are sufficiently cheap and abundant. Small bullocks, sheep, and goats, can be had in any quantity, and they are generally good. The fowls of the place are deservedly esteemed as the finest in the Gulf, and they are often taken to India as presents and to improve the breed of a domestic stock. Vegetables are neither in great plenty nor variety; but the common fruits of Persia are all to be procured in their season. The water near the town is brackish, and this is supplied to ships at some expense. The greater the distance at which the water is procured from the town, the purer and better it is; but the expense of obtaining it is consequently greater also. The commonest sort, however, is sufficiently wholesome; and, except to those who are never pure water-drinkers, neither of them requires the aid of limejuice, or of spirits, which Mr. Horsburgh recommends. In the bay of Halilah, at the back of Reshire Point, and to the S.E. of Bushire town, a ship may anchor, and obtain her water more expeditiously, at a cheaper rate, and of a better quality than at Bushire. This the ships of war sometimes do; but to merchant vessels it is often found too great an interruption of their business, in taking in or discharging cargo, and it is therefore more common to water at the island of Karak when they leave the port. The tides in the inner harbour of Bushire rise and fall about six feet perpendicularly at the springs, and in the outer roads about four feet; and it is high water on the full and change at 7h. 30 m. The variation of the compass is stated in most authorities to be 7° 10′ W.; but we never made it more than 6° 15′ W., by azimuths and amplitudes; and the allowance of half a point westerly is found sufficient for all courses in the navigation of the Gulf: as at Bussorah, and all the way from thence to India, the day tides are highest in the summer, or when the sun is north of the line, and the night tides highest in the winter, or when the sun is in the southern hemisphere; and this difference at the springs often amounts to half the whole rise. REBECCA.-A HEBREW MELODY. 'AND the damsel was very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had any man known her and she went down to the well, and filled her pitcher, and came up. : 'Twas eve ;-the last beams of the weary sun fell, The fairest of Mesopotamia's daughters. Genesis. To the brink, with his camels, the man of God came; In a fillet of white, was the stranger beguiling. Reclined her fair form on the slope of the mountain; He ask'd for a draught from the lip of the fountain. His look to the core of her heart was appealing. They sat, close communing, in rapturous sallies: She flew to the city-all breathless and gasping; An earlet of gold 'midst her ringlets was playing; She show'd the bright bracelets, her taper wrists clasping; The virgins of Nahor, now pensive and lone, Stand, and wonder how love from her clime could estrange her: Rebecca, the pride of their mountains, is gone, The lovely young bride of the wandering stranger. ST. CLARE. THE REAL STATE OF GREECE. [THE following article has been furnished us by a gentleman whose views do not exactly accord with our own on the subject on which he writes; but, as we have no reason to doubt the sincerity of his opinion, we comply with his request in giving it a place in our pages—after this explanation.] MUCH as has been written on the actual state of Greece, few general readers are even yet well acquainted with the true condition of that unfortunate country. Now that we have struck a blow, and a severe blow too, in her defence, a glimpse at the real state of Greece' may prove interesting and useful, we say useful, because from a correct knowledge of her true situation her friends, and they, we trust, are many, will be better able to assist her in the struggle in which she must now be inevitably and critically involved. In the following remarks we shall speak freely, candidly, and impartially. There is no necessity to conceal the truth, when the truth ought to be spoken; and, in bringing the more pleasing and lively colours into the foreground, and in throwing a veil over the darker and more prominent shades, we should only delude our own judgment, and mislead that of our readers, as to the actual merits of the question. We wish to show Greece just as Greece now is, and just as she was before her people embarked in the late revolution. Though we may tell some unpleasant truths, yet our object in stating the case plainly, is to enable the real friends of Greece, those, we mean, who wish, and will exert themselves heart and hand, to save her to perceive at once in what manner they best can do so, by directing their energies effectually. Greece is a country intimately and dearly intermingled with the best and holiest feelings of our heart; and her heroes and her sages afford the loftiest and purest models of all that is good and great in character: "The isles of Greece! The isles of Greece ! Eternal summer gilds them yet But all-except their sun-is set!' But, were this not the case, were Greece no object of delightful retrospection, the bare circumstance of her enthralment ought to rouse the indignation, and call forth the sympathy and assistance, of every lover of liberty-of every free, honest, independent man. Many,' says Thucydides, in a passage remarkable for its eloquence and truth, many have wondered at all this stirring sympathy in a nation's interest; for, in every noble mind, it has invariably been found more powerful than the common sympathy of fellow-man towards fellow-man. us; It cannot be that individual sympathy is increased by the aggregate numbers which compose a state, because these individually, if they were not so united, would, in many instances, remain unknown to so that such a feeling could then have no existence, or be, at most, but casual and enfeebled. It is because they are a community, a kind of living and active agent, that they claim an interest in our feelings. Their conduct and actions, as a portion of the civilised world, as a portion, in fact, of ourselves, are the circumstances which exalt and depress our feelings towards them. Hence, we have always seen, that, in proportion as a people have immortalised themselves, and brought all their institutions to the highest perfection, our admiration has been the more fervent while they were in their glory, our sympathy and regret the more potent in their downfall and adversity. Nay, even for ages after their splendour hath passed away, have we continued the fond remembrance of what they once were; and many there are who have mourned over the tomb of nations, as a mother mourns over the urn which contains the ashes of her only child.' Such are the reflections of this illustrious Grecian; and little did he dream when he wrote them, that a day would come when his own land, then the 'fairest of the fair, and bravest of the brave,' would afford so true and mournful an example of their justness. But so it is; and Greece, the birth-place of so many brave and learned men, has fallen from her high estate,' and long years of rapine and oppression have desolated her plains, since he wrote, and gloried in her pride. Yet, amidst all the vacillations of her fortune, amidst all her misery and suffering, she has not wanted sympathy; nor has she ever lost that hold on the minds of men, which her might, her fame, and her greatness had secured to her in her better days. The brilliant ages of Homer, Euripides, Æschylus, Pindar, and Anacreon, have been swept away by time, and now lie buried in the grave of other years. Demosthenes, Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates, have mingled their dust with the dust of Greece, and their bones have long since mouldered into earth; but the hills and groves amidst which these bright immortals wandered, still remain. Thermopyla is still embosomed among her mountains, and the ear still listens to the waves which dash against the rocks of Salamis. The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea. But the blood which Freedom poured forth as a libation was no longer there, and for centuries it had never throbbed in the hearts of modern Greeks.' Yet, though the moving, living, acting, and animal part of ancient Greece had thus departed, her spirit still hovered over the land, and wafted her fame to those regions which have in modern times risen to a proud pre-eminence, possessed by herself in the zenith of her renown and glory. The idolatry which |