fatal to belated travellers. We started about nine for our homeward gallop of nearly twenty miles. It was wild work, bursting through the underwood, in the doubtful moonlight, among those pathless rocks; yet our fair charge was ever first, and never drew her rein until the lances of a patrol, and at the same time the pleasant fire of a khan induced a halt. As soon as the officer of the patrol understood we were English, he said it was all right. In any other people, such a mode and hour of travelling might excite surprise; but everything is conceded to, because everything is claimed by Englishmen.

The next morning, at breakfast, the only members of the party who made their appearance were the lady and myself; all the rest were more or less affected by the forest fever.

I will not dwell upon the yachtings, pic-nics, and mountain scrambles, by which we became familiar with all the varied and beautiful scenery of either shore. Time sped on, and we all assembled at a farewell breakfast; for Sand I were to sail that night for the Archipelago. Some complimentary regrets were expressed, which led to discussion as to why any one should remain behind. The conversation terminated in a resolution that the exodus should be universal; and forthwith, to the amazement and confusion of dragomans and lacquais de places, orders were issued for immediate embarkation. Passports were to be procured from the embassy, damp linen from the wash, half-made clothes from the tailor's, money from the bankers'. It was all done in time; and at four o'clock I had the satisfaction of seeing the whole party assembled on board the Maria Christiana

steamer.

We spread cloaks and cushions, and established a divan upon the deck: our pipes and nargilehs fumed and bubbled fragrantly and musically, and we floated as merrily over the Sea of Mar mora as the evening before we had glided along the Bosphorus, and made plans for future excursions in the scenes we had now left for ever.

The Hellespont looked much better by moonlight than when I past it last, though a stiff breeze was blowing as we dashed along the rapid current.

"The winds are high on Helle's wave,

As on that night of stormy water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save

The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter."

The Grecian States of old and the modern Greek empire were assaulted from these shores; millions have crossed, and thousands, perhaps, have perished, in this stream; yet Leander's daring and Leander's death monopolize all the interest that the steamer's rapid transit gives one time to bestow upon the Dardanelles.

There are strong forts here that contain guns of enormous calibre: one is said to require upwards of three hundred pounds of powder for each discharge :* the shot consists of enormous stones of basalt, brought from the Black Sea. Certain it is that this ar tillery is very terrible where it takes effect, but it is not adapted for shooting woodcocks or steamers.

*Baron de Tott.

CHAPTER XIX.

GREECE.

What must have been thy nature, oh Greece! when, marvellous lovely As it is now, it is only the tomb of an ancient existence?

R. M. MILNES.

On the morning after sailing from Constantinople we found ourselves off the plains of Troy; whence we ran along the coast of Tenedos, and touched at the pretty little town of Mitylene. Thence we coasted by Scio, and, entering the Gulph of Smyrna, cast anchor off the town, forty hours after leaving the Golden Horn.

The beauty of "Infidel Ismir," as Smyrna is called by the Turks, has been much vaunted, yet scarcely realizes one's expectations of old Ionian loveliness. The scenery around the Gulph is wild, and wide, and mountainous; softening a little as it ap proaches the city, and becomes interspersed with the gardens and villas of the wealthy merchants. Smyrna itself is a comm ›nplace, Turkish town, with dirty, narrow streets, and melancholy. looking bazaars. I had little opportunity of judging of the women's celebrated beauty, as we only remained here during the noontide hours, when all the fairer part of the human creation were carefully hiding themselves from the scorching sun.

On a hill commanding the city are some fine ruins, and the remains of an early Christian church. We are sometimes accustomed to think of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor as of so many distinct edifices, visible, and tangible; and many a traveller who would smile at being asked to describe the shape of the Church of England, or Ireland, or Scotland, has gone eagerly in search of each seventh part of Asiatic Christendom. Tradition consecrates Smyrna as the place where Polycarp suffered mar

tyrdom; man and nature have well avenged him ever since upon the Smyrniotes. Earthquakes, plagues, and Turks have done their worst to this devoted city, but the elastic energies of commerce have still sustained it in its troubles, and triumphed over pestilence and persecution. The English almost monopolize the fruit trade, the French devote themselves to cotton, and the Dutch, who formerly held the principal commerce in their own hands, have now scarcely a representative.

The heat of the climate here is moderated daily by a fresh sea-breeze, that blows without intermission from noon till sunset, at which time we sailed. The next day found us in the Grecian Archipelago, with Delos, Tenos, and Syra lying round us. We cast anchor in the harbour of the latter towards evening, and landed on a rocky promontory opposite the town.

Here we were to perform European quarantine, and our prison looked dismal enough as the stormy evening set in, and the wind howled round the naked walls and desolated rocks of our dwelling. But the next morning brought sunshine and cheerfulness; our rooms were furnished, our books, &c. were unpacked, guar, dianos were assigned us, and the British Consul kindly sent us a file of newspapers.

We had three apartments, each of which had a sort of verandah in front, looking out upon the sea; we called these the "barracks," "the hareem," and "the monastery;" the latter was mine alone, but in consideration of that privilege, it was also the refectory, and we fitted up a sort of divan in the verandah, wherein the lady's nargileh, or the masculine chibouque, were generally sending up their incense. Our guardianos were three hideous, little, old men, with unpronounceable Romaic names, so we named them after the Graces, and they soon answered readily to the appellations of Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne! By many other such devices did we seek to render our lives classical, but they were not very successful; facts were strongly against us, and a fortnight's imprisonment was an unfortunate introduction to the

"Clime of the unforgotten brave

Whose land from plain to mountain cave
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave."

The climate, however, is delightful, though it never ceased to blow during our stay at Syra. The wind wailed wildly and mournfully round our prison, as in an English November, contrasting curiously with the clear bright sky, and the rich cheerful colouring that invests even the bleak rocky island with a beauty not its own. We look out to the eastward upon the island of Tinos, which assumes every hue in the rainbow in the course of each cameleon day: a deep purple sea, flecked constantly with foam, breaks against our cliffs; and opposite us, divided by a little bay, crowded with shipping, lies the town of Syra, its mass of white houses running in a conical shape to the summit of the convent-crowned hill.

At length our quarantine was finished; I almost regretted our release, for the perfect repose that it necessitated was very grateful after incessant and laborious travel. I had come to love the rocks, and the bright sea, and the changing views around me, and nothing was irksome but the sense of confinement. Syra has since then ceased to be a quarantine station, which is now transferred to Athens, as a more convenient locality.

On the day of our release we rose with light to welcome liberty, and, breakfasting at Syra, were soon riding up to the summit of the lofty hill of which the island is composed. From here we had a magnificent view of the Cyclades, girding round the birthplace of Apollo and Latona, and picturesquely scattered about among those bright blue waters.

The next day we sailed to Delos, a distance of about fifteen miles: favouring breezes soon brought us to the island of Rhenia, and thence up a narrow channel to the marble pier of the Sacred Island, whither the religious processions of ancient Greece came to worship at the shrines of Apollo and Diana. This island, like all the other Cyclades, is destitute of trees, and almost equally so of verdure: some shrubs grow among the interstices of the rocks, and in a degree relieve the eye, but it is to the brilliant colouring of their delicious climate that they owe all their beauty. It is impossible to describe the delicate and fugitive tints that invest every hill and valley in rapid succession; the sea itself is ever varying, and reflects their picturesque forms in green, or blue, or azure, as the sky's mood changes.