Levant; but as we did not land there on our outward voyage, the description of its internal beauties must be postponed to its proper place.

The view from the sea is certainly lovely, but it is a view which we found to be very common-in its outline at least-in all this part of the world; a town lying at the foot of a lofty hill, on which rise the citadel and works of defence. Here we first saw the Greek costume, worn as the common dress of the country, and the tight jacket and loose blue trousers of the sailors, with the handsome dark and mustachioed faces, told us, if such information were wanting, that we were at last in Eastern climes, and among a people at most but semiEuropean.

The only stop the packet made, was to land and receive the mail; and as the authorities were aware of our approach, this did not occupy many minutes, so that by half-past nine in the morning, we were

again on our course, steaming towards Cape Chiarenza and Patras, on the Morean shores-over the waters, which witnessed the great sea-fight of Lépǎnto, (as it is now pronounced,) between the Venetian and the Turk in 1571.

We had expected to reach Patras early in the afternoon, but even steam has not totally subdued the proverbial perfidy of these seas; for the wind, which had been hitherto fair, now blew a perfect gale down the gulf, and prevented our advancing more than one mile an hour with our greatest power. To add to our discomforts, a night of pitchy darkness ensued, and this being the vessel's first trip, the officers on board were personally unacquainted with these seas, and even withif they had been visible-the features of the coast, only knowing that there were certain, or I should rather say, uncertain shoals on which steamers had run, and that too in the daytime. At last, after beating

about for some hours, about ten o'clock we saw lights-steered for them, and soon made out a large ship at anchor, which proved to be the Greek admiral, round whom we ran, and finding ourselves in Patras Roads, anchored for the night. The passengers and idlers (as all but the seamen are emphatically and justly called in His Majesty's ships,) then turned into their beds, which some anxiety about our situation prevented our doing before, although we knew very well that if there were any danger we could be of no use.

Friday, 22nd January, 1836. I arose at daylight to have a sight—which was all we were allowed-of the town, and was rewarded by a beautiful Eastern sunrise, with an unclouded sky-the mountain which rises behind Patras standing out in fine relief, while the sun as it rose on the left gave a thousand different tints to the snow on its summit and sides. It was certainly a splendid sunrise.

Here, if we had been aware of all the circumstances of the case, we might have landed, and commenced immediately the tour of the Morea, concluding with Athens, Delphi, and Corfu-just reversing the course we afterwards took; this would have economized a week of our time, and have enabled us to extend our circuit to Marathon and Thebes. But we had neither experience nor advice to guide us, and thought it prudent to defer till our arrival at Corfu (where we were sure to obtain information) the final arrangement of our plans. We therefore resolved to proceed in our packet to her final destination.

Our anchor was soon up, and we stood on to Corfu. Our situation was at this moment very enjoyable; the day was fine -sky clear, and water smooth—we were on a sea and amongst islands and shores celebrated from the earliest dawn of classical poetry. We might have exclaimed in Lady M. W. Montagu's version of Addison,

“Warmed with poetic transport, I survey

The immortal islands, and the well-known sea,
For here so oft the Muse her harp has strung,
That not a mountaintop remains unsung."

The scenes of the first travels, of which there exists even a mythological record, were before us-we were in the regions of the Odyssey-and although it is certainly not easy to reconcile some circumstances of the Homeric narrative with the localities (supposing the learned to have correctly adapted the ancient to the modern names,) yet all such critical scruples gave way before the enthusiasm of our classical feelings.

We soon reached the narrow channel, about four miles wide and sixteen long, which divides Ithaca and Cephalonia: the latter is tolerably cultivated, but not (at least in this view) pretty; but for the other-alas! We, like former travellers, could not help feeling something like vexation at finding the island of Ulysses the most barren spot we ever beheld. For the