at all. The houses of Sira are all painted white, or of some very light colour, and look neat and clean, but the country around wants entirely the charm of vegetation. There are about a dozen trees planted round a little square in the town, which form the only promenade of its inhabitants. I saw no other tree or shrub anywhere on the hills around, so that the inhabitants know only by the higher or lower degree of temperature whether it is summer or winter; nothing else tells them of the pleasant changes of the “circling year.” And what is worse still, Sira has no fresh water. This indispensable necessary of life, this great element of our existence, which I always thought belonged to every man like the air he breathes, as his birth-right, is brought to Sira from a distance and sold like wine by the quart, and of different qualities; that fit for drinking being the dearest.

The town has no historical recollections, no antiquities, no art treasures, ancient or modern; nothing but ships and warehouses, and stones, and a burning sun. We could not stop four days in such a place; that was evident. But where to go?

We committed a grievous error in the way in which we solved that question. Athens, with its glorious remains of antiquity was, so to say, at our door, being but ten hours’ journey from Sira. But unfortunately there was at the same time a boat leaving for Smyrna, which would return in time for us to catch the boat for Crete; and so, partly from a childish impatience to see an eastern town, as if I had not been going to Crete and Constantinople afterwards; partly because I liked to spend another day with the excursionists, we went on board the “Germania;” had forty-eight hours of rough sea (twenty-four each way) two days at Smyrna, with what enjoyment I shall tell by and by, and lost the opportunity of seeing Athens, to which I could afterwards only pay a flying visit of a few hours on my way from Constantinople to Messina.

The only point of interest on our journey to Smyrna was Chio, where we arrived at daybreak, and which, illumined by the rising sun, was a glorious sight. The high mountains of the island look bold and stern, but they slope down to gentle hills covered with rich vegetation, and there, partly buried in woods of oranges and olives, lies the town. Ah! beautiful, unhappy Chio, so cruelly oppressed by the Turks, who fear the bold and daring spirit of its inhabitants, which has manifested itself so often in rebellion, and for which they have suffered so terribly.

From the consequences of the massacre in 1822, when many thousands were killed, sold as slaves, or fled the country, it has not yet entirely recovered. But seen from the steamboat, in the glory of the morning sun, it looked all smiling, and happy, and beautiful. As the men are renowned for their bold daring spirit, (an Ionian proverb says “A prudent Chiote is as rare as a green horse;”) so the women of Chio are famous for their beauty and sprightly grace. Surely I thought Chio must be the birthplace of the great bard, whose glorious works still delight the world, and are imperishable, like the “everlasting hills” that rise up there through the silver clouds into the blue sky. Here he saw men of such bold and adventurous spirit as those he describes so well, and women of such god-like beauty, that he could describe the immortals as if he had dwelt among them; and a mortal woman of such transcendent grace and charm as Helena. “May the cruel Turk be soon driven away from thy smiling shores,” I prayed, when our boat left the harbour of Chio on our way to Smyrna.

From Sira to Smyrna we had some new travelling companions, among whom I must mention M. R—— and his wife, from Paris, on a journey to the interior of Syria, where M. R—— was going to complete the material for the continuation of his work, the beginning of which, published a few years ago, created so much sensation and controversy. Mme. de H—— the sister of the Archbishop, looked at him with no friendly eyes, and confided to me, that she feared with such a man some misfortune would happen to the vessel; and she cast suspicious looks at the sky, which at that moment was overcast and threatening. I thought of this again, when two months later I was told at Naples the following little story. It is well known that no people in the world are so fond of saints as the Neapolitans. They adore an endless number of them, and have “tutti i Santi” always on their lips. When M. R——’s famous book was first published, the Roman clergy (as other clergy have done on another occasion) drew the attention of the whole laity to it by preaching violent sermons against it. In Naples, as at some other places, they also read masses and held processions for the purpose of mitigating, by such pious practices, the evil that book might create. A Neapolitan peasant woman, who had not understood much of the sermon, besides the words procession and the name of R——, thought he must be some saint whose name she had forgotten, there were so many; how could she remember them all? So she put on her “vestito di festa” and lighted her candle, and when asked for what purpose, innocently said that it was in honour of St. R——! I wonder which would have amused the sceptical and learned professor most, if I had told him of the superstitious fears with which he had inspired Mme. de H——, or of his canonization by the Neapolitan peasant woman.

At Chio some Turks came on board; the first Mussulmans I had seen. One of them was a venerable looking old man, and as soon as he came on board he spread out a piece of carpet, took off his slippers and knelt down, his face turned towards Mecca, his hands lifted up in prayer. Another one, a young man, had a monkey and three bears with him. The monkey was large, the bears short, shaggy things. They danced several times to his music, which consisted of a monotonous noise, meant probably to be a song, accompanied by the beating of a tambourin. The beasts danced with their usual grace.

We arrived “saufs et sains” at Smyrna, and the last few hours the journey was pleasant, for we had entered the Gulf and felt no more the movement of the sea. The colour of the water had changed from a deep blue to a bright green, and the vessel kept close to the southern shore of the coast, which was very lovely, being covered to the very tops of the mountains with rich vegetation of soft delicate colouring. Two mountains, called the “Two Brothers,” had a sterner look, having bare rocky crowns; but the “Three Sisters,” which are a little further on, were of a soft and gentle aspect.

The nearer we came to Smyrna the more animated became the Gulf with craft of different kinds. The small Greek sailing vessels having spread their white sails before the fresh blowing “Levante,” the Eastwind, glided swiftly over the water, looking like some gigantic sea-fowl raising the waves with outspread wings. And then, at the foot of green mountains, in an emerald plain, among cypresses and olives, I beheld Smyrna, “The Amiable,” “The Crown of Ionia,” “The Pearl of the East.” We landed; a giant boatman took most of our luggage on his back, and conducted us to the hotel. I had difficulty in following the large strides of the tall fellow, who walked apparently with perfect ease, barefooted, over wretched pavement, with a heavy load on his back, whilst I picked my way painfully over heaps of rubbish, sharp pointed stones, open gutters, and holes in the pavement. I looked around me and saw, to my utter astonishment, that what had appeared a paradise, was a dirty, wretched place, worse than I should imagine Whitechapel to be. I was quite horrified when we entered the hotel to