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theless, so strong as to warrant us, without a charge of groundless or inconsiderate confidence, in presenting them to the public as authentic documents. Indeed, had we been one whit less jealous of our reputation for literary veracity, which has never yet been impeached, we might have fairly put them forward as genuine, without comment or introduction, relying solely upon the sanction of our own honest conviction. But we much prefer suffering our readers to weigh for themselves the value of the testimony upon which we have decided; and in a matter of evidence, when doubt may possibly exist, we would not willingly undertake the responsibility of judging for others. The most sceptical will not deny at least the probability of the genuineness of these letters; and even this is sufficient to make them justly the subjects of deep interest and curiosity-as counsels like those which they contain must have been strongly urged upon the mind of James, and were undoubtedly acted upon to a large extent; although, as our readers will see, in case the publication of what remains of these documents shall appear desirable, had the sagacious advice of their author been fully acted up to, popery and an arbitrary prerogative might have stood to the present day, and the energies and efforts of England, in the strugglings for a religion and a constitution, might have been paralysed by the introduction of armies of Irish mercenaries in overpowering force and numbers. But James had not decision or power of character to make his will the controller of a nation: he showed the spirit of hostility, but he wanted energy to convert that spirit at once and effectually into act. The unconstitutional extension of the prerogative, the betrayal of Protestantism, and all the political faithlessness which marked his despotism, appeared sufficiently safe; but the measure which was recommended, in order effectually to secure his power and to render it irresistible, appeared to him too bold, too daring; and with all the principles of intolerance in his heart, and with all his cherished designs, detected or avowed, he wanted the nerve to grasp and wield the weapon which wouldhave established both. It is well to keep these truths constantly before us, for their memory should be the spirit alike to impel and guide us and with such a history as ours to look back upon, it is impossible that apathy or dismay can be powerful enough long to trammel the strong energies of Protestautism.*

We rejoice to have it in our power to say, that Protestantism is awake and active, even in the south of Ireland, where many genuine and cheering demonstrations have been recently made; and in the city of Limerick, a fair test of the growth of Conservatism is to be found in the decline and extinction of the radical press, which has now given place to a Conservative journal, conducted with unvaried integrity, and upon high Protestant principles, and with an extended and daily increasing circulation. Indeed, we most joyfully seize this opportunity of expressing our high sense of the value of "The Limerick Standard," as a faithful chronicler of, and intelligent and honest observer upon, passing events; and we should do the cause of Protestantism in the south injustice, if we forbore to add our testimony in favour of the ability and honesty which distinguish that journal.

TRAVELS IN GREECE, TURKEY, RUSSIA, AND POLAND.*

MR. STEPHENS is already favourably known to the public as the author of an interesting work which, like the present, originally made its appearance at the other side of the Atlantic, and more recently in London. In the former, Egypt, Arabia, Petrea, and the Holy Land, were the subject of the traveller's observations, and its success very reasonably encouraged the author

to publish, in the volume which we now propose to consider, the rest of a very extended course of travel throughout the old world, for which, we must ac knowledge that his countrymen are becoming more distinguished than those of any other nation, as considering it a most desirable requisite for every man who aims at the reputation of an intellectual and accomplished gentleman.

Incidents of Travel in Greece, Turkey, Russia, and Poland. By John G. Stephens, Esq. Dublin: William Curry, Jun. and Co., 9, Upper Sackvillestreet. 1839.

We shall not at present stop to inquire from what cause this pre-eminence of our neighbours (we begin to lose our ancient notions of distance in the prodigies of steam on wave and railway) arises. It may be the consequence of their position which renders the first step namely, placing the foot in Europe a matter even yet of too much difficulty and expense, both of time and money, to be compensated for by a circumscribed or hasty transit through certain districts which we, who can with comparative facility start from Paris, have for years past been accustomed to traverse, till the feet or wheels of our young gentlemen who wear sickly moustaches and long hair, and carry cane and eye-glass, have worn down a well beaten trackway through sylvan valleys and wild forests, over the rugged Alps and the dizzy torrents; and it is satirically denominated THE GRAND TOUR. Or it may be, that the fresh energies of a land in the precocious vigor of youth and power, impels her sons more keenly forward to tread those regions invested with the romance of antiquity-the sanctified seats of the knowledge and wisdom of the ancient world whence they have derived their own. Be the cause what it will, we appeal to the experience of those who have stept aside from the beaten ways of travel, in support of the truth of our assertion.

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"Mais revenons à nos moutons," we had almost lost sight of Mr. Stephens amid the mass of his countrymen. The title of the volume before us is too modest and unpretending to challenge severe criticism, or raise expectations which a perusal would undoubtedly destroy. We have, therefore, felt no disappointment on finding that throughout there is a very sparing allusion to classic recollections, and (what we really deem a most praiseworthy continence) no affectation of poetic exta

cies over scenes that have been a thousand times the subject of poetic frenzy. Mr. Stephens seems to be a man of sufficient shrewdness to know and avoid the danger of lingering too long on ground that has been already perhaps too much preoccupied, and has, therefore, in his journeyings through Greece, wisely contented himself, for the most part, with lively and agreeable sketches of men and things, viewed in the light in which they appear to a man of the world, not obscured either by the dazzle of imagination, or the mists of over speculative philosophising, and occa

sional recitals of the adventures that befel himself and those with whom he chanced, from time to time, to be associated. We ventured, therefore, under the guidance of our author, with a light heart, to ramble even over the somewhat dangerous, because tempting, ground of Athens, little fearing that he would seize upon us at the Parthenon or Acropolis, and ruthlessly inserting his forefinger into the buttonhole of our new black toga, (ah! there is no fleeing away, and leaving your garment in such a case!) hold us "a long hour by Shrewsbury clock," while he episodically makes us acquainted (as he imagines) with the lives, deaths and doings of all the worthies of Athens from the days of Theseus down.

At Missolonghi, our author had the good fortune of being introduced to the widow and daughters of the brave, but ill-fated Marco Bozzaris, whose desperate and chivalrous defence of that town, has written his_name_on the imperishable records of Fame.

"In a few moments," says Mr. Stephens, "the widow of Marco Bozzaris entered. I have often been disappointed in my preconceived notions of personal appearance, but it was not so with the lady who now stood before me; she looked the widow of a hero; as one worthy of her Grecian mothers, who gave their hair for bowstrings, their girdle for a swordbelt, and, while their heartstrings were cracking, sent their young lovers from their arms to fight and perish for their country. Perhaps it was she that led Marco Bozzaris into the path of immortality; that roused him from the wild guerilla warfare in which he had passed his early life, and fired him with the high and holy ambition of freeing his country. Of one thing I am certain, no man could look in her face without finding his wavering purposes fixed, without treading more firmly in the path of high and honourable enterprise. She was under forty, tall and stately in person, and babited in deep black, fit emblem of her widowed condition, with a white handkerchief laid flat over her head, giving the Madonna cast to her dark eyes and marble complexion. We all rose as she entered the room; and though living secluded, and seldom seeing the face of a stranger, she received our compliments aud returned them with far less embarrassment than we both felt and exhibited.

"But our embarrassment, at least I speak for myself, was induced by an unexpected circumstance. Much as I was

interested in her appearance, I was not insensible to the fact that she was accompanied by two young and beautiful girls, who were introduced to us as her daughters. This somewhat bewildered me. While waiting for their appearance, and talking with Constantine Bozzaris, I had in some way conceived the idea that the daughters were mere children, and had fully made up my mind to take them both on my knee and kiss them; but the appearance of the stately mother recalled me to the grave of Bozzaris; and the daughters would probably have thought that I was taking liberties upon so short an acquaintance if I had followed up my benevolent purpose in regard to them; so that, with the long pipe in my hand, which at that time I did not know how to manage well, I cannot flatter myself that I exhibited any of the benefit of continental travel.

"The elder was about sixteen, and even in the opinion of my friend, Dr. W., a cool judge in these matters, a beautiful girl, possessing, in its fullest extent, all the elements of Grecian beauty: a dark, clear complexion, dark hair, set off by a little red cap, embroidered with gold thread, and a long blue tassel hanging down behind, and large black, eyes, expressing a melancholy quiet, but which might be excited to shoot forth glances of fire more terrible than her father's sword. Happily, too, for us, she talked French, having learned it from a French marquis who had served in Greece, and been domesticated with them; but young and modest, and unused to the company of strangers, she felt the embarrassment common to young ladies when attempting to speak a foreign language. And we could not talk to her on common themes, Our lips were sealed, of course, upon the subject which had brought us to her house. We could not sound for her the praises of her gallant father. At parting, how ever, I told them that the name of Marco Bozzaris was as familiar in America as that of a hero of our own revolution, and that it had been hallowed by the inspiration of an American poet; and I added that, if it would not be unacceptable, on my return to my native country, I would send the tribute referred to, as an evidence of the feeling existing in America toward the memory of Marco Bozzaris. My offer was gratefully accepted; and afterward, while in the act of mounting my horse to leave Missolonghi, our guide, who had remained behind, came to me with a message from the widow and daughters, reminding me of my promise."

Proceeding from Missolonghi by way of Lepanto, Egina, and Corinth, our

traveller visited Athens, to which, as our readers are well aware, the seat of government has been transferred from Napoli di Romania, since the assassination of Capo d' Istrias. While the latter town is daily exhibiting more strongly the traces of decay and relapse, the former city is struggling out of her ruins with as much energy as could perhaps be expected from a feeble and impoverished government.

"Athens," observes our author, "is again the capital of a kingdom. Enthusiasts see in her present condition the promise of a restoration to her ancient greatness; but reason and observation assure us, that the world is too much changed for her ever to be what she has been. In one respect, her condition resembles that of her best days; for, as her fame then attracted strangers from every quarter of the world to study in her schools, so now the capital of King Otho has become a great gathering-place of wandering spirits from many near and distant regions. For ages, difficult and dangerous of access, the ancient capital of the arts lay shrouded in darkness, and almost cut off from the civilized world. At long intervals, a few solitary travellers only found their way to it; but, since the revolution, it has again become a place of frequent resort and intercourse. It is true, that the halls of learning are still solitary and deserted, but strangers from every nation now turn hither; the scholar to roam over her classic soil, the artist to study her ancient monuments, and the adventurer to carve his way to fortune."

We may add that an omnibus is now actually established between the town and the Pireus, and runs four times a day to and from each place. The old harbour is restored, and rapidly growing into importance.

We are not disposed to dwell at any length on this part of Mr. Stephen's work, the rather, as we have, at no very distant period, had occasion, in reviewing Dr. Walsh's delightful volumes, to enter very largely into the history and localities of Greece. Ere we leave the subject, however, we shall extract one incident, as it exhibits in lively and affecting colors the utter desolation of the lovely and ill-starred Scio. The author had formed the acquaintance of a native of that island who had escaped during the massacre, and was now, for the first time, revisiting it. He invited Mr. Stephens ashore, promising him entertainment at some friend's house, but found himself a stranger amid a

heap of ruins. At length, they discovered that a Greek archbishop had found shelter somewhere in the demolished city. They found the aged man in the corner of a miserable room, sick, and in bed, yet received from him a hospitable protection, and the next morning set forward for the native village of the Greek. They found, indeed, the beautiful gardens of Scio and the houses, but they were black with smoke and crumbling to ruin, and there was none to hail the returning friend or welcome the stranger.

"An awful solitude, a stillness that struck a cold upon the heart, reigned around us. We saw nobody; and our own voices, and the trampling of cur horses upon the deserted pavements, sounded hollow and sepulchral in our ears. It was like walking among the ruins of Pompeii; it was another city of the dead; but there was a freshness about the desolation that seemed of today; it seemed as though the inhabitants should be sleeping and not dead. Indeed, the high walls of the gardens, and the outside of the house too, were generally so fresh and in so perfect a state, that it seemed like riding through a handsome village at an early hour before the inhabitants had risen; and I sometimes could not help thinking that in an hour or two the streets would be thronged with a busy population. My friend continued to conduct me through the solitary streets; telling me as we went along, that this was the house of such a family, this of such a family, with some of whose members I had become acquainted in Greece, until, stopping before a large stone gateway, he dismounted at the gate of his father's house. In that house he was born; there he had spent his youth; he had escaped from it during the dreadful massacre, and this was the first time of his revisiting it. What a tide of recollections must have rushed upon him.

"We entered through the large gateway into a courtyard beautifully paved in mosaic in the form of a star, with small black and white round stones.

On our

left was a large stone reservoir, perhaps twenty-five feet square, still so perfect as to hold water, with an arbour over it supported by marble columns; a venerable grapevine completely covered the arbour. The garden covered an extent of about four acres, filled with orange, lemon, almond, and fig trees; overrun with weeds, roses, and flowers, growing together in wild confusion. On the right was the house, and a melancholy spectacle it was; the wall had fallen down on one

side, and the whole was black with smoke. We ascended a flight of stone steps, with marble balustrades, to the terrace, a platform of about twenty feet square, overlooking the garden. From the terrace we entered the saloon, a large room with high ceilings and fresco paintings, on the walls; the marks of the fire kindled on the stone floor still visible, all the woodwork burned to a cinder, and the whole black with smoke. It was a perfect picture of wanton destruction. The day, too, was in conformity with the scene; the sun was obscured, the wind blew through the ruined building, it rained, was cold and cheerless. What were the feelings of my friend I cannot imagine; the houses of three of his uncles were immediately adjoining; one of these uncles was one of the forty hostages, and was hanged; the other two were murdered; his father, a venerable-looking old man, who came down to the vessel when we started to see him off, had escaped to the mountains, from thence in a caique to Ipsara, and from thence into Italy. I repeat it, I cannot imagine what were his feelings; he spoke but little; they must have been too deep for utterance. I looked at every thing with intense interest; I wanted to ask question after question, but could not, in mercy probe his bleeding wounds. We left the house and walked out into the garden. showed that there was no master's eye to watch over it; I plucked an orange which had lost its flavour; the tree was withering from want of care; our feet became entangled among weeds, and roses, and rare hot-house plants growing wildly together. I said that he did not talk much; but the little he did say amounted to volumes. Passing a large vase in which a beautiful plant was running wildly over the sides, he murmured indistintly the same vase' (le même vase), and once he stooped opposite a tree, and, turning to me, said, This is the only tree I do not remember.' These and other little incidental remarks showed how deeply all the particulars were engraved upon his mind, and told me, plainer than words, that the wreck and ruin he saw around him harrowed his very soul. Indeed, how could it be otherwise? this was his father's house, the home of his youth, the scene of his earliest, dearest, and fondest recollections. Busy memory, that source of all our greatest pains as well as greatest pleasures, must have pressed sorely upon him, must have painted the ruined and desolate scene around him in colours even brighter, far brighter, than they ever existed in: it must have called up the faces of well-known and wellloved friends; indeed, he must have ask

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From Greece our traveller proceeded to Smyrna and Ephesus, where he seems to have run considerable risks of apostatizing, if not to all the doctrines of Mahomet, at least, to the comfortable creed that sanctions polygamy, if we may judge from his very ardent if not envious admiration of a worthy old gentleman's harem, and his complacent detail of the dignity and advantage arising to the lords of the creation from so liberal an apportionment of the fair sex. Let it pass, however, he is a more or less fortunate man than one in a thousand, if some fair country woman has not, ere this, made him recant; and, as he may at this moment be doing penance (we are ourselves married) for his brief lapse from orthodoxy, we shall, in consideration of the severity of his punishment, abstain from all critical censure.

The numerous works of recent travellers in the East have brought the manners, habits, and peculiarities of the Turks so fully under public notice, that but little was left for the cursory observations of a passing traveller to add to the information already obtained. Indeed, every succeeding year tends to diminish the characteristic differences that heretofore have existed between the Musselman and the other inhabitants of Europe. The spread of liberal and enlightened ideas has already penetrated to its centre, the empire of the Sultans; and the light of civilization is forcibly dissipating the mists of prejudice and ignorance that have, by keeping the Turks a distinct people, contributed mainly to invest them with a peculiar interest. The observations of our guide on this subject are sensible and lively.

"The Turks are a sufficiently intelligent people, and cannot help feeling the superiority of strangers. Probably the immediate effect may be to make them prone rather to catch the faults and vices, than the virtues of Europeans; but afterwards better things will come; they will fall into our better ways; and, perhaps, though that is almost more than we dare hope for, they will embrace a better religion.

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who swept the plains of Asia, who leaned upon his bloody sword before the walls of Vienna, and threatened the destruction of Christendom in Europe-the Turk of the turban, and the pipe, and the seraglio come quickly, for he is becoming another man. A little longer, and the great characteristic distinctions will be broken down; the long pipe, the handsome pipe-bearer, and the amber mouth-piece are gone, and oh, death to all that is beautiful in Eastern romance, the walls of the seraglio are prostrated, the doors of the harem thrown open, the black eunuch and the veiled woman are no more seen, while the honest Turk trudges home from a quiet tea-party, stripped of his retinue of fair ones, with his one and only wife tucked nnder his arm, his head drooping between his shoulders, taking a lecture from his better half with an involuntary sigh to the good old days that are gone. And oh, you who turn up your aristocratic noses at such parvenues as Mohammed and the Turks; who would go back to those d'stant ages which time covers with its dim and twilight glories,

"When the world was fresh and young,

And the great deluge still had left it green;"

you who come piping-hot from college, your brains teeming with recollections of the heroic ages; who would climb Mount Ida, to sit in council with the gods, come quickly, also, for all things are changing. A steam-boat-shades of Hector, Ajax, and Agamemnon, forgive the sins of the day-an Austrian steam-boat is now splashing the island-studded Ægean, and paddling the classic waters of the Hellespont. Oh, ye princes and heroes who armed for the Trojan war, and covered these waters with your thousand ships, with what pious horror must you look down from your blessed abodes upon the impious modern monster of the deep, which strips the tall mast of its flowing canvas, renders unnecessary the propitia tion of the gods, and Hounders on its way in spite of wind and weather!"

We are not, for obvious reasons, disposed to follow the course of Mr. Stephens's tour through the portions of Turkey which he visited, though there is no little to interest and amuse in the recital. We shall, therefore, rejoin him on his entrance into Russia by the southern port of Odessa. Russia is, indeed, a mighty, and, at present, a most interesting empire. The eyes of the civilized world are now anxiously turned upon it. Commanding, by its position, as well as by the vast extent of its territory and the

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