of their saints. Books are rarely met with in the interior of the Morea, and it is not improbable that it is one of the causes of the barbarism which pervades this part of Greece. As in Italian, so in modern Greek, every syllable is pronounced, and each letter bears constantly the same sound; children consequently learn to read Romaic and Italian with a rapidity much greater than one accustomed only to the slow progress made in the English schools would easily be brought to believe. I am, therefore, convinced, that the distribution of improving and entertaining books would be speedily followed in these provinces by an extension of knowledge -the only incentive which will ever rouse the Greeks from their present degrading torpidity.

SANTA MAURA.

The canal which separates Santa Maura from Albania is not above half a mile broad; it is frequently crossed in canoes, or monoxyla, and, at certain seasons of the year, the inhabitants find no difficulty in wading from shore to shore; in milder weather the wind blows up this canal in an easterly direction from sun-rise till past noon; it then shifts, and generally blows from the west. The modern town is built in the most unhealthy part of the island, and close to several salt-pits; these are formed on the coast, and separated from the sea by sluices, which admit the water into a shallow preserve, the heat of the sun sufficing to effect crystallization. The fort is placed between the town and the opposite shore of Albania, at the extremity of a peninsula, joined to the land by a narrow and semicircular isthmus, three miles long, and is surrounded with shoals, abounding in fish of different kinds. A shorter communication is obtained by the remains of a narrow Turkish aqueduct, which crosses the shallows: it consists of above three hundred arches, and, in windy weather, the passage is by no means safe, as the pedestrian runs the risk of being blown into the sea. The garrison consisted of

VOL. III.

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about three hundred men, commanded by captain Ross, a gentleman whose hospitality is unbounded.

A beautiful road, shaded by olive-trees, leads from the modern town to the ancient Leucas. About three miles distant, the ruins are seen on an eminence, covered with vineyards, at the foot of which is a copious fountain, adorned with a pompous Veneto-Latin inscription; the walls are of Cyclopean masonry, and very extensive: no edifices can be clearly traced, although heaps of ruins are seen on all sides. We were shown an ancient mill, dug up on this spot: it was hewn in the infancy of mechanic art; a hemispherical stone, revolving within a corresponding vase of granite, reduced the corn to powder. On the opposite shore of Albania is seen a castle containing a garrison of soldiers belonging to Ali Pasha.

Near the ruins of Leucas a gibbet has been erected, from which, enclosed in a cage of iron, hangs the corse of an inhabitant of this island: he murdered his father, his mother, his brothers, and his sisters, and then fled from his country; but the long arm of justice seized the parricide; he was taken in the Morea, brought to Santa Maura, and executed. His example struck with indescribable terror the Ionians, few of whom dare approach the spot where the body is exposed. The execution of this individual took place at the time general Campbell commanded in these islands. The necessary, although severe justice of this gentleman, produced a most salutary effect: the islanders then learnt, for the first time, that pardon was not, as before, to be obtained by money.

We crossed several fine groves of olives. The green turf under the trees produces abundance of mushrooms. The peasants were gathering the fruit; some, standing on the branches, were beating down the olives, striking, according to Pliny's advice, always in one direction, and with a gentle force; others were picking them up, and transporting them in hampers to the town.

MODERN PATRIOTISM.

Negotiations were carrying on, during our stay at Corfu, between the lord high commissioner of the Ionian states, and an ambassador from Ioania. An anecdote was mentioned to us which I cannot refrain from repeating, as it affords an example of honest patriotism and noble disinterestedness which would have honoured a Phocion or a Fabius. The ambassador, it seems, had received orders from his sovereign to hasten the negotiation by making some presents to the secretary of the high commissioner. In one of their conferences the Mussulman made known his intentions: the secretary led him to a window of the palace, and, pointing to the highest mountain in the island, told him, were that mountain a mass of gold, and your master to offer it to us, he would not obtain Parga one moment ere the dictates of justice had been fulfilled." Monthly Magazine.

STATE OF SOCIETY IN LONDON.

Ir may happen, that, although individuals may exist in a society endowed with every power of entertaining and enlightening, yet the forms of society may be such, that it is very difficult to obtain the full advantage of their superior qualities. This difficulty is the misfortune of London, where there are more men of cultivated understanding, of refined wit, and literary or political eminence, than in any metropolis of Europe. Yet it is so contrived, that there is little freedom, little intimacy, and little ease in London society. "To love some persons very much, and see often those that I love," says the old duchess of Marlborough, "is the greatest happiness I can enjoy." But in London it is equally difficult to get to love any body very much, or to see often those that we have loved before. There are such

numbers of acquaintances, such a succession of engage ments, that the town resembles Vauxhall, where the dearest friends may walk round and round all night without ever meeting. If you see at dinner a person whose manners and conversation please you, you may wish in vain to become more intimate; for the chance is, that you will not meet so as to converse a second time for three months, when the dice-box of society may, perhaps, turn up again the same numbers. Not that it is to be inferred that you may not barely see the same features again; it is possible that you may catch a glimpse of them on the other side of St. James's street, or see them near to you at a crowded rout, without a possibility of approaching. Hence it is, that those who live in London are totally indifferent to one another; the waves follow so thick, that any vacancy is immediately filled up, and the want is not perceived. At the same time, the well-bred civility of modern times, and the example of some " very popular people," have introduced a shaking of hands, a pretended warmth, a sham cordiality, into the manners of the cold and warm alike -the dear friend and the acquaintance of yesterday. Hence we hear continually such conversations as the following:-"Ah! how d'ye do? I am delighted to see you! How is Mrs. M- -?"- -"She is very well, thank you." "Has she any more children?"- "Any more! I have only been married three months. I see you are talking of my former wife-she has been dead these three years. -Or, "My dear friend, how d'ye do?→ you have been out of town some time-where have you been-in Norfolk?"-" No, I have been two years in India."

Thus, ignorant of one another's interest and occupation, the friendships of London contain nothing more tender than a visiting card. Nor is it much better,→ indeed it is much worse,-if you renounce the world, and determine to live only with your relations and nearest connexions: if you are to see them at one o'clock, they are not up; at two the room is full of indifferent acquaintance, who can talk over the night be

fore, and of course are sooner listened to than yourself; at three they are gone a-shopping; at four they are in the Park; at five and at six they are out; at seven they are dressing; at eight they are dining with two dozen friends; at nine and ten the same; at eleven they are dressing for the ball; and at twelve, when you are going to bed, they are gone into society for the evening. Thus you are left in solitude; you soon begin again to try the world;-let us see what it produces.

The first inconvenience of a London life is the late hour of dinner. To pass the day impransus, and then to sit down to a great dinner at eight o'clock, is entirely against the first dictates of common sense and common stomachs. Some learned persons indeed endeavour to support this practice by precedent, and quote the Roman supper; but those suppers were at three o'clock in the afternoon, and ought to be a subject of contempt rather than imitation in Grosvenor-square. Women, however, are not so irrational as men in London, and generally sit down to a substantial luncheon at three or four: if men would do the same, the meal at eight might be lightened of many of its weighty dishes, and conversation would be no loser; for it is not to be concealed, that conversation suffers great interruption from the manner in which English dinners are managed: first the host and hostess (or her unfortunate coadjutor) are employed during three parts of the dinner in doing the work of the servants, helping fish, or carving large pieces of venison to twenty hungry souls, to the total loss of the host's powers of amusement, and the entire disfigurement of the fair hostess's face. Much time is lost by the attention every one is obliged to pay, in order to find out (which he can never do if he is shortsighted) what dishes are at the other end of the table; and if a guest wishes for a glass of wine, he must peep through the Apollos and Cupids of the plateau, in order to find some one to drink with him, which will probably happen in succession, so that after having no wine for half an hour, he will have to drink five glasses in five