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Greece in 1844 ; or, A Greek's Return to his

Native Land-a narrative, edited by THEO-

Chapter 1st.-A Sketch of the Author's Life.-Objects of his Voyage.-London.-An old Greek Merchant.-Paris.

My feelings had long inclined me to revisit my native country, from which I had now been absent fourteen years.- That period I had spent in the United States, which afforded me an asylum from the scenes of confusion and suffering in which I had left Samos, my dative island. I had, in the meantime, grown from youth to manhood, become habituated to the western world, and acquired and practised a useful profession. Although I had formed friendships and attachments here, my heart was still in Greece. My affectionate parents and several brothers and sisters were still living, and the kind letters which I' continued to receive from them, at long intervals, revived the affecting recollections of my childhood, which had been spent in their society, and in the enjoyment of their love. They had long ago informed me of the change of residence they had made, as soon as the establishment of peace had permitted it. They had now been, for several years, residents of Athens, and their urgent and repeated in yitations had at length induced me to make arrangements for a visit to them.

On reaching England, I proceeded, without loss of time, to London, where I waited on the Greek Consul, to make inquiries concerning the best mode of proceeding, although I expected to spend a considerable time on the route. There I saw an elderly gentleman, of a very respectable appearance, who was conversing on business, with the air of an experienced merchant. When I made some in. qury of the consul relating to the best route to Greece, he introduced me to the stranger as a native of that country, and one who could answer all my questions. He proved to be an old Greek merchant, who had spent most of his life in that city; and through his courtesy I formed some acquaintance with several other gentlemen, of similar origin, habits, and character.

Without stopping to enumerate the interesting objects which presented themselves on every side while I remained in England, I will hasten to the Continent, after remarking that, through my countrymen whom I saw, and the books I found prepared for the guidance of travellers, I obtained the information I most needed to direct me in the further progress of my journey.

On my arrival in Paris, I found my way to a hotel, where my countryman had recommended to me to take up my lodgings. It was the Hotel Perigord, one of considerable size, and doubtless well known to some of my readers. He had spoken of it as one where I might find every convenience at a reasonable price, but not in such terms as

to lead me to expect any privilege or gratification beyond this. I entered it, therefore, and took possession of the apartment assigned to me, with no other expectation than that of being surrounded during my stay with strangers, alike uninterested in my country, and uninteresting to me.

Having arrived early in the morning, I first met my fellow-lodgers at the breakfast table. The signal having summoned me, I took my seat, and a large number of gentlemen entered, some of whom engaged in conversation with each other as familiar acquaintances. They all spoke French, and I observed no. thing in their aspect, manners, or accent, which gave me any idea that they might not be natives of the country. With such ease and courtesy as might have been expected from an assemblage of French gentlemen, meeting in a miscellaneous, but respectable hotel in the metropolis, the company were soon seated, and commenced their morning meal. A moment or two only had elapsed, when a most unexpected change seemed suddenly to strike the company. A young man near me addressed one of his heighbors in Greek. I started; for the words were not introduced in the raw manner of a student of the language; nor in the tone of a pedant, disposed to show his learning; nor even with the tone, accent, or pronunciation of a foreigner. On the contrary, the expression was one in the modern dialect, and uttered in the low and natural tone appropriate to conversation in such a place. It was one which I perfectly understood, and which I instantly recognized as one not likely to be known or to be so enunciated by any but a countryman of my own. What was more, the speaker de. noted, in his very manner of using the language on such an occasion, in such company, that he was not disposed to conceal his country-not ambitious to pass for a Frenchman ; in short, that he was, not only by birth, but also by feeling, such an one as myself.

There was little time, it is true, for thoughts like these to pass through my mind, or for the feelings to be indulged in which they gave rise to; but we all know that many ideas and many sensations are sometimes crowded together in an instant. Only an instant was allowed me, on that occasion, to make my reflections; for the unexpected address of the stranger was promptly replied to by the one to whom it had been directed, and in the same tongue, and with similar tones-exhibiting the same native familiarity with it. This was a new surprise, scarcely less unlooked for than the former, and scarcely less gratifying. Such an occurrence I had never met with in fourteen years. Never, since leaving home, had I heard, in a public place, two strangers conversing in Creek; and how it could have happened now, I could give no conjecture. I was wholly at a loss to account for the fact, which appeared to me so strange,

so unlikely to occur; yet, to others it seemed S no novelty-for the sound of that language

evidently excited no surprise except in my. self.

The conversation between these, however, was suffered to proceed but a short time, before another voice broke in, and with the greatest readiness joined the two; and an animated colloquy was kept up for some time, more interesting to myself, I may safely say, than to any of them, lively and rapidly as their tongues moved. And now the truth soon began to dawn upon my mind. Another and another of the strangers soon came dropping into the conversation, from nearer and more distant parts of the table-all speaking Greek, with equal fluency in the tongue, and familiarity with each oiher; so that it became evident that a large proportion of the inmates of the hotel were my countrymen, and living on terms of mutual respect and affection, becoming fellow-citizens in a foreign land.

I was not long in making myself known, by the same talisman which had discovered them to me. A word or two in my mother tongue was an easy and sure introduction to their notice and favorable regard. I had soon an abundance of questions to answer, and received a brief and satisfactory explanation of what had seemed to me an inexplicable mystery. About two hundred young Greeks were then in Paris, pursuing courses of study in different branches of science, best calcu. lated to fit them for usefulness in their own country. A considerable part of this number were fellow-lodgers at the hotel; and a happy concurrence of circumstances had placed me among them, and afforded me the unexpected gratification which I had enjoyed, and which I have thus inadequately described.

And among those around me I saw proofs of the improved and improving state of things in my native country. Some of the young men I saw had been sent abroad for their education, by their parents, or other friends, at their own expense; others by individuals who had the public good at heari, and wished, by their means, to introduce learned and skillful lawyers, physicians, teachers, statesmen or engineers, into Greece; others still were supported by contributions raised in their native towns, or neighborhoods, where the people were desirous of the advantage of possessing a well qualified man in one of the learned professions, or an able representative in the National Congress, and had selected them as worthy of their confidence. It cannot be wondered at that I should have felt sincere gratification on meeting with these striking proofs of the intelligence, virtue and liberality of my countrymen; and I may perhaps be excused if I say, that I saw nothing among the beauties and splendors of Paris, which so much gratified my feelings, or occupied my thoughts, as the group of my young countrymen to which I was thus introduced. I soon began to feel much at home in their society, and the feelings of a solitary stranger fast wore away. I was not slow in forming an

{ acquaintance, and indeed a degree of friend.

ship, with a number of them; and the time } afforded me for conversation, in the very limited leisure moments allowed between their hours of study and their attendance on the lectures, were occupied in giving and receiving information. As they were from different parts of Greece, I had something to learn from each; and they looked upon me with equal interest, because I had been so long a resident in America.

From this time I felt as if I had entered another region, so far as my native language was concerned. In America there is hardly a man to be found who seems ever to have admitted the supposition that the Creek spok. en at the present day, may have any connection with that which is studied at school and college. Her ancient tongue they lay great stress upon, so that every youth who receives a liberal education, is required to devote a large part of his time for four, five or more years to its pursuit; and yet no one regards the living language of the same country and nation, as worthy of the slightest regard, or even an enquiry. I may safely say, that during fourteen years spent in the United States, I never met with half-a-dozen persons who expressed any degree of interest or curiosity about my native language, though I have been in contact with a considerable number of educated men, more or less acquainted with ancient Greek. This must be owing to the influence of the few Greek professors, whose known opinions naturally have a great con. trol over those who have been their pupils. But, if public opinions, pro or con, on every subject, should thus control, what would be the result to science and learning generally ? It is surprising that, among so many Greek students, so few should be found. to make their own inquiries, and their own decis. ion. There is, however, one consideration which may account for this seeming mystery. The study of our ancient tongue is rendered so disgusting by the methods pursued, that all students dislike it, and will never recur to it when left to take their own course in after life. The deliberate opinions of several competent judges, English as well as American, strongly uphold me in making the declara. tion, that ihere is not one in an hundred, nor a thousand, of educated men, who ever read a Greek book after leaving college, with the exception of a small proportion of the clergy, who sometimes recur to their Greek Testa. ments, and the Septuagint.

Here is a striking confirmation, though perhaps an indirect one. Josephus is one of the most favourite ancient uninspired authors, in the United States. Dr. Jones, in his travels in Syria, remarks that he has learned this fact from actual enquiry at the booksellers. And yet a gentleman of New York has sought in vain for the Greek original of Josephus, not only in that city, but elsewhere.

The beautiful writings of Korae and other 3 modern Greek authors, have found scarcely a

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but hid from the view by a dense forest of palm trees, lie the ruins of ancient Mem. phis, some of whose monarchs and once teeming population two thousand years ago, still sleep in the vast Necropolis, of which the Pyramid whereon the spectator was standing, formed the wonder amid wonders, three hundred years before. At his feet lay the countless tombs of one hundred generations of men.-Boston paper.

A rich man, who is not liberal, resem. bles a tree without fruit.

In one of Mr. Gliddon's recent lectures
S on the Pyramids of Egypt, speaking of the

view from the great Memphite pyramid, he remarks, that, “standing upon the summit, 3. now a platform of about thirty-three feet

square, the spectator is raised above the 3 level of the low Nile about six hundred and

twelve feet, or five hundred and ninety feet s over the adjacent alluvial country, and

about twice higher than Bunker Hill. To the westward, the eye stretches over the Lybian Desert, which is here an undulat. ing table-land of limestone rock, on the surface of which pebbles and gravel of a light brown hue, as far as the eye can reach, betoken the dreary waste. Unbrok en by vegetation, the arid tract extends from the Pyramids across the Sahara to the distant Atlantic ocean.

“On the north is the Delta of Lower Egypt, and the Nile diversified on the left hand with the edge of the desert, and on the right with verdant fields, lofty sycamores, groves of palms, villages and distant towns, boats, cattle, and all the adjuncts of agriculture, all gathered in charming contrast with the Desert on the other. On the east, on the plain below, beyond the edge of the Sandy Desert, intervening between the Hill of the Pyramid, and the alluvial, a breadth of about a thousand yards, the eye swept over a cultivated plain, intersected by ca. nals and broken by villages, to the sacred Nile, and across the river at the foot of the brown mountain of Mokaltan, or Eastern Chain of Hills, rises Cairo, the Victorious,' the • Mother of the World,' and with her citadel, mosques, minarets, palaces,'and gardens; and the view of the guarded city,' as it is termed by the Arabs, at ten miles from the Pyramids, is one of the most picturesque and romantic prospects in the world.

“On the south, close at hand, are two other large Pyramids of Ghizeh, and along the edge of the Desert successively rise the Pyramids of Abooseah, Saccara, and Dashone-thirty-one Pyramids in sight on a s line of twenty miles. A little to the left, 3

THE GRIZZLY BEAR. So small a print can give at best but a faint impression of the ferocious appearance of this most formidable animal of North America. Its existence was not ascertained till a few years ago, as it forms a distinct species of the bear, and its haunts are confined to the range of the rocky moun. tains and their vicinity, to which few civil. ized men had ever penetrated previously to to the interesting expedition sent out by the government under Messrs. Lewis and Clark. The reports which they brought back of the grizzly bear, its size, boldness, swiftness, power and tenacity of life, were almost new to most of our countrymen, as well as the learned of Europe. Since that time, however, many other notices of this remark. able animal have been published, and seve. ral living specimens have been transported to the menageries on the other side of the Atlantic.

The grizzly bear, although so nearly al. lied to the common black bear, differs almost as much from it in appearance and habits as the white bear of the polar regions. It has much longer legs, as well as a body larger and better proportioned for rapid mo. tion. It is much more active on foot; and, instead of being outrun by a man like the black bear, easily overtakes him, and even is said sometimes to outrun a horse ; and one of the causes of the dread he inspires is, the silence with which he approaches his prey.

It is hardly to be expected that naturalists should be able to ascertain many of the particulars which they desire relating to the haunts and habits of so ferocious an animal,

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THE GRIZZLY BEAR. whose retreats are so far remote from civili. zation and naturally so difficult of access.

According to the concurrent representations s of fur-traders, Indians and missionaries,

who have crossed the Rocky Mountains, a grizzly bear can hardly be encountered under any circumstances without imminent hazard. He usually makes no delay to await the first assault, much less does he betray any disposition to conceal himself or to escape: but, on discovering a man or a company of men, runs in at once, and assails them with his murderous claws, which nothing is able to withstand. These are probably the most formidable found in the animal kingdom, being thick, strong, sharp, and retractile, or capable of being drawn up into the foot like a cat's. They are found measuring six inches in length, form. ing a wide and beautiful curve approaching a; and, such a feat is it consid. ered by the Indians to destroy their owner, that the most valuable necklace found in many of the tribes is formed of a few of

them fastened together, and worn on the < breast.

Lewis and Clark tell several anecdotes of Grizzly bears, some of which we may hereafter copy in one of the numbers of the Penny Magazine. Frequent notice also is taken of these terrible animals in Mr. Irving's books on the West.

About ten years ago, Captain Duncan, of the United States army, was sent with a company of mounted dragoons, on an ex. pedition to the Rocky Mountains; and, among the numerous interesting incidents which occurred during the journey, some of those connected with the mountains and their vicinity were most remarkable. The commander of the enterprise, who had long felt a peculiar desire to see the noble ridge which divides our continent, was so much

attracted by the mingled sublimity and beauty of the scenery among the first emi. nences, that, as soon as arrangements had been made for encamping at their feet, he rode up a little wild pass which opened be. fore him, to obtain a nearer view of a re. markable cascade which had arrested his attention. He was soon out of sight of his soldiers, enclosed among green eminences, thickly covered with forests, and contem. plating a scene of the most impressive character. In the midst of the seclusion of the place, his attention was roused to his danger by hearing a heavy tread or rustling behind, and turning, he suddenly saw a grizzly bear approaching, with his mouth open and at full speed. He had only time to fire and spur his horse, which rushed back with him down the pass, closely pur. sued. The rider was so much occupied with the task of urging on his steed, that he turned but two or three times to look back, and then found the savage beast almost close upon him, his teeth displayed and his eyes glaring frightfully. It was only by the utmost exertions that he was able to keep out of his reach. At length the bear was so near, that he rose on his hind feet to strike his fore claws into his back: but being unable quite to reach his mark, he be. took himself to all fours. This, the fu. gitive horseman observed with joy, threw him perceptibly in the back.ground; but his satisfaction was short-lived, for the beast was soon as near as before, and raised him. self again to repeat the experiment. He plunged the spurs deeper than ever, the rider recoiling bent forwards to avoid the awful claws of his pursuer; away shot the horse, and again the bear was left for an instant behind, baulked in his plan.

The grassy opening at the mouth of the mountain pass now appeared in view, and two Cherokees were seen dashing up from the encampment to the rescue of their cap. tain. They had heard the report of his rifle, and instantly conjectured his danger. The horse ran on headlong along the brink of a steep bank, at the foot of which flowed one of those head springs of our western rivers so numerous in the Rocky Mountains. The savage beast, thirsty for blood, pressed closely on behind, when one of the Cherokees drew up his rifle, and with as steady an eye as if he had been aiming at a grazing buffalo, sent a ball into his fore leg which broke the bone. The first step upon it bent it under the animal's huge

body, and the fall being towards the bank, > he rolled helplessly down into the water.




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higher is the Roodroo Himmala, and the other the Jumnavatari. The height of the former has been esttmated at 25,000 feet, which is within about 2000 feet of the highest land in the world: but the accuracy of this estimate has been questioned. A remarkable pass leads between some of the in. ferior eminences, till it reaches a valley, which contains the village of Jumnotree and a pond or basin, in which all those rills unite, and from which proceeds the first collected stream of the Jumna.

The view presented to the spectator from this spot is described as one of a most striking character. The Bunderpouch, as the vast mountain pass is called, retires gradually upwards, till it reaches the region of continual snows: while the rock which overhangs the basin enjoys a milder atmosphere, and is clad in vegetation, and enlivened by the sound of ever-flowing crystal rivu. lets

It has been remarked by a recent traveller, that the head streams of the three principal rivers of Hindostan, are marked by peculiar differences of scenery: the upper regions of the Ganges are desolate and repulsive; the Jumna, after leaving the regions of snow, winds among regions better wooded, and finally through narrow verdant valleys, thinly inhabited; while the Sutledge is shut in by the wildest rocks.

These three rivers are intimately connected with the gloomy and debasing mythology of the Hindoos. In Greece and Italy, the intelligent Christian traveller finds reason to mingle melancholy reflections with his admiration of the natural beauties of the landscape. The same is true of Hindostan : particularly of the sublime regions of which we have been speaking. The Hindoos are taught that one of their principal divinities inhabits the head springs of each of these three rivers ; and to him the whole stream is consecrated. Hence it is, that drowning in the Ganges was considered a religious sacrifice to Siva, or Mahadeo : the being who is reported to have come from Ceylon many thousand years ago, and to have form- 3 ed the Himmaleh mountains for a place of retreat.



Few rivers in the world rise among sce. nery so sublime as the principal streams of Hindostan. For descriptions of the wild landscape through which flow the early fountains of the Jumna, depicted above, we are indebted to Mr. Fraser and Captain Hodgson, the latter of whom, in his travels among the Himmaleh mountains, took great pains to penetrate as near as possible to its head springs. From this drawing, inadequate as it is, a general idea, we presume, may be formed of the nature of the place. Like the Ganges, the Jumna has its source among the snowy masses which ever envelope the upper regions of that most lofty range: but so inaccessible are the spots where most of the head streams take their rise, that no human foot has ever reached them. A hardy and venturous traveller may proceed far among desolate regions, and pass over chasms of the most terrific nature, on frail steps and narrow bridges of poles and sticks, such as the mountaineers construct : but even these are unavailing beyond certain points.

Two peaks are seen here to rise above the other distant mountain ridges. The

THE MOTHER OF THE SIAMESE TWINS. -Our missionaries in Siam, as appears by S their Journal in the Herald, made the acquaintance of this woman at Maklong, in Siam. They say—In the course of our morning walk we met a very respectable looking man, who informed us that he was the individual who conducted the Siamese

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