the invention of the compass (more popularly attributed to Flavio Gioja of Amalfi), and assign to him the first conception of the vast American continent, subsequently discovered by Columbus and Vespuccio. They also take possession of Hannibal, and enrol him among their native heroes. The evidence is sadly defective in support of either of these hypotheses. In the library of Count de Montenegro, which contains many rarities, our author discovered a singular document, which appears to have been hitherto unnoticed-an heraldic table of descent, bearing mention of an ancient family, with their armorial bearings, called Bonapart, and, as he strongly inclines to think, the ancestors of the great Napoleon. If so, they were originally nobles of Provence, who migrated to Majorca, and thus of French extraction, which the Emperor would have given something to establish. We confess we cannot follow Mr. Christmas in his line of proof with satisfactory conviction, nor does it much signify if we could. Superior spirits establish ancestry by their deeds. "I date from Montenotte-I am the Rodolph of Hapsburgh of my family!" These are better roots for the genealogical tree of the great conqueror than the petty sovereign of Treviso, from whom the Emperor Francis would have deduced his compulsive son-in-law, or the obscure Solar of Majorca, who, according to this recent discovery, may have been his remote progenitor. Our author impresses us with such a favourable opinion of the Majorcan character in general, and eulogizes their domestic habits so warmly, that we are almost tempted to exclaim "redeuntur Saturnia regna," and to conclude that the golden age has actually revived in this fortunate island. But he mentions a few trifling drawbacks, lest his picture should appear all bright and sunny, without a cloud. The mass of the people is ignorant and slothful. The nobles are extravagant, and live beyond their incomes. They are fond of going to law, and the tribes of Levi and Benjamin are ever at hand, with their "monies and their usances," as in countries where the circulating medium is more in demand, to accommodate gentlemen in difficulties with ready cash, on bill, bond, or annuity.

Passing from the Balearic group by Barcelona and Marseilles, Mr. Christmas visits in succession Genoa, Leghorn, Pisa, Florence, Bologna, Padua, and Ferrara and so on through Venice to Trieste and the Ionian Islands. In all these renowned cities, everything worthy of attention has been so minutely investigated, that a tourist in 1851 can only record his own individual impressions of what thousands have previously described. His most ambitious attempt at novelty must resemble the re-arrangement of a popular air with a few variations. The pages of the present writer are never dull, much acuteness and originality of thought are happily mixed with light and agreeable anecdote, while we are carried rapidly over the most hackneyed ground without a sensation of weariness. Italy, under the iron despotism of Austria, languishes and recedes. Such nationality as she ever possessed, and it amounted to little, is hourly becoming less. Education is not likely to be promoted in a conquered country, which withers under the tyranny of a conqueror, who, in his turn, trembles before the influence of enlightened opinion.

The present state of Venice suggests painful reflections. Her external beauty remains, a shadow without substance. All that gave strength or energy is gone. Her marble palaces still glitter in the sun, but the ancient families no longer inhabit them. The gondolas still glide silently, but along deserted canals; the arch of the Rialto stands, but the mer

chants of the world no longer congregate on its thoroughfare; the horses of Lysippus are bridled, while the lion of St. Mark has folded his mane, and suffered his claws to be extracted. A railroad connects the oceangirded city with the main land, and the port, which formerly monopolized the commerce of the world, is fast filling with fluvial deposits, which render it a basin of mud. A mighty change has come over the destinies of nations since this haughty city "sat in state, throned on her hundred isles;" when her doge, resplendent in his pomp on the deck of the Bucentaur, threw a ring into the Adriatic, in symbol of its vassalage. Mr. Christmas mourns over the decay of Venice, but thinks she is not yet fallen past recovery. "No one can regret," he justly remarks, "the extinction of the Venetian power; perhaps of all governments it was the most essentially wicked. But it is not possible to imagine anything of more marvellous beauty, or fairy-like than this city of the Doges, with all its accessories; and if Austria allows it to perish, she will commit a crime against art, and science, and history, and poetry, and romance; and I do not know that even Austria is Boeotian enough to do it." But she is, as time will show. She has no intervals of generous enthusiasm, no sympathy with reminiscences; her feelings, thoughts, and projects are absorbed in one cold word-policy. This policy points out Trieste as a preferable naval emporium. The harbour is better, and the situation more immediately under her own controul. An integral portion of her empire, German rather than Italian, and not a foreign conquest, which a revolution bestowed yesterday, and another may take away to-morrow. The rise of Trieste implies the fall of Venice.

There has been much disquisition on the value of the Ionian Islands as dependencies of England. Many politicians pronounce them a burthen rather than a benefit; and certainly, up to the present hour, their revenue has fallen short of the expenditure. Mr. Christmas is of opinion that the wisest course would be to hand them over to Greece, to be amalgamated with that kingdom, we retaining only Corfu, the advanced position of which, looking into the mouth of the Adriatic, confers on it importance as a military station, which the other islands cannot compete with. Cephalonia has often been recommended, from its superior size, population, and superior harbour, as more eligible for the seat of Government. But the Ionian Islands are unfit for independence, and Greece is unable to protect or improve them. Austria, if she could, would like to rule in the Adriatic, with the domineering exclusiveness which Russia exercises over the Black Sea, although this is an empty chimera never to be realized. As a preliminary, therefore, she would gladly see the British flag removed from the seven islands, and replaced by the less influential banner of King Otho. We need not be surprised that her agency and influence, as Mr. Christmas implies, is at work to make the islanders discontented with their lot, and to give them yearnings after nationality, which she could suppress with the thong and the handcuff, if they belonged to her. The system of her external government is as unprincipled and tyrannical as it is unstable.

From the Ionian Islands, our author journeys on round the Morea and up the Archipelago to Athens and Constantinople. His remarks on the present state and future prospects of the Greek kingdom, are judicious, accurate, and interesting; including a clear account of the causes of our late blockade, aud the coercive measures of Lord Palmerston. Those measures so loudly commented on and hastily condemned by many, both

at home and abroad, have completely vindicated themselves by the result. The demands of England have been satisfied, and her character and popularity advanced by a straightforward proceeding. The modern Greek, with all his ancestry of glory, his recollections of Miltiades, Leonidas, and Pericles, is on the whole inferior in moral integrity to the Turk, his recent master, to whom he bears, and ever will bear, an irreconcilable antipathy. In two thousand years, his characteristics of duplicity and disregard of truth are still stamped upon him in indelible characters, however much his nobler attributes may have degenerated. It will take a long time to educate him for the position which his renovated nation may, in the current of events, again occupy in the European family.

That the Hellenic race should be united into one kingdom, is an anticipation of the future cherished under the name of Panhellenism, and firmly believed in through the length and breadth of the land. It seems not only reasonable but probable that this should one day occur. Turkey is effète, and tottering to her fall. She would have succumbed to Russia in 1830, when the armies of Diebitsch passed the Balkan, and encamped on the plains of Adrianople, but for the interference of France and England, who signified to the northern autocrat, in terms not to be mistaken, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." Russia will never turn her eye away from the tempting prospect of the Golden Horn, and would rather her ancient enemy, the Ottoman, remained tenant in possession of what she considers her destined inheritance, than that a now compact empire, rising in the energy of renovation, and professing the same creed with herself, should step into his place, and thus protract her conquest sine die. On the other hand, France and England, while bent on preserving a barrier against the encroachments of Russia, are not likely to unite in thrusting Greece into the slippers of Turkey, although Greece may be anxious enough to figure in them. She must wait the gradual unfolding of events, and "bide her time," studying in the meanwhile to render herself equal to the more commanding destinies which Providence may have in store for her. A country has much to learn in the common rudiments of moral instruction, of which a conscientious traveller writes, "The ministry allege that even the very chairs and tables in the ministerial hotels are not safe; the Queen declines going to the theatre, because the furniture of her box was stolen; and there are villages in Acarnania where one day in the year is consecrated to theft." King Otho sits in an uneasy chair, which he may perhaps abdicate of his own accord, if not called on to retire. The throne of Greece is not a very popular investment, and was some time in the market before a bidder could be found. Leopold of Belgium, to whom it was first offered, declined the bauble, and proved himself a wise man in his generation. His snug little kingdom, though less classical, is more secure, and has stood unmoved, while Europe was convulsed with revolutions. It has, besides, the additional advantage of being nearer Claremont in case of accidents.

Two-thirds of the last volume of the work we are reviewing, are occupied with an elaborate description of a visit to the "Seven Churches of Asia," as addressed in the Apocalyptic epistles by St. John. Both to the antiquarian and the believing Christian, the sites and vestiges of the renowned cities in which those churches stood, combine a blended interest, which no localities in the east (Jerusalem and Bethlehem perhaps excepted), can compete with.

Some portions of this subject are involved in obscurities which lay

readers cannot always disentangle to their perfect satisfaction. In such cases, it is better to adopt the well-based opinion of professed theologians and preachers of the Gospel, who have devoted much time to the study of these particular points, than either to vibrate in doubt, become bewildered in conflicting theories, or shrink from an inquiry which you are apprehensive of not thoroughly comprehending. The passages of explanatory application with which Mr. Christmas accompanies this section of his work, will be found to supply a clear, intelligible commentary on the inspired text. The reader should turn to the Apocalypse, and study the chapters referred to, in conjunction with the pages before him, if he wishes to understand the drift of the present writer, or considers the subject as one of leading importance. The thoughtless may, perhaps, pass it by altogether, as too heavy and solemn for desultory perusal, or to be referred to a more convenient opportunity. Unreflecting minds may try to persuade themselves that remote classical antiquity has nothing in common with the comparatively recent Christian revelation. In the ruined cities and temples of Asia Minor both are inseparably twined together. The mouldering relics of Ephesus, Sardis, and Thyatira; of Laodicea, Hierapolis, and Colossæ, bear testimony to the mission of our Saviour, as powerfully as they remind us of the pagan glories of Diana and Cybele, of the changeful destiny of Croesus, the sweeping conquests of Cyrus and Alexander, or the might of Imperial Rome. Travelling in Asia Minor, now that Turkey has become more tolerant and sociable, does not appear to be attended with much danger or privation. The khans, as the Turkish hostelries are called, are not unendurable to travellers in good health and spirits. They are certainly preferable to a tent, or a bivouac on the hill side, with the azure sky for a canopy. The chief objection is the difficulty of obtaining six feet square to yourself when they are crowded. To the most gregarious temperament, occasional privacy is one of the greatest of blessings. The inhabitants are civilly disposed, not inordinately given to extortion, and the horses are enduring and sure-footed. Jackals are constantly heard, but seldom seen; and although marvellous legends are preserved of leopards, tigers, and even lions, yet these formidable denizens of the desert are scarcely ever visible in the flesh. Snakes and scolopendras are abundant, but much more afraid of man than he is of them, and little inclined to volunteer dealings with him unless they can catch him by surprise.

We

Winding up his account of the Seven Churches at Laodicea, Mr. Christmas carries us over the stupendous ruins of Hierapolis, and thence to Tripolis, where he closes his tour, and takes leave of his readers. have accompanied him with much pleasure, and are sorry when we part. His book will amply repay perusal, and cannot fail to be popular. There may be more showy and more ambitious publications on many of the countries he visited, but we can recollect none so generally entertaining, comprising so much novelty, and so totally free from even a shadow of objection.

THE BALLOON.

AN "EXCURSION TRIP," BUT NOT BY RAILWAY,

BY A LADY.

OVERCOME with ennui, in being obliged by circumstances to pass a few weeks in London in the month of September, with no resource but the unseasonable society the club affords at such a period; for the sake of excitement, I determined to pay a few guineas for an excursion in a balloon.

In my then frame of mind, the reputed danger of such a trip only added a zest to the determination; in fact, my head was so fully occupied with pleasant anticipations as to leave no room for fears of any kind. I recollected the old song of my childhood

"Was never you at the top of St. Paul's,

To see the little people below?

See how they run about the street !
See how the coach and horses meet!

Sure never was half so pretty a show!"

I

and I thought that I might enjoy some of the delights of such a spectacle without groping my way through dark, dirty passages, or putting my muscles to the exertion of mounting some hundreds of stairs. would take a flight, if only for an hour, from this grovelling world, and though I might be in the clouds, must needs enjoy, during the time, at least a few elevated ideas.

The time appointed was nearly that of the full moon, which would afford advantages in an evening ascent, although I was not quite so enthusiastic as the gentleman who affirmed that

"It were an easy leap

To pluck bright honours from the pale-faced moon ;"

nor, as my time was so short, did I even anticipate being able to get an interview with the man in that planet, or to ascertain if his bundle of sticks was really composed of the chips of some stray moonbeams, or whether the breed of his dog was (as is natural to suppose) that of a Skye terrier!

My arrangements were made for a place in the great Nassau balloon, under the auspices and direction of that prince of aeronauts, the veteran Green; who, having made nearly five hundred ascents, we might fairly conclude that the chances in favour of our safe return were, at least, as five hundred to one.

September, the

Soon after half-past five, on the evening of the party assembled at Vauxhall. At six, the balloon being apparently extended to its full limits and beautiful form, and waving majestically to and fro in the air, as if impatient to be released from the trammels that held it down to the ground, the car, or oblong basket, was hooked on, and we prepared to take our seats.

In this design, however, we were slightly impeded by some of the affectionate friends, whom we were about to leave on terra firma, who surrounded us with a variety of remarks which (had we felt nervously inclined) would by no means have tended to raise our spirits, consisting