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the beach of the sea-shore, and from thence across a rugged hill, from the summit of which the view was extensive and delightful. My companion being a zealous botanist, we stopped very frequently to examine remarkable plants and shrubs, and those were interruptions of an agreeable tendency, as furnishing my friend an opportunity of descanting on his favourite study with profit and pleasure to us both."

We reached the scala, or landing-place, from whence the people of the country embark for Smyrna, about noon; and as it was the Mohammedan Sabbath, a great number of gailydressed Turks were assembled at the coffee-houses there, of which there were three in number. With respect to their observance of this day, they in some measure resemble the Catholics, by visiting the mosques in the early part of the day, and devoting the remainder of it either to pleasure or business, whichever has the strongest claim.

After taking coffee on the benches with them, we intended visiting Vourla, the Chytrium of the ancients, but abandoned that intention from the fear of not being able to return to the frigate before sun-set, and the great risk of health in sleeping on shore.

Procuring a Turkish boat, we crossed over to the island now called by the Turks "The Island of the Road," it being connected to the continent by an artificial peninsula built by Alexander the Great. The workmanship of the foundation must have been extremely solid; as, being near the water's edge, it is exposed to all the violence of breakers, even in moderate winds, the force of which it still withstands. We were desirous of landing on that part of the island connected to the main by this pathway, but our boatmen, who were the most unskilful that could be imagined, insisted upon taking us to the port, of which from the boat we could not perceive the slightest appearance. On nearer approach, however, the vestiges of a mole of masonry, or pier, were very visible, resembling a reaping-hook in shape, and forming a calm and smooth bason capable of containing, when closely moored, perhaps forty or fifty large boats or small vessels. It was built with its face extending seaward, to repel the wind setting into the Gulf of Smyrna from the Archipelago, and must have afforded excellent shelter. It was more, however, like a connecting peninsula level with the surface of the sea, and the breakers covering it had thrown the rubbish of its ruins inward, which had so choked up the port that our boat grounded twenty or thirty yards from the shore, to which we were carried on the shoulders of the Turks, who waded there with difficulty.

Tracing the shore along toward the north-east extremity of the island, ranges of building were to be seen on the beach, the

outer parts of which extended some distance into the sea, which appeared thus to have encroached upon the land. Of these buildings the inner walls retained three or four stones in height for their whole length, the blocks were large and well squared, and the workmanship excellent. The buildings themselves, too, were extensive, as might be gathered from their ground plan, still visible where the water was smooth, and, from their situation, were very probably the baths described by Pausanias* and Livy.t

Ascending the hill, fragments of buildings were to be seen at almost every step, and the whole ground was covered with broken pottery, some pieces of which were of fine texture, and very highly glazed on the inside with a black coating; they appeared to be fragments of jars, vases, and vessels of religious and domestic use; the handles, lids, and bases of many of which were perfect.

On gaining the summit of the hill, which completely commanded the whole island, and particularly the port below, we found a level space of about two hundred yards in diameter, and nearly circular. In the centre were the foundations of large buildings, and on that side where the ascent was easiest, traces of steps were still visible; the hewn stones of many of them continuing still in range of line. About the outer edges of this platform were very massive unhewn stones, which might have formed the foundation of an outwork wall, as everything we saw induced us to conjecture that this eminence had been the Acropolis of the city, from the size of the foundations on its summit, and from its commanding situation.

We descended into the middle of the island, which is the lowest part of it, as its two most distant and opposite extremities are elevated promontories. From the supposed Acropolis to the bottom of the valley below, the ground was cultivated for corn by the very few Turks that resided on the island; there being not more than three dwellings on it at this moment, and those situated in different parts. Along the range of this valley, from the one shore to its opposite, were scattered fragments of an extensive pile of buildings, and many places had the appearance of having been opened in search of antiquities, but we could not hear of any traveller having been there for that purpose. Among these fragments were pedestals and shafts of pillars, some fluted and others plain, formed of a hard grey stone, not unlike granite; the pillars were upwards of four feet in diameter, and some of the broken pieces from fifteen to twenty feet in length; there were in number about ten. Among the ruins

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we found also fragments of cornices and mouldings of very excellent marble, and some few pieces of alabaster, not remarkable, however, for any excellency of workmanship, and which, of course, on that account we did not preserve.

This city of Clazomene was founded by the Ionians, A. U. C. 98, or 851 years before the Christian era. Some mention is made of it by Cellarius, vol. ii., pages 44 and 45, where the artificial peninsula of Alexander is described; Pliny v. cap. 29, and Strabo xiv., may be referred to on it; but it is more generally remarkable as the birth place of Anaxagoras, the astronomer, son of Hegesibulus, disciple of Anaximenes, and preceptor of Socrates and Euripides, as well as Themistocles and Pericles.

Abandoning his private concerns to the care of his friends, and refusing to mingle in the bustle of public life, he dedicated himself solely to the study of science, and considered the contemplation of the stars as the natural destiny of man. He travelled into Egypt for improvement, and used to say that he preferred a grain of wisdom to heaps of gold. About the second year of the seventy-eighth Olympiad, a meteoric stone fell near the river Egas, in Thrace. This circumstance induced Anaxagoras to believe that the superior regions, which he called æther, were filled with fire, and that the rapid revolution of this æther raised from the earth masses of stone, which, when inflamed, formed the stars of the firmament. Anaxagoras considered the sun as a mass of fire, or, according to Plutarch, an inflamed stone, greater than Peloponnesus. He ascribed the whiteness of the milky way to the native light of some of the stars. He regarded the comets as formed of a number of wandering stars. He was the first who wrote on the phases and eclipses of the moon; and anticipating, in his sagacious mind, the discoveries of the telescope, he taught that the moon was a habitable world, and contained seas, mountains, and valleys, like our own globe.

The attempts of Anaxagoras, to explain by natural causes the phenomena of the heavens, were regarded by the Athenians as attempts to subvert the influence of the gods, and the philosopher, along with his family, was proscribed as an enemy of the established religion, accused of impiety, and condemned to die; but he ridiculed the sentence and said it had long been pronounced upon him by nature. Pericles, his friend as well as disciple, interposed in his behalf, but the conversion of death to banishment, was the only mitigation of punishment which he had influence to procure.

He died in his seventy-second year, 428 B. C.; and being asked, during his illness, whether his body should be carried into his own country, he answered, No, as the road that led to

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the other side of the grave was as long from one place as the other. When the people of Lampsacus asked him, before his death, whether he wished anything to be done in commemoration of him, he replied, "Yes! let the boys be allowed to play on the anniversary of my death." This, it is said, was carefully observed, and the time thus dedicated to relaxation was called, from that circumstance, Anaxagoreia.

Yet the birth-place of this daring and illustrious sage, whose mind could penetrate the gloom of surrounding darkness, and soar above the dreams of superstition, was now the habitation of a few obscure individuals, lost in more than primitive ignorance and darkness.

Our boatmen, having waited for us, embarked us again on their shoulders, and we intended beating up to the frigate, but whether from fear or indolence I know not, they bore up, when we were half way across, for the scala, and landed us there about four o'clock.

Near to the place of our landing, on an agreeable eminence, a large tent was spread, around which the harem of some wealthy Turk, consisting of about twenty women, were enjoying the freshness of the breeze, unveiled, and with their long tresses floating in the wind. They were, however, too well guarded to be approached; nor, indeed, would such a measure have been safe, even if practicable.

The chaplain's horses and servant had just reached the coffeehouse, from Smyrna, when we disembarked; we therefore rode them up abreast of the frigate, and making a signal with a handkerchief, soon had a boat sent us, in which we reached on board in sufficient time to join our friends at dinner.

The sporting party had no success to crown their fatigues, and were literally knocked up. Good wine, however, and cheerful company are excellent antidotes to dissatisfaction, and they had charms enough to render the evening both short and agreeable. We walked on deck until nine o'clock, and a visit to the officers of the gun-room closed the day.

STANZAS.

I MARK'D thee in thy spring-tide years,
In hope's first ripening bloom;
And little deem'd these mourning tears
Would moisten o'er thy tomb!

Then bright the lustre of thine eye,
And bright thy glowing cheek;
And rarely would the pensive sigh
From thy glad bosom break!

But, ah! thy morning visions pass'd,
Like summer flowers, away,

And misery made thee hope at last
An early burial day!

And now thou 'rt free from earthly care,
How calm thy weary breast!

The lowring phantoms of despair

Ne'er haunt thy dreamless rest!

How dreary was thy course of woe,
In penury to roam;

Till heaven, in pity, found below
Thy dark and silent home!

The foes that blighted each brief joy,
And rack'd thy stricken breast,
May tramp thy turf, but ne'er destroy
Thy calm and silent rest.

Though wasting sorrow chill'd thy brow,

And wrung thy youthful heart,
No bitter woes can move thee now,
So tranquil as thou art!

Oh sleep, then, in thy lonely tomb,
Beneath the grassy sod,

Till Mercy, bursting through the gloom,
Shall lead thee to thy God!

R. M.

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