Art. VIII. A Grammatical Parallel of the Ancient and Modern Greek Languages. Translated from the modern Greek of M Jules 12mo. pp. xxiv. 158. 1824. in our small portion of the earth, the land of liberty and letters, the country of illustrious men, the seat of philosophy and poetry, the scene of Apostolic labours ! Its glories and its degradations, its refinements and its barbarisms, its freedom and its oppressions, form some of the themes which are most familiar to our contemplation, and most vivid in our recollections. Greece is again, in its living scenes and in its passing events, the object of intense attention and anxious inquiry. Her long slumbering energies have at length been awakened by the rod of the oppressor, and she is again struggling to be free. To what fortunes she is reserved, whether to assert successfully her rights, and to obtain a name and place among independent nations, or to feel with severer pressure the yoke and fetters of her enslaving tyrants, is yet doubtful. Should the conflict terminate in her favour, and the soil of Greece be again the land of free men, there is another victory to be obtained by her before the wishes of all to whose sympathies she has been appealing, can be accomplished. Many who would rejoice in her political independence, would joyfully celebrate her deliverance from the bondage of superstition, and the exaltation of her people to the full enjoyment of Christian rights and Christian blessings. She has, by the elegant and matchless literature of her ancient writers, and by the productions in art which remain to attest her perfection of taste, largely contributed to the instruction and improvement of nations who now surpass her in wisdom, and are become great in arts unknown to her in the climax of her fame. The recollections of her former grandeur, and the benefits she has extended to civilised nations, will, however, avail her little in her present perils. She has no high political relations, no endangered legitimate dynasty, to interest in her fortunes sovereigns and cabinets, who might, by negotiation, or by arms, secure her independence; and she must, therefore, contend in her own strength. The excitement which has been consequent on the struggles of the Greeks with their tyrants, has been the occasion of extending the knowledge of her language, and various works contributing to its diffusion bave been sent abroad by native Greeks. One of these is the · Grammatical Parallel,' now before us in the Translation of Mr. Mitchell, which has too long escaped our notice, and which we now recommend to the attention of such persons as, being conversant with the language of Xenophon and Thucydides, are curious to understand the changes through which it has passed, and the form in which it now appears among the descendants of the ancient Grecians. The work before us is intended for the use only of those who are acquainted with the classic language. To all persons interested in the study of Greek philology, the perusal of the Grammatical Parallel' will be of the most essential service, and it may be sufficient for a reviewer to announce a work like this, and to give the necessary information as to the qualifications of the Author and Translator. As to the former, it may be enough to state, that he is a native Greek, and was a Professor in the Greek College of Scio. Mr. Mitchell spent many of the early years of his life in Italy, Russia, and Turkey, and was afterwards employed as interpreter in the Mediterranean, in the fleet commanded by Admiral Sir Samuel Hood. Mr. Mitchell has some other works in hand relative to the Modern Greek language, in the preparation and publication of which, we hope he will be encouraged by the support of enlightened and liberal scholars. a a Art. IX. Lisbon in the Years 1891, 1822, and 1823. By Marianne Baillie. 2 vols. fcap. 8vo. Price 15s. London. 1825. MR RS. BAILLIE mentions a satirical work which had lately appeared in Lisbon, entitled “ Adam alive again," which had not a little annoyed the national vanity of the self-important inhabitants of the City of Ulysses.' The Father of Mankind is represented as returning to earth, and making the tour of the world; he passes rapidly through England, France, Italy, Germany, and other countries of Europe, where he isevery where scandalized at the innovations which have been made under the name of improvements, and the departure from primitive simplicity. • In the remote parts of Germany, indeed, he is a little comforted by perceiving some remains of venerable and primitive ignorance; but when he comes to Portugal, he breathes freely. “Here," he exclaims in a rapture, “ here will I take up my future abode; here are no nonsensical refinements, no learning, no science, no literature ; agriculture is free from modern presumptuous innovations ; and so far from being pestered with what are called the Fine Arts, I can scarcely perceive any appearance of what are denominated by the ridiculous philosophers of the day, useful inventions. The wise, the noble, the magnanimous Portuguese have in no respect altered since I left the world, and they alone are worthy the honour of my asso ciation." In no part of the world is the remark of the Poet more strikingly illustrated than in Portugal, that 'God made the country, but man the town.' Mrs. Baillie's description of the horrors of Lisbon quite agrees with that given by Mr. Matthews, the fastidious Invalid.' The distant view of the city from the mouth of the harbour, is admitted to be superb in the extreme; but all within the city is revolting. Of a population of 300,000 souls, a fifth is said to consist of negroes and mulattoes. The gayety and sociality which once prevailed among the numerous British residents and some Portuguese families, have given way before the general distrust and gloom produced by the political vicissitudes. In filthiness and impurity of every description, the city seems to vie with Constantinople. And the heat, in summer, is such as only a native or a salamander can subsist in.' The mosquitoes then commence their campaign, and a restless, feverish night succeeds to the sultry day. I agree with Mr. 'Mathews,' says our Author, that there is almost always a 'hot sun and a cold wind with it at Lisbon. I formerly used to fancy every thing connected with winter, cheerless and undesirable, and was fully persuaded that I should enjoy with delight a perpetual summer. Now, when experience forces me to open my eyes to the truth, I am but too well convinced of the benefit and the charm of a change of seasons, such as we are accustomed to see at home; and while I cast my dazzled eyes upon the intolerable glare of blue sky and water, heightened by barren rocks, and faint. beneath the scorching beams of the sun, "shining in his strength," -I remember with a sigh the cheerful hearth, the close-drawn curtain, and the music of the kettle " singing on the hob," which I used to enjoy during the winter, in our English cottage residence. Cowslip exclaims, "Talk of Venus and her doves! give me a roast duck!" and in a similar spirit could I now say, "Talk of vineyards and fountains! give me a good fireside." " We trust that some of our readers will be the better for the Author's experience, and while shivering at the sound of the northeast wind, will learn to reconcile themselves to the varied. moods of an English year. In November, it is true, the weather at Lisbon is delightful; but Judge,' says Mrs. Baillie, what I must suffer here, where, for three miles round Lisbon, in every direction, you cannot for a moment get clear of the disgusting effluvia that issues from every house. I seldom go out, for this reason; and about nine o'clock at night, the case becomes absolutely too bad to describe. What the noses of the Portuguese are made of, I really am at a loss to conjecture.' But this is not the worst ; nor are the shocks of earthquake to which Lisbon is still subject, the most serious drawback on the enjoyments of the inhabitants. The state of the police is horrible. Street robbery is common, and every thief is an assassin. The pocket-knife, which the French troops are said to have dreaded more than all the bayonets of the Spaniards or Portuguese, is here the ready weapon of the assassin ; and the Tagus receives many a corpse on which no inquest ever sits, and which is only seen, perhaps, by the solitary fisherman, as it floats on to the ocean, there to lie unknown and unregistered, till the sea shall give up its dead. The morals, in fact, of all classes in Lisbon, appear to be in a dreadful state. Lisbon, however, is not Portugal. The country about Cintra is represented by our Author as a perfect paradise, and the peasantry are an honest, well-behaved, noble race. Mrs. Baillie was delighted with them. In point of common information, acquaintance with the useful arts, and all that is generally understood by civilization, they are far behind the rest of Europe - a disgraceful wonder in the midst of the nineteenth century.' But, considering the deplorable state of morality, religion, and civil polity in this country, the national aracter, as exhibited among the peasantry, would seem to be excellent, and • censure melts into regret.' This, we believe, is pretty nearly a fair account of the real state of things. Mrs. Baillie has presented to us two very lively, sensible, and well written volumes ; and we like her none the worse for the homesick feeling and the true love of dear old England, which are betrayed in every page, unmixed as that patriotic passion is with any illiberal prejudice against the natives of other lands. We shall make room for some pleasing verses, in lieu of any further extracts, written under the warm inspiration of these feelings. • I wish I were in yon dear land, Beyond the stormy ocean's bound! Nor golden fruits within are found ! Nor orange groves surprise the eye; Nor gorgeous moons with day-light vie. In restless flight from flower to flower, Called into life by fairy power! Nor marbled palaces are there, Each with its hundred menial train; Nor steals upon the silent air, From convent walls the midnight strain. But oh, my country! sweeter seem And fairer to thy minstrel's eye, To mock my home-sick fancy more! Then fail at once, his youthful prime, The victim of a foreign clime, He pines, he fades, he sinks at length. pp. 206-208. |