The Sun.
London, England, 1862-11-18 00:00:00

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THE SUN, LONDON, TUESDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 18, 1862.

There was Egina on the left and Salamis right in
front, and by degrees Mount Hvmettus, the Acro-
polis, the Royal Palace, and the town, one by one
unfolded themselves, till at last, after another turn
of the wheel, a forest of masts revealed the port of
Pincus. All eyes were eagerly turned in that
direction, for many were the masts, nd so majestic
as to leave no doubt of their belonging to large men-
of-war. A three decker, with the red ensign on
the foremast, is the Marlborough, with Admiral
Martin on board ; close by, a two•decker, you can
see from the figure-head it is the Queen. To the
left a large corvette, tie Pelican ; beyond, a large
French frigate, the Zoobie, with the ensign of a
rear-admiral; further en, another French mara.of.
war, and then an Austrian, and among them all the
Greek steam frigate Amalie, in which the King had
started on his last cruise about Greece, and round
her a number of smaller vessels—corvettes, sloops,
and gunboats. The mug harbour can scarcely hold
them all.

But beyond this large display of naval force no-
thing seems chanced, ThAtUchor is not yet down
when off come the boats of meuof-war, as usual,
for their mails, and, mixed up with them, the host
of shore boats withtheir crews, as usual, clamour-
ing, pressing, running against each other, and try-
ing ,to entice passeigers by that wonderful display
of polyglot elownee which the influx of Western
travellers has taht the boatmen of the Levant.
They scarcely wait for the departure, much less for
the return, of the docteur and commissaire with the
bill of health and the despatches. Up they rush in
a motley crowd, and with them the commissionaires
of the different hotels of Athens. The first lay
hands on you ani your luggage, vociferating, quar-
relling, coaxing, the latter shove their printed cards
into your face. Hotel des Etradgers, Hotel de
l'Orient, Hotel dela Couronne, goes the story which
you know so well by heart. It is just the same as
of old, at any rale the revolution has not changed
these your tormeitors, that is clear. Let us hope
your rambles in tle East have imparted to you true
Osmanli composure and dignity, for if you get'ner-
vous or out of tem?er you are lost, and become an
easy prey.

But what has become of our Greek friends on
board? Let us havea glance at them before leaving.
Surely so many exiles and patriots belonging to so
demonstrative a people cannot return to their homes
without finding sone friends waiting for them. If
only for the sake of a contrast don't let us lose the
chance of seeing some traces of the more tender
human feelings on those faces which we have only
seen glowing with political excitement for the last
two days. Alas, de excitement of political tri-
umphs is egotistical, It absorbs the whole being of
men having no room for any other feeling. Those
friends who might have been expected to come down
are probably intoxicating themselves with politics,
listening, talking, watching for news, doing any-
thing rather than thixking of friends returning, so
our friends do as you )r I do—make bargains with
boatmen, and get their traps taken down.

Losing or fallen causes are far more favourable to
outbursts of affection than triumphant ones, as you
can see by that fair-haired young lady, whom you
would never have suspected of being Greek. She
has excited your interest by the nervousness she has
shown ever since the vessel arrived in port, going
from side to side, and looking eagerly at every boat
which was approaching. She is still enough now,
leaning overboard as far as she can, and gazing
fondly at an old gentleman and lady and two pretty
girl who are down below in a boat. She never at-
tempts to speak, but the smile in her face and the
tears in her eyes tell their tale, and so does the boat
down below tell its tale—it is French, there can be
no mistake ; they are a family who have taken re-
fuge under• French colours.
The boatman is getting impatient, so let us be off.
You take the helm, and steer, as you used to do,
to the part of the quay at, the head of the harbour,
Not that Tray,.. ayS Viiir boatman, " but to the
Dogena." This is new. „Whatever other faults the
late Government had, it was liberal enough to tra-
vellers. You and your luggage were free to land
and go wherever you pleased ; no questions were
ever asked.

You arrived at the Dogana, which is to the right
hand of the harbour, and the first sight which meets
you is that of a number of armed civilians standing
about the place. They are the improvised National
Guard of the town of Piraeus, mostly young men
under 20, and evidently belonging to the wealthier
classes. Every one has adopted some distinctive
sign, with not much regard to uniformity. Blue
scarfs, red scarfs, blue muslin or red ones round their
wide-awakes, red ribands or tricolour ones, white,
red, and blue, in their buttonholes. They under-
stand their mission, for they keep off the rowdies
who crowd about you and your luggage. A civil (!)
douanier helps you to open your trunlts, and having
looked at them without turning out everything, ,
helps you again to shut them up.
Outside are the hackney coachmen, eager for prey, i
as of old, every one anxious to set forth the advan-
tages of his own vehicle. You choose, and off starts
in a gallop your triumphant Jehu. You look about
you as you pass through the town of Piraeus. There
are the idlers before the coffee and wine shops as of
old ; the artisans in their workshops, neither more
nor less excited than usual. Your coachman stops
to pay the toll at the outskirts of the town ; once
more you look back from the hill on which you are
to the town and harbour behind, and your carriage
rolls down at a rapid pace into the plain which
separates Athens from the Piraeus. It is rather
more dusty than usual, for there has been no
rain for several months, and the watering has
been discontinued since the revolution; but right
and left the labourers are busy clearing the dust
away from the roots of the young trees, and bank-
ing it up all round so as to form atrough for
the water, which they may hope for in less busy
times. As you go along you meet with num-
bers of carriages on their way to the port. They
are crowded with passengers and luggage, and
you are told they are German followers of
the ex-King, who are leaving for Trieste by the
Austrian steamer. They are palace servants,
domestics, chaplains, &c., and are well known
to all those they meet. But not a sign of ani-
mosity can you see against them from any of
those National Guards, soldiers, or others, who
crowd the open omnibuses or drive by in hackney
coaches. They seem scarcely to notice them. This
is a good sign, for it shows that party spirit never
ran very high. The triumph has been so easy and
so complete that it left scarcely time for the rousing
of copular passions.
I had a further proof of this on the road. Seeing
a little boy, evidently belonging to the better
classes, running along the road towards Athens, I
took him up. The coachman told me he was the
son of one of the higher officers, who was known as
an ardent partisan of the King's. When we an•
rived at the halfway-house on the road where they
water the horses, the publican asked the boy about
his father, just as if nothing had passed—whether
he had gone with the " skoufos," as the K'ng was
nicknamed, or what had become of him, The boy's
answers were just as natural; he told him he had
escaped in an open boat. The conversation could
not have been less excited if " papa " had simply
gone to a watering-place.
The same absence or forgetfulness of all ill-feeling
struck me likewise from the very first moment of
my entrance into Athens. There were the gendarmes
and the cavalry soldiers, who held out longest in the
struggle, mixed up with other passers-by, unnoticed
and uncared for.
Knowing the excitable and demonstrative charac-
-1 ter of my Athenians, I expected to find that they
had made the most of the occasion to celebrate
with decorations, flags,
and flowers so auspicious an
I and all the rest of Italy during those first holydays
L of freedom,—never to be forgotten by any one who
witnessed them—
event. I remembered Milan, Naples, and Palermo,
when men, Women, and children,

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