TALBOT1411

Corfu
30^th March 1826

My Dear Mother

My first impressions of the island are so various and so novel, everything is so striking, so much of beautiful & sublime, that I know not where to begin – Besides I am confused with the rapid succession of scenery & variety of incidents immediately succeeding the monotony of a boisterous voyage of 450 miles – I had the good luck immediately on my arrival today to meet with an intelligent person, with whom I took a walk – There he said, were the Gardens of Alcinous ¹ (si dice) ² and certainly the spot he pointed to was worthy of the pencil of Claude ³ and the muse of Homer – It amuses me to hear the little children talk Greek, and I find I understand a good deal, which is more than I expected. There is an air of improvement so apparent in this colony under the benign influence of British Protection, good road making, a Handsome new Palace ⁴ &c. that it is quite a relief after Italy sinking deeper in abjection everyday. – The most whimsical mixture of English & Greek is everywhere to be met with – English Halfpence are current, but they are called ïâïëïé which is far more classical. The streets are full of British soldiers, slovenly Greeks & picturesque Albanians

31^st March

I hear that the Post goes today. I am thinking how I can ever get you all here some day or other. I wish I could shew you an Olive wood of Corcyra – the country is a garden, and open; no horrid stone walls, There is a wilderness of luxuriant vegetation, [illegible deletion] traversed not by impassable mule paths, but by excellent English Roads equal to the best of M’c Adam ⁵ – Instead of great Heats &c, at present we have violent storms of rain, producing fine lights upon the mountains – No musquites to be seen – The scenery is what I should imagine was in Arcadia I took refuge today from a storm under an olive which had seen several centuries, and close to a hedge, not formed of thorns, but of a singular mixture of weeping willows, scarlet African Gernaium in flower, immense artichokes, that a man might hide in, and tall branching Cactuses – Europe jumbled with Africa – If the Post were not going I might write till midnight

your Aff^te son
H. T.