a top-gallant mast. M. About's charger bore
a family likeness to Rosinante, although his
owner had christened him Epaminondas. He
was so long that you could not see the end
of him, and as lean as the skeleton horse of
a German ballad. The number of his faults
could never be counted. One day, he would
get into a passion, and run away with his
rider; the next, he would stick his four feet
in the ground, and remain there a fixture, like
a tree.  He could never pass a house without
trying to rub his rider's leg against it; and
when he was passing between two walls, his
only regret was that he could not grate the two
legs against them at once. Sand attracted him
irresistibly; every dusty road invited him to
stretch himself out on the flat of his back; yet
the water of a brook produced on him  exactly
the same effect. He paid no attention to the
bit, was indifferent to the whip, and the most
energetic kicks with the heel were reasons which
had no persuasive force for him. Nevertheless,
his rider felt a little affection for him, in
remembrance of sundry rugged bits of road which could
not have been traversed without his assistance.

If you come at last to love your horse, you
soon adore your agoyates. On this occasion,
the agoyate in chief had the honestest countenance
that man ever bore. His name was
Leftéri, that is, Free, and never name was more
appropriate. He paid his employers a thousand
attentions with so much dignity and so grand an
air, that you would swear he was rendering the
service out of pure politeness, and not to gain a
livelihood.

After M. About's return to Athens, he was
visited by the naval officers who had introduced
him to the classic land. After laughing to their
hearts' content at his black hands and his face,
which the sun had scorched brick-red, "Well,"
they said; "and Greece? What of lovely
Greece?" " 'Faith, messieurs," was the reply,
"I maintain that it deserves that name. It is
neither so naked nor so sterile as you described
it. Handsome trees and verdant landscapes are
to be found there, if you take the trouble to look
for them. Besides, sterility has its beauty as
well as abundance; it has even, unless I am
mistaken, a more original kind of beauty.
Granted, that Greece does not resemble
Normandy. Perhaps it was more wooded, greener,
and fresher in ancient times. It would not be
difficult, to reclothe the whole of Greece with
verdure; it is a mere  question of time and
money. But, would that make Greece more
beautiful? I doubt it. The Acropolis of
Athens, which is the most admirable rock in
the world, is a hundred times handsomer in
summer, when the sun has burnt up the herbage,
than in the month of March, when it is studded
with patches of green. If an enchanter or a
capitalist were to transform the Morea into a
Lower Normandy, he would obtain for his
recompense the unanimous malediction of every
artist."

The population of Greece is about nine
hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. Some of
the departments of France are more populous
than this kingdom. The Greek race forms the
great majority of the nation. This is a fact
which has  been attempted to be called in question.
According to a certain paradoxical school,
there are no longer any Greeks in Greece; the
whole population is Albanian, that is to say,
Slavonian. It is easy to see the tendency of
such a doctrine, which transforms the sons of
Aristides into fellow-citizens of the Emperor of
Russia.

But it suffices to be possessed of eyes to
distinguish the Greeks, an acute and delicate people,
from the coarse and clownish Albanians. The
Greek race has degenerated the least in the
world, and the tall young folks with slender
figures, oval countenances, quick eyes, and
wide-awake intellects, who fill the streets of
Athens, really do belong to the family which
supplied models to Phidias. It is true that the
War of Independence destroyed the greater part
of the population. Since Greece has become
free, she has repeopled herself; but it has been
by the accession of Greek families. A great
number of Northern Greeks, the flower of the
mountaineers who commenced the revolt,
expatriated themselves, and settled in the kingdom
which they had founded with their blood. These
mountaineers, these former rebel or brigand
chiefs (for brigandage was one of the forms
which that war assumed), have imported into
Athens itself the singular manners of their
home. With the other chiefs who formerly
inhabited the Morea, they form the most original
and the most highly-coloured portion of the
Greek people. They give themselves the title
of Pallicares, that is, "Brave." They remain
faithful to the national costume, and proudly
wear the red cap, the golden vest, and the white
petticoat. They ride horses saddled and bridled
after the Turkish fashion; they go about armed,
and followed by a train of armed men. Their
houses bear a slight resemblance to fortresses,
and their domestics, selected from their old
soldiers or their farmers, compose a little army.
They largely exercise a ruinous hospitality:
every one of their countrymen who comes to
Athens finds open house; that is, the shelter of
a shed every night, and bread and something
besides at every meal. When they visit each
other, they imitate the reserved taciturnity of
the Turks, talk little, smoke much, and drink
multitudinous cups of coffee. They salute each
other by laying the hand on the breast; their
"Yes" is a forward inclination of the head,
their "No" a backward movement of the same.
Their speech is interlarded with Turkish words,
which render it difficult to  understand. Some
of them even speak Turkish; most know a few
words of Italian; none know French, and all
are proud of their ignorance in that respect.

Their wives, without being positively secluded,
go put but little. They are ignorant, timid in
society, and always trembling before him whom
they call their lord. They wear the national
cap, and are ignorant of the use of stays.

The Phanariots—who, in the days of bondage,