wine-making, which I picked up long ago in
Spain. Alter dinner, some Greeks, who had
assembled to keep us company, abused the
Turks with the same bitter and rancorous
hate as usual. But I could not get beyond
the fact that the Aga had called some of
them names. Faith, they returned the
compliment. Trying hard, however, to get deeper,
I questioned one of them whom I at last
got into a tête-à-tête. "You are surprised,"
said he, "that we so hate the Turks; yet
it is natural enough. I, for instance, was
made an orphan at three years old by them.
My father was shot dead in sport, by some
Turks who had crossed over to our island
from Anatolia, for a frolic. Nothing was done
to the murderers." So do the consequences
of good or evil deeds live after them, and
even as we sow the seed shall we reap the
harvest. This was in the old time. Such
crimes could not be perpetrated now, the
reforms of the present Sultan having left the
Greeks very little to complain of.

After a light sleep, I rose and rambled out
in the grey of the morning, falling into my
former walk up the dried bed of the forgotten
river. I noticed a very beautiful species of
goat of a bright golden colour, relieved by
spots of fleecy white. The gradual waking
up of the village was very pretty, and
presented some exquisite subjects for a landscape
painter. I never saw anything more
beautiful in the way of scenery than the lights
and shadows on the distant valleys—the
morning seemed to rouse itself so cheerfully.
I could hear the partridges call from their
cover, and the herds low pleasantly as they
went forth to pasture; while a thousand
cocks trumpeted to the world their joy at
the return of daylight. Gradually there
appeared children with chubby faces rubbing
their eyes in doorways; and mild patient
women looking very overwrought stood gazing
out beside them. And there were little dogs
who made irregular sallies at us, with frantic
yelps.

Returning, I met the train of a certain
Mustapha Aga, coming to collect the ushur,
or tythe on the olives; whereat was great
consternation among the Greeks. I was not
surprised, therefore, to find my host away
from home. He and the notables ot the
village were twiddling their beads and
hatching intrigues to deceive the authorities,
as they had been since daybreak. We
spent the rest of the day shooting; but
with small success. We killed only one
pigeon, and started a hare, but too far off
to get a shot. I strongly recommend anyone,
however, who may henceforth visit
Mitylene, to make his shooting-quarters at
Kallonè. I hardly know a more interesting
sojourn; and the country abounds with game.
There is a fellow also named Glygor, who is
a very fair shot, and understands his business
pretty well for a Greek. The ground you
have to shoot over is capital and rare in these
countries. There are stones and mountains,
to be sure, and sharp work it is to get over
them; but your footing is all on short soft
grass at this season of the year, and the large
smooth rocks offer an excellent cover for
birds. They lie in holes among them, and
generally get up straight before you. When
they drop, however, you want a smart dog to
find them, for, if they can run a foot, they
find a hole, and you lose them. It is hard to
hit a hare for the same reason. He need not
scamper a yard without getting behind a
stone; so that you must either blow him to
pieces or give him up, as we did.

The clock of the Greek church had just
struck five—that is to say, at this season of
the year, at about eleven with us—I had
closed my eyes, and was trying to think of
nothing and to doze away, when there was
suddenly a great roar of cannon, and up struck
the bells a sudden and startled peal. At the
same time an outcry which arose in the
streets too soon told me that one of those
fires had occurred which are so fatal to the
Greek villages. I sprung out of bed, anxious
to visit a scene so fearfully interesting, and
the very first person I met was the Greek
archbishop, with his robe tucked up above
his heels, hurrying like myself to the place of
terror. The night was pitch-dark, but
fortunately it rained a little, and there was no
wind. It was a striking scene; the lurid
glare of torches falling on the marked features
and gay coloured costumes of the Greeks;
the shouting of brave men, as they hewed
down the wooden houses on each side to
prevent the fire spreading; the wail of women
far and near; the church bells still ringing
out that fearful alarum, and the distress-guns
booming at irregular intervals.

Once, through the smoke and glare, I saw
a fine, dauntless fellow descending a scaling-
ladder with a half-suffocated woman in his
arms. I never before felt how natural was
the wild huzza which bursts from men who
witness gallant deeds, and which greeted the
saver as he stood again amongst us. The
Greek despot bustled about bravely, and was
so very laudably active and encouraging, that
I felt quite an admiration for him. At last
the fire was got under; but the affrighted
villagers mostly passed the night at their
doors, watching lest any unsubdued spark
should break again.

The fright caused by the fire was, indeed,
so terrible, that one healthy young man was
attacked by epilepsy in consequence. I went
with the village doctor to see him. We found
him foaming at the mouth, and struggling
violently with some people who held him
down, half-scared and half-amused, I am
afraid, at his contortions. He was in a
miserably dark little room. His relations
were so numerous, and they stood so
obstinately near to see what was going on,
that the whole apartment was one living
mass. The grief of the sick man's mother