the exercise of his talents, he had amassed
considerable wealth; so at the time when the
account was given he lived at home at ease,
and received the visits of those who wished to
hear and were ready to pay for his songs. The
Albanian soldiers of the Pasha—degenerate
Greeks who served the Turk, and who could
find no one to chant their exploits, voluntarily
or gratuitously—used to pay John the
Blind to sing their fame: the higher the
praise the greater the pay.

I have alluded to the paneghyris. They
are feasts in honour of the patron saint of
some one hamlet where the meeting is held,
all the surrounding villages turning out their
inhabitants to come and make merry. In
short they must bear a close resemblance to
the wakes in England; for they are always
held on the Sunday after the saint's day to
whom the parish church is dedicated. But there
are some slight differences between a Greek
paneghyri and English wakes; the Eastern
festival is gayer and more simple in character.
The evening before a paneghyri, each of the
neighbouring villages comes trooping in to
the place of rendezvous; the people are
dressed in their Sunday's best, and march
along to merry music. When they arrive at
their destination they make haste to pitch
their tents; and those who are not rich
enough to possess the necessary canvas pluck
branches of trees, and make themselves a
leafy covering to protect themselves from the
dew and the moon's beams; both of which are
held in the East to be injurious to health.
On the day of the feast every one goes to the
service in church in honour of the patron
saint. When they come back to their houses
or tents there is no general feast for everybody
to share. Each family prepares its
separate meal; the greater number in the
open air, and nothing is to be seen (or smelt)
but roasting mutton and broiling lamb. After
dinner the dancing begins; every village
dances by itself, and makes merry by itself
until supper time. After that they pay visits
to each other, or listen to the blind minstrels
who accompany each set of villagers.

The little Homers of the day find an attentive
and numerous audience in the groups
who sit round them in the cool of the evening;
some on the soft turf, crushing below them
the blue hyacinth which makes the ground
purple and odorous hereabouts; some on
pieces of rock, all listening with unquestioning
eagerness; all, for the time, forgetting that
the Turk is their neighbour. Many ballads
are composed expressly for these occasions;
nor can there be a surer mode of securing
their popularity. One sung for the first time
at a paneghyri is circulated the next day
through eight or ten villages. Some of these
songs are literally ballads in the old Provençal
sense of the words; they are exclusively sung
by the dancers as they dance. Indeed it is
a characteristic of the Greek popular poetry,
that it is so frequently intended to be sung
while the singers are dancing. The dancing
is, in fact, with them, a pretty mimicry of the
emotions and movements which the song
describes. Every province has its own peculiar
dance and ballad, appropriate to the
district from time immemorial. This custom,
of singing and dancing in concert, seems
almost to be the origin of the serious part of
our modern pantomime. Of course the dance
is not a mere mimicry of the ballad sung;
but the character of the dance depends on
that of the song. If the latter relates to
deeds of arms, or feats of warriors, the
movements are abrupt and decided; if it be a love
song (and this description is condemned and
despised by the austere mountaineers), the
motions of the corresponding dance are soft
and graceful.

Of the former species of song (those
relating to deeds of arms), the story almost
invariably has a Klepht for a hero. (Klepht
signifies "freebooter," a more picturesque
name than thief, which is, I believe, the
literal translation). But we must not judge
of everything by its name. To explain
something of the true character of the Klephts:
When the Turks first conquered the Greek
provinces, there were always native
mountaineers who refused to acknowledge the
Mussulman government, and considered the
Turkish possession of the lands of the Greeks,
their forefathers, as nothing less than robbery.
These mountain peasantry came down in
armed bands upon the fertile plains and the
luxurious towns, and stripped the Turks and
those who had quietly submitted to their
sway, whenever they could; it was from those
who were thus robbed, that the mountaineers
received the name of Klephts. But our Saxon
ancestors did the same to the Normans;
Robin Hood was an English Klepht, taking
only what he thought was unjustly acquired,
and unfairly held. The Turks found it rather
difficult to make war against these guerillas;
they fled to wild and rocky recesses of the
mountains when pursued. So the wise and
cautious conquerors tried to make friends,
and partially succeeded. In return for certain
privileges, a portion of the mountaineers
organised themselves into a kind of militia,
called Armatolians; but there was always a
rough and stern remnant who persevered in
their independent and Klephtic habits. And
in course of time, many of the Armatolians,
oppressed by the Turks, who no longer feared
them, returned to their primitive state of
hostility against their conquerors, began to
pillage afresh, and resumed the name of
Klepht. Affront an Armatolian captain of
the militia, bound to preserve order, or let
him be unjustly treated by a Turk, and he
instantly turned Klepht, and robbed with
more zest and enjoyment than he had ever
experienced in preserving the peace. So, as
may easily be imagined, the Klephts who
were weak yesterday, may be strong to-day,
both in numbers and in intelligence respecting