read his designs just as well as if they
were written on his forehead in letters an
inch long. By and by he doubles, and turns,
and twists. He is drawing nearer to his
subject. He shows, in unusual strength, the
taint of trickiness which forms the invariable
characteristic of his race. It is astounding to
note the time he loses in offering far-fetched
and unseasonable compliments. He has been
with me a full half-hour, and I have not the
slightest idea what he has come about. I
must find out soon, however, for it is
post-day. So I clap my hands again for
Hamed, and ask whether the Dahometan
consular agent has called, as a feeler.

The Greek writhes. One moment, Kurie!
he says, with a twitch that is quite spasmodic.
I express the utmost readiness to give him as
many moments as he pleases, and putting on
an earnest look, I draw my chair quite close
up to him; so I have him at once in a corner.
This is what I wanted. Egad! he has beat
me again. Richelieu, or Talleyrand, were
babies in diplomacy to the simplest of Greeks.
Compliments again. More compliments. Well,
it is of no use interrupting, so I look full
into the terrible eyes, as good humouredly as
possible, and await the result with as
interrogative an expression as courtesy will permit.
At last, here we are!

The man wishes me to serve him. I can
do so, for he is manifestly in the right. I do
not come to this conclusion from what he
says to me. I know that I could not place the
slightest reliance on this; but I happen
to be acquainted with the whole
circumstances of his case; and, although he has
distorted them most egregiously, enough
truth remains to show clearly that the man
has been wronged. A brief word of mine
with the Pasha will soon set all to rights. So I
reassure rny visitor; who looks positively diabolical,
between fear, hatred, and a thirst for
vengeance. I jot down a few names and
dates for my guidance. I will see the
kind-hearted Pasha; who, being ignorant of
the matter of his complaint, will no doubt
remove it. He puts forth one of his small
clammy hands, and it trembles on my arm.
A sickly smile passes over his face. "Tell
the Pasha to punish my enemies,'' he
says, "to make them afraid of me! " As he
speaks, I notice his disengaged hand
nervously opening and shutting, and his teeth
are so firmly closed that it is strange they
do not split. I tell him he is sure to get
justice.

"But the dogs should be made afraid of
me," he gnashes out. "The barbarians,
the tyrants! There is no justice for the
Greek. I want them to fear me," he adds,
with frightful emphasis. "For four
hundred years we have been under the hoofs of
these oxen, these swine! When will our day
of retribution come?" Somebody else
coming into the room, puts a stop to our
conversation. I would have given something
for the interruption, although it does condemn
me to hear another flourish of compliments.
The door closes on my stealthy visitor,
who under healthier political institutions,
might have been an honour to his age
and country. The stuff is there—the genius,
the patience, the energy, and a desire for
knowledge which amounts to a consuming
passion; but it has been spoiled in the making
up; and he is one of many; perhaps he is the
commonest type of his race.

I read an important lesson from the old
schoolmaster. Of all the races over which the
Turks ruled, none preserved a character more
completely distinct than that which was most
hopelessly enslaved. The nationality of the
Greeks possessed a wonderful strength of life.
They preserved their own customs, dress,
religion, and even their own peculiar system
of local government, in the very teeth of as
iron a despotism as ever palsied hope from
out men's hearts. Yet the Turks are upon
the whole afraid of them. They are especially
afraid of the rayahs. They are afraid of their
perseverance, industry in intrigue, and of
their acute and unscrupulous natures. No
statesman in Turkey has ever kept his place
long who was seriously opposed by the Greek
interest. The local Pashas are actually
tyrannised over by them, and their means of
action are extensive and powerful. They have
a supreme genius for complaint, and make a
marketable commodity of their wounds.

The question whether they are wronged;
or whether, like most grumblers, they have
not excellent reason to be contented, must
be answered with much qualification; but men
who are in perpetual fear for their fortunes
and liberties, may be allowed to complain
although they have no fear for their lives.
The haratch or poll-tax is their monster grievance;
audit would be paid cheerfully under any
other name; for two-thirds of the haratch
is now evaded altogether, yet it fills the
prisons and is the staple topic of coffee-house
politicians. The notorious bad faith of
the Greeks has been hitherto the great
obstacle to their evidence being received in
Turkish courts of law. But why have the
fact trumpeted abroad by an offensive regulation,
which will not work one way or the
other? Judges may know that in dealing
with Greek witnesses the greatest caution
and patience is indispensable to get at truth;
but nothing can justify the exclusion of a
whole race from the rights of self-defence and
vindication before the law. I may be
privately of opinion that the Turks as a people
are better than the Greeks as a people; but
I am not therefore justified in concluding,
wholesale, that all Turks are better than all
Greeks. I may think that a Turkish gentleman
will almost certainly tell me the truth,
but I cannot be equally sure that a Greek
will tell me a falsehood. Legislation must
not be based on extreme, or even on general
cases; it should apply to all.