remained quiet, but his self-control lasted no
longer. We were descending a steep mountain
path, only wide enough for one horseman,
when I heard him thundering down after me
with his cry of "Mr. Secretary," leaving me
barely enough time to urge my horse to the
degree of speed that would carry me down
safe before him. At the bottom my horse of
his own accord leaped over a ditch into a
little meadow, and my persecutor's mule
followed by instinct and alighted just before me.
I at once began, in fulfilment of my pledge,
to fan my young tormentor in the rear with
the long hunting whip; he was not well
protected by his petticoat of English calico, and
as I chased him closely round the meadow I
kept up my fanning rather mercilessly. His
master rode by, roaring with laughter, and I
left him with his canopy about his head,
rubbing himself very ruefully.

He and his master went up to the village
at which we were all to sleep, by a short path
that was too steep for our more heavily laden
animals. My friends thought, that as our
late companions would arrive before us, they
would be revenged for my castigation of the
boy taking exclusive possession of such
accommodation as the place would furnish.
They did injustice to a Turk's politeness.
The old gentleman met us at the entrance to
the village, and conducted us to a spot where
there was a house already being swept out
for our reception; fire was made, our chickens,
eggs, milk, and whatever else we should desire,
had been already courteously sent for. Of
course we invited the old Turk to sup with
us, and liked his company. I was afraid,
however, that I should have lost all credit
with him at supper time. We had two boxes
matching one another, one of which contained
sugar, the other salt. He pointed to the salt-
box, and, as he was at the time eating an egg,
I thought he wanted it, and held it open to
him. He taking it for sugar, put his fingers
in and filled his mouth. The poor old fellow
was a bon vivant, and grimaced awfully, but
allowed himself very soon to be assured that
my mistake was not intentional.

We retired after supper to our dormitory,
a detached room on the ground floor, in
which there had been a large fire lighted to
drive out the mosquitoes. The heat being
intense we left the door open, and lay down
on our Greek carpets. Not having slept
much in our boat on the preceding night, we
were soon making amends for the lost time;
but we could not have been long asleep before
I, who happened to lie nearest to the door,
was awakened by a series of violent pokes in
the back. I started to my feet, and found
that my enemy was a large pig who had just
come to bed, and objected to my occupation
of his chamber. The pig having been turned
out, I lay down again to be a second time
awakened by a goat, who had also his objections
to my presence. The goat was strong,
and forced me to a contest which awakened
and amused my friends, who, when afterwards
we all stripped at Janina before entering a
vapour-bath, were very much surprised at the
black marks of the goat's horns upon my
back and ribs. When I had turned out the
goat I locked the door, bolted it, and disposed
myself for a good rest. In half-an-hour,
however, we were all of us awakened by an
ominous noise of underground thunder twice or
thrice repeated. Then the entire shed shook
desperately, and the large flat stones with
which the shed was roofed were brought
rattling down about our ears. With no worse
hurt than a few bruises we escaped instantly
from the building, and finished our sleep on
the grass of the garden in which we had
supped.—It was only an earthquake.

MINE INN.

"SHALL I not take mine ease in mine inn?"
asked that portly, witty, but most immoral
and unprincipled knight who misused the
king's press so—somethingably—in the matter
of his charge of foot; and, whilom, was so
staunch a supporter of the Boar's Head
Tavern, in Eastcheap. Many men have taken
their ease in their inn since the days of
Sir John Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. The
meanest and the most famous have reposed in
"mine inn;" and millions of reckonings have
been paid, and millions of inn-frequenters
take their ease now in that great, quiet
hostelry, the Grave.

To the contemplative man, and to the lover
of social antiquities, the subject of inns is
associated with the pleasantest, the kindliest,
the most genial, and the most elevated
humanities. Our interest in inns is as old as
Christianity itself; and, in one instance, our
interest is mingled with awe and reverence
and loving gratitude. The good Samaritan
took the wounded man to an inn, and left there
twopence for his subsistence; and, to leave
sacred for profane history, were there not
inns in ancient Greece and Rome? Were not
the remains of inns discovered in the
excavations of Pompeii? Can any of us forget
Horace's inn adventures in his journey to
Brundusium? In England, inns are full of
interest from the earliest ages. The brightest
landmarks of our literary history lie in inns.
From the Tabard Inn in Southwark set forth
that gallant company of Canterbury Pilgrims,
whom Chaucer has rendered famous to all
ages. The knight and the pardoner, the
cook and the wife of Bath: we can see them
now, ambling, jingling, rushing in their quaint
costume; laughing and story-telling as they
issue from the low portal of the old Tabard.
They shall not die, nor shall the pleasant
memories of the Tabard and its fellow
inns fade away while we have eyes to
scan and pens to transmit the eulogies of
Chaucer's glorious verse and of Stothard's
pencil.

The Boar's Head in Eastcheap was a