All the unenergetic world was waiting below, but we who had been to the top felt immensely superior, and Papa Demetrios gaily chaffed the lazy ones on the way to vespers in the Metropolitan Church for their lack of religious zeal. Here the eikons spent the second night of their absence from home. I was very curious about the next day’s proceedings, for on Tuesday the eikons were to visit the once celebrated Church of St. George Balsamitis, where is the prophetic source of Amorgos. So I left the town early with a view to studying this spot, and if possible to open the oracle for myself before the crowd and the eikons should arrive. It is a wild walk along a narrow mountain ridge to the Church of St. George, about two miles from the town. Here I found Papa Anatolios, who has charge of this prophetic stream, very busily engaged in preparing for his guests. A repast for twenty was being laid out in the refectory, and he said a great deal about being too much occupied when I told him I wished to consult his oracle.

At the beginning of this century and during the war of independence this oracle of Amorgos was consulted by thousands: sailors from all the islands round would come to consult it prior to taking a lengthened voyage; young men and maidens would consult it prior to taking the important step of matrimony: but during the piratical days which followed, the discovery was made that evil-intentioned men would work the oracle for their own ends. The spot is unprotected and easy of approach from the sea, so the pirates used to bribe the officiating priest to send an unwitting mariner to his doom. Despite all this the oracle is much consulted by the credulous, and reminds one forcibly of the shrine of Delphi of old, or the sanctuary of Trophonius, in the fluctuations of popular favour which have attended its utterings.

There is the church on the slopes of a hill commanding an almost deserted valley, there are the tall religious cypresses towering above it. The genius of the place is decidedly awe-inspiring. No habitations are near, only the ruins of an old water mill, garlanded with maidenhair, which was once doubtless worked by a branch of the sacred stream. Over the doorway as I entered I read that the church was repaired in 1688, and then I stepped with Papa Anatolios into the dark pronaos, covered with frescoes representing the adventures of St. George, the modern Theseus, of St Charalambos, the modern Aesculapius, and of St. Nicholas, the modern Poseidon, the tutelary deity of seamen.

On entering the narthex Papa Anatolios still demurred much about opening the oracle for me, fearing that I intended to scoff; but at length I prevailed upon him, and he put on his purple stole ^note, and went hurriedly through the liturgy to St. George before the altar. After this he took a tumbler, which he asked me carefully to inspect, and on my expressing my satisfaction as to its cleanness he proceeded to unlock a little chapel on the right side of the narthex with mysterious gratings all round, and adorned inside and out with frescoes of the Byzantine School.

Here was the sacred stream, the agiásma ^gr, which flows into a marble basin, carefully kept clean with a sponge at hand for the purpose lest any extraneous matter should by chance get in. Thereupon he filled the tumbler and went to examine its contents in the sun’s rays with a microscope that he might read my destiny. He then returned to the steps of the altar and solemnly delivered his oracle. The priests of St. George have numerous unwritten rules, which they hand down from one to the other, and which guide them in delivering their answers. Papa Anatolios told me many of them.

1. If the water is clear, with many white specks in it about the size of a small pearl, and if these sink but rise again, it signifies health and success but much controversy. I was a foreigner and a guest, so politely he prophesied this lot for me.
2. If there is a small white insect in the water, which rushes about hither and thither in the glass, there is no fear of storm or fire.
3. Black specks are bad, and indicate all sorts of misfortunes, according to their position in the water; if they float they are prospective. Some that appeared in my glass sank; these Papa Anatolios told me referred to difficulties of the past.
4. Hairs are often found therein; these indicate cares, ill-health, and loss of money. From these I was luckily exempt, but my unfortunate servant, who tried his luck after me, had lots in his glass. Poor man! He never recovered his peace of mind till dinner time, when the enlightened demarch laughed at his fears and told him some reassuring anecdotes.
5. When you ask a direct question concerning matrimony or otherwise the wily priest regulates his answers by these microscopic atoms which float in the glass. If the marble bowl is empty at Easter time the year will be a bad one; if full, the contrary. This is easily accounted for by the rainfall.

These and many other points Papa Anatolios told me, and I thanked him for letting me off so mercifully.

To my surprise on offering him a remuneration for opening to me the oracle he flatly refused and seemed indignant.

Whilst waiting for the guests Papa Anatolios discoursed freely about his oracle. Centuries ago, he said, some lepers had bathed here and became clean, thereupon they dug in the ground and found the eikon of St George, which now, set in silver, is kept at the convent, and was just about to revisit its hiding-place. The church of the oracle is rich, and at various epochs it has been filled with ex voto offerings, such as wedding wreaths from those who have consulted the oracle prior to matrimony and have been satisfied with the result; silver ships from mariners whose course has been directed safely by the oracle. All manner and kind of gifts were hanging up here and there in dazzling confusion, very like, I thought, what an old heathen temple must have looked when hung around with the anathémata ^{gr note} to the gods. Nowhere is one brought so closely face to face with the connecting links between heathendom and Christendom as one is in Greece.

About midday we heard the distant chanting of the procession, and soon the three eikons and their bearers were upon us. After the liturgy was over, and the religious visit paid, we had a very jolly party in the refectory. Papa Anatolios produced the best products of the island — lambs, kids, fresh-curdled cheese, wines, and fruits — and it was not till late in the afternoon that we started on our homeward route, still chanting and still worshipping these strange silver pictures from the convent.

With regard to the antiquity of this prophetic source there is little reliable information. Everyone who has been to Amorgos, from Father Richard in 1651 to Ross in 1841 — all mention it, but they, curiously enough, only mention that the oracle was taken from the rise and fall of the water. Capo d’Istria when he took the head of the government in regenerated Greece ordered this as well as a prophetic source in the island of Scyros to be closed, but the popular feeling was too strong — it had to be restored. These things seem to flourish under opposition, and to die a natural death only when attacked by progressive civilisation.

We were all rather tired that evening on our return from the oracle, so next morning the bells failed to wake us early, and I was glad to learn that the eikons had started on a visit to a distant place where I had already been — Torlaki — where was an old Hellenic watchtower; so during the early part of the day I strolled quietly about the town, and ingratiated myself as best I could into the good graces of the old women of the place, who had much that was quaint to tell me.

I had heard of Kera Maria’s wonderful skill in incantations, and accordingly wished to hear some of them. It is exceedingly difficult to get at these quack charms for curing diseases by the magic of certain words, full faith in which exists largely in the remote islands, to the exasperation of the local Hippocrates. The old witch in question was, of course, busy with her loom, so I sent my man before me to inform her — by no means an untruth — that the English gentleman had a pain, and having heard of her skill in magic was desirous of being relieved of the same. She mumbled to herself as I entered, and as she mumbled she made certain curious signs; her words were very indistinct, but that evening, thanks to the kindly aid of Papa Demetrios, I was able to obtain them; and append a literal translation:—

The quaintness of these incantations struck me forcibly in my wanderings through the islands. I collected many of them, but none quainter than this. Erysipelas, too, she says she can cure by putting a little honey on a dish, and taking a feather at the same time and rubbing the honey on the wound as she chants some mystic words. Whether I benefited by the old dame’s cure or not I shall never know; at all events I was strong enough that evening to walk down to the seashore to see the arrival there of the eikons, with their wonted accompaniment of chanting and festivity. The little harbour village was decked with flags, the caïques and brigs were also adorned, and a good deal of firing was going on in honour of the event. That evening the eikons and I passed by the harbour, certainly to my personal discomfort, for never in the course of my wanderings did I rest under a dirtier roof than that of Papa Manoulas. He is a proverbial Greek priest, having a family of eleven children; he keeps a sort of wineshop restaurant for sailors, and excused the dirtiness of his table by saying that men had been drunk in his house the night before. He cooked our dinner for us in his tall hat, cassock, and shirt sleeves, and then put me to sleep in a box at the top of a ladder in one corner of the café, which was redolent of stock-fish and alive with vermin.

I wanted no waking next morning, and was pacing the seashore long before the eikons had begun their day’s work; it was fresh and bright everywhere except in Papa Manoulas’ hole. To-day was to be the blessing of the ships, and as every Amorgiote, directly or indirectly, is interested in shipping, it was the chief day in the estimation of most. When the procession reached the shore the metropolitan priest of the island entered a barque decorated with carpets and fine linen, carrying with him the precious eikon of the life-saving Madonna: he was rowed to each ship in turn, and blessed them, whilst the people all knelt along the shore; and as each blessing was concluded a gun was fired as a herald of joy. The rest of the day was spent in revelry. I was glad not to be going to pass another night under Papa Manoulas’ roof, for I felt sure that it would be dirtier than ever.

Friday and Saturday were passed by the eikons and priests in complimentary visits and liturgies in the numerous churches in and around the town. I did not accompany them on these journeys, and persuaded Papa Demetrios to come off with me on an excursion, for he, too, was tired of these repeated ceremonials, and was not sorry to transfer his eikon to inferior hands.

The Sunday next after Easter may be said to be the real festival in Amorgos, for on this day the eikons return to their home. The same concourse of people assembled on the spot where they met them to bid farewell, and 500 men then accompany the three priests all the way to the convent along the narrow road; and the monks beneficently present each with as much bread and cheese as he can carry, for which purpose large baskets full of these materials were collected at the convent door; and the Easter dole took up well-nigh all the afternoon.

Towards five o’clock there was a going to and fro in the little plateau before the church. Old women with the large wagging tourlos on their heads arrived to get a good position for the sight, each with their little stool under their arms — these stools being about six inches high, and made of cross bits of wood and covered with goats’ skin. Places were reserved for the demarch and ourselves on a stone ledge which runs along the façade of the church. The musicians came, and had seats placed for them under the wavy plane tree which occupied the middle of the square. There were three of them: one with a cithara, another with a lyre, and another with a flute. They were gay, lively fellows, and often made impromptu verses to their tune. One of these the demarch, who sat by me, repeated, and said it had been to urge on the guests that were idle in the dance; and on my expressing surprise and, perhaps, a little incredulity, he stepped up to the musicians, evidently to tell them to sing a verse especially for my benefit. Presently, whilst I was making a little sketch of one of the dancers unobserved, as I thought, to my great discomfiture a couplet was hurled at me, which made everyone laugh, and which ran as follows:—

So I was thoroughly convinced of the musicians’ ability for impromptu versification. After half an hour’s delay the chief priest came and took the place of honour, being a stone armchair on the same ledge on which we were sitting, and this was the signal for the musicians to begin. The week’s veneration for the eikons was at an end, and the Amorgiotes were now prepared for enjoyment.

Everyone knows the beauties of the Greek syrtos, as the dance goes waving round and round the plane tree in a village square, now fast, now slow, now three deep, now a single line, and then the capers of the leader as he twists and wriggles in contortions. Here in Amorgos the sight was improved by the brilliancy of one or two old costumes. One lady especially was resplendent: her tourlos was of green and red, her scarf an Eastern handkerchief, such as we now use for antimacassars; coins and gold ornaments hung in profusion over her breast, her stomacher was of green and gold brocade, a gold sash round her waist, and a white crimped petticoat with flying streamers of pink and blue silk, pretty little brown skin shoes with red and green embroidery on them. She was an excellent dancer, too, a real joy to look upon. The men wore their baggy trousers, bright-coloured stockings, and embroidered coats; but the men of Amorgos are not equal to the women. The beauty of an Amorgiote female is proverbial. Thus the festivities of Easter week were brought to a close. We will now wander through the island with Papa Demetrios, and see its beauties.

One of our expeditions before Easter began was to the northern end of the island, the demarchy of Aigiale, where Papa Demetrios engaged to show us five villages, the remains of antiquity, and lovely scenery. Papa Demetrios was in many ways a most intelligent man, but, as is usual with the Greek priest, he is a peasant of humble origin; but he is devoted to archaeology, and before we started he took me to his house, where he had collected all sorts of odds and ends from all parts of his native island: he, his stalwart wife, and his quiverful all dwelt in two rooms, with hardly any furniture in them except antiquities — fine, large amphorae, an interesting stele representing Charon in his boat handing in the dead, which boat apparently had a canvas bulwark just like a modern caïque. Then there were all sorts of ancient tools — basalt instruments for polishing marble, weights and measures, plummet lines, &c., baskets full of lamps and heads. Again, Papa Demetrios is well versed and interested in the folklore of his country; he does not believe quite all he hears or quite all he preaches, but then for expediency’s sake it is better to humour the people.

It was a wet morning, and the good priest would willingly have stopped at home had I not urged him to start. ‘“God is emptying His bowl,” my parishioners would say.’ and then he explained the prevalent idea that God, like Zeus of antiquity, has a bowl or receptacle full of water, which He shakes, and then clouds come out; these fall to the earth as rain or snow. Symptoms of clearing up having set in by eleven, we started, and took our way along the western coast. Quite a speciality of Amorgos are the well-preserved Hellenic towers; there are more here than I observed in any island, and the one at Arkesini is about the best in Greece. We passed by two on our expedition this morning, the first at a spot called Torlaki, a square one with traces of an arched door. Further on, at Richti, we passed a round one, ten and a half yards in diameter, with an entrance one yard four inches wide, and part of the wall forty feet high still standing, with narrow windows for shooting out of still preserved. We saw several other watchtowers on our way, and about two o’clock we drew up at a mandra for some refreshments; it was all full of smoke and filth, but everyone knew and worshipped Papa Demetrios — he had but to command, and the thing was done.

As we approached the bay of Aigiale to our left we passed the island of Nikousia, which protects this harbour, and is used as a place of banishment for Amorgiote lepers. And then about five hours after leaving the capital we entered the demarchy of Aigiale, which consists of five villages dotted up and down an exceedingly fertile valley. Down by the harbour is the village of St. Nicholas, where there are lots of ruins, chiefly of the Roman epoch, vaulted tombs, and a place which must have been a bath and the remains of a temple. Amorgos was a place of banishment, and the exiles seem to have tried to make their sojourn here as endurable as possible; it must have been life instead of death to Vitrius Serenus, when Tiberius decided to send him here instead of to Gyaros.

As the afternoon was growing late we climbed up to the village of Tholaria, where Papa Demetrios promised us comfortable quarters for the night; and we arrived just in time to see the old women returning from vespers with their tourli wagging on their heads. One of these Papa Demetrios accosted; she touched the ground and kissed his proffered hand; and he then smilingly asked her if she had been doing anything in the magic line lately.

She at first flatly denied any intercourse with the Evil One, with the vehemence of an Irish woman accused of stealing potatoes; but on the prospect of a slight remuneration from the stranger she at length admitted that she knew a thing or two. She could prepare a good love potion, she said, warranted to bring a suitor to any love-sick damsel.

‘Get an animal, a mule, or a goat, even a dog will do if you can get nothing better, open its mouth, and make it bleed some drops into your frying pan. Cook the dinner in this without blowing the fire, and see that the man to be won eats of this dish.’

I could never have wormed this secret out of the old woman if I had not been aided and abetted by Papa Demetrios. I tried myself to get something out of another old woman, but she only laughed at me and sang the following punning distich, ‘I was born in May (Maïa ^gr), hence I fear no magic (Mageia ^gr, g scarcely pronounced) will hurt me in my bed.’

Next morning we went to a spot called Vigla now, but which was the site of the ancient town of Aigiale; it must have been a strong place, commanding sea and land, and has been chosen as a fortress by the three successive epochs of Greek, Roman, and Frank, as the ruins attest; it was probably the acropolis of the valley of Aigiale, then, as now, dotted over with villages. Within the old walls we saw the bases of three statues standing, evidently in their old position side by side, one of which, by the inscription we saw, had been dedicated to Hera. In the neighbourhood of this fortress are quantities of vaulted tombs, of the Roman epoch, called tholaria (thólos ^gr, a dome), and which gives the name to the modern village.

After the first winter rains the urchins of Tholaria drive a famous trade in ancient coins up here, which they find amongst the ruins. Many of these have the curious device of Aigiale, which Mr. Lambros, of Athens, has lately identified as a cupping instrument, from which he argues that Aigiale was dedicated to Aesculapius.

Before the heat of the day came on our cavalcade left Tholaria, and we commenced our journey round the valley which encircles the harbour. It is most admirably cultivated in terraces forming narrow fields which run up the mountain sides to a great height.

The first village we halted at was Strymbo, built in an almost inaccessible gorge — a wretched hamlet, but exceedingly picturesque, the inhabitants of which are much despised by their neighbours, as uncongenial, and a trifle nefarious in their practices. A proverb runs in Amorgos expressive of supreme contempt: ‘It is like Strymbo with eight houses and twelve ovens.’ Certainly we counted a great many ovens, but the houses were decidedly more numerous than their supercilious neighbours admit.

Next we came to Langada, the chief village of the demarchy and the seat of government. Here the women were busily engaged in the streets in preparing wool for their looms. For this purpose they had long rope-walks down the streets, made of reeds and vine-tendrils fastened on strings, with stones to steady them; these spin round at a rapid rate as they work, and are called kalanádra ^gr. Close to Langada is a fortified refuge from pirates on a rock above the village, most difficult of access even when there is nobody shooting at you from above. It is fortified with walls and machicolations, and at the top is a tiny church and holes cut in the rock for the protection of the soldiers. These times are over now; but they still have a feast day here, and climb up to invoke the blessing of the Holy Trinity.

I did not like the wine they gave us at a remote spot where we lunched that day. It came out of dried goats’ skins, with the hairs left on and turned inside (áskoi ^gr); this gives it a strong flavour, suggestive of goats, which nearly made me sick; but it seemed to please Papa Demetrios, who drank of it freely and grew very gay. He proposed I should stay a very long time at Amorgos, and that he would take me to shoot wild goats on Mount Krytelos, that distant peak to the north of the island, far away from houses or civilisation; and when the summer came we could sleep in the open and have rare sport. But I could only give him the indefinite promise of next year (tou chronou ^gr), the only way of escaping from these pressing invitations of hospitality.

Apropos of sport, the priest asked me the following riddle, to which, I am ashamed to say, I had to be told the answer was a spider:—

The mountain village at which we lunched rejoiced in the long name of Asphondilitis; it is given to cheese-making, and composed of hovels. The one in which we halted was full of cheeses drying on reeds, which were hung from the wall so as to form shelves, and which they call kalamakía ^gr. At this village the old men wear an ancient costume consisting of a curious waistcoat or stomacher and the red skouphià, a knitted cap, which hangs down on one side and which their wives make for them at home, spinning the material and dyeing it with a sort of berry they find on the hills. We visited another ancient tower, and it was quite late before we reached Amorgos and the demarch’s comfortable quarters.

All writers of antiquity agree in saying that Amorgos was three-citied (trípolis ^gr): they were Aigiale, the ruins of which we had seen; Minoa, with its port (Katápolis ^gr); and Arkesini. Each of these towns has been identified by inscriptions found in them; also these inscriptions further tell us that Minoa was a colony from Samos, and Aigiale a Milesian colony. Papa Demetrios proposed that on the next day we should start early, visit Minoa and Arkesini, amongst the ruins of which his father lived and he had been brought up, pass the night at a hamlet called Brytzi, visit the Hellenic tower, and return home on Friday — Good Friday, that is to say. It was a hard programme, as mules could not go along the road he proposed to take me.

First of all, very early in the morning we descended to the harbour (Katapolis), and there Papa Demetrios showed me the remains of a temple of Pythian Apollo, now only discernible from certain pedestals and inscriptions, some of which stand in a field near the shore, and others are let into the building of a little church, the Virgin of the Hundred Gates. On the steps before the tempelon of this church there is a slab, inscribed in late Greek letters, which states that it was put up in honour of one Aurelius, of Minoa; there are others about, one of which is in honour of a Roman emperor, another to Dionysos, another to Hera; by far the most are of Roman date. A little way along the coast we came upon a number of vaulted chambers (tholaria) built up against the cliff, undoubtedly Roman tombs, containing three or four graves in each. Over each grave is the niche for glass vases and lamps, and over each lintel is a rounded arch of white marble, on which has been an inscription, now obliterated. The natives, for the most part, use them as stalls for cattle and storehouses for wood, and look upon them with superstitious awe.

We then climbed the summit on which Minoa once stood, about 600 feet above the sea-level, and we were much struck with the size of the walls and the extent of the terraces; the entrance to this inner town is easily traced, and inside these are numerous cisterns. One curious subterranean building puzzled us much; it has been approached by two doors and steps downwards. The chamber to which they conducted was six feet high, about two yards square, and roofed in by two huge slabs. Over the doors were two deep recesses, and on two sides of this chamber were stone benches raised about a foot and a half from the floor, and in these benches were round holes, open at the outer edge, which looked as if they had been intended for holding those large amphorae. Below this chamber was another, of apparently the same nature, but so filled with rubbish that we could make no observations.

Not many yards from this were the remains of a big building, of which only one wall was left, and slight traces of a vaulted roof, and just outside it extended a flat space, supported on the outer side by a huge wall, which may have been the stadium. On the southern slope of the eminence is the ancient necropolis, many of the graves of which are still unopened. Down in the valley beneath was a stream, or rather the dry bed of what once probably had been a stream, for it is walled in by ancient constructions, now useless, but which doubtless were intended to protect the neighbouring fields from being washed away; all about here are traces of ruins, for the most part turned into cattle stalls. There we saw what had once been the legs of a beautiful statue and several ancient inscriptions let into the walls.

On leaving Minoa we climbed a hill, and halted for our midday repose at a quaint farmhouse. The formation of the room we entered was primitive: a little low table about a foot high, with stools all round, off which we fed; a lamp fixed to a piece of wood nailed on to a block, which could be carried about at will; all round the wall ran a shelf, like a frieze, decorated with the household gods; old plates, of the Venetian epoch, mixed with bright pottery from the Dardanelles; in one corner stood a table on which, by way of ornament, was placed a red dried gourd and an abortive lemon; and the walls were decorated with those rude religious pictures, a large number of which found their way into Greece a few years back from Russia, when that country hoped, on the score of religion, to get a footing here.

Hung up against the wall was the goatskin bag for carrying luggage when the son of the house, a fine, stalwart youth dressed in homespun clothes, went on a journey to the town: it was of very simple construction, having wooden corks put into the feet, sewn up the middle, and strings, or rather thongs made out of cut skin, for hanging it over the shoulder, passed through a bone with which to draw it tight: this is the bourià. Then there was the kaphísi for measuring barley.

The old woman and her grandchild sat plucking cotton as we entered. They seemed much pleased to see us, and under Papa Demetrios’ wing there was no fear of our not being most hospitably treated; and at his instigation the old crone told us some quaint stories, the effect of which was enhanced by her huge white tourlos, which nodded mysteriously as she related how an evil spirit lived close by, which now and again rises out of the sea and seizes infants; hence it is called Gialòu (from gialós ^gr, the sea). If a child has been afflicted by it the mother first sends for the priest to curse the demon, and scratches her child with her nails; if these plans do not succeed she has to go down at sunset to the shore, and select forty round stones brought up by forty different waves; these she must take home and boil in vinegar, and when the cock crows the evil phantom will disappear and leave the child whole.

After a walk of two more hours we approached the rocky promontory on which Arkesini was built: it is a splendid position — a rocky spur running out into the sea, and protected on all sides by lofty mountains. The spot is now called Kastri, but plenty of inscriptions have been found here to identify it as the ancient Arkesini; and it is the property of the father of Papa Demetrios, an old man of eighty, who tills the ground, and, as he does so, rakes up numerous archaeological treasures for his son.

We entered the lowly abode, just under the rock, where the old man was sitting carving himself a wooden spoon, and surrounded by his implements of husbandry — his plough, his sickle, his two-pronged hoe for trimming his vines, still called in Amorgos the díkla ^gr (in Sophocles the same instrument is referred to as a díkella ^gr).

Our priest, on entering his father’s house, touched the ground with his fingers, as a token of respect, before embracing him. His sisters, on the contrary, touched the ground with their fingers before kissing the proffered hand of their brother. This mode of greeting a priest is common now only in primitive societies in Greece, as is also the old way of greeting by placing the hand on the breast and inclining forward, as you say, “Kalos orísate ^gr.” Sometimes even you may still see the Turkish fashion carried out, of putting the hand first to the lips and then to the forehead.

Into the crannies of the stone wall the old man had stowed away a lot of the antiquities that had come to hand recently whilst digging. These he generously placed at my disposal; and, before we left, he gave us a pull at his raki-bottle, drinking first himself, according to the old custom, to prove that his liquor was not poisoned.

Papa Demetrios then personally conducted me over the ruins, every stone of which he knew by heart, for he had been born and bred in their very midst. Though not very extensive, the ruins of Arkesini are interesting, and the rock on which they stand recalls in miniature the Athenian acropolis. There are still to be seen stairs and terraces right down to the sea, and the ascent to the summit is only by one narrow path, which we should have had some difficulty in finding without a guide. Papa Demetrios took great pride in showing us his father’s work.

‘Is not that a credit to an old man of eighty?’ he said, pointing to a nearly-made partition-wall. ‘Do you think it will last as long as that?’ drawing our attention to a colossal Hellenic structure as he laughed at his own joke. There are traces, too, of mediaeval work on the summit, and lots of little stone houses, where Papa Demetrios told us the guests from the town used to sleep when they came here on the annual festival in honour of the Madonna of Kastriani; but this has been abandoned of late years, though the church is still kept in good repair. The walls have plenty of inscriptions let into them, and all around are the foundations of ancient houses and pieces of what have been good statues, most of them piled together in a shed by the old man, and from amongst which I chose a thing or two that pleased me.

Towards evening we bade farewell to the old man and climbed up to the village of Brytzi, where we were to pass the night. It consists of about fifteen houses clustered together, and on a rock in the middle of them are some of those singular writings cut in half-Phoenician, half-Greek letters, similar to some which we had seen on our return from Aigiale; these archaic letters are peculiar to the islands. There is a local proverb about the hospitality of this place: “Whoso goeth to Brytzi and does not get drunk is like a pilgrim who goeth to the Holy Sepulchre and doth not worship;” and this hospitality of Brytzi was no empty boast, for on our arrival under the roof of a friend of our guide’s the neighbours flocked in with provender — one with eggs, another with wine, another with bread, and finally our host came in with a little pig, which he killed, skinned, and roasted before our longing eyes. As he brought it into the house he made a curious obeisance and placed the pig at my feet, saying as he did so a little distich, ‘I have brought you a little pig, red, red as your beard;’ and noting my astonishment and the absence of any red beard, Papa Demetrios explained that this was a customary way of offering a like present to a guest whom they wished to honour.

After dinner we had music, singing, and dancing to the tune of a primaeval lyre; and on the morrow, when we left, not a penny would our host take for all this hospitality, and under circumstances such as this did I realise the benefit of having taken with me a stock of English penknives, &c.: the people prized them highly as returns for hospitality.