Domestic Country Life in Greece

MODERN Athens, although still retaining many peculiar characteristics, is nevertheless from day to day adopting the habits and customs of other European capitals. It was therefore with much pleasure that we accepted an invitation to make a visit of some weeks in the island of Eubœa, where the primitive simplicity of former days still reigns supreme ; where, at least among the peasant classes, the varied and graceful costumes are still in general use; and where the strange and weird national songs and dances have not yet given place to the all-absorbing waltz. Much even of the patriarchal element still exists there, the island being principally occupied by well-to-do families, who have lived on their property for several generations, and who, coming to the city only for the winter season, regard the country as their real home. Situated out of the more beaten tracks of travel and warfare, Eubœa has remained one of the most fertile and well wooded parts of Greece ; and for this reason it was the favorite abode, during Turkish rule, of rich pashas, who loved its blue winding strait, its green forests, and its delicious springs of water. They had built comfortable houses, and surrounded themselves with a certain degree of luxury for such a remote region ; but, in spite of this, they would not stay after the Greeks came into power, and, reluctant as they were to leave this land of delights, sold their property at any price, and betook themselves over the boundary, — many to Thessaly, where the soil is also very fertile, but where the climate is more severe. Any Greek who was able to do so considered himself fortunate in becoming the possessor of one of these estates, with a village attached, where the peasants lived, who either tilled the land for the employer or rented from him small portions for themselves; in every case, the peasant was very dependent upon the land-owner. Several foreigners also took advantage of the opportunity to settle here; among others, two Englishmen, whose descendants have a good share of political and social Influence in the island. I am told that in the newly annexed territory of Greece there are probably excellent bargains now to be had from the Turks, who, if they have not already departed, will soon do so, as any sacrifice is lighter to a Mussulman than life on Christian soil.

One can reach Eub&339;a from Athens either by land or water, as there is a fine road, the longest in the kingdom, extending via Thebes to Chalcis. The island is connected with the mainland by a bridge across the strait. An omnibus goes daily over this bridge, carrying the mail and passengers. The whole drive, however, is a long and tiresome one, often shared by peasants, who are not pleasant traveling companions, as they bring with them an atmosphere of garlic and tobacco smoke. We therefore concluded to take the steamer, which runs once a fortnight, and is the best means of conveyance, if one is not hurried. As we were to start at midnight from the Piræus, we left our home in Athens at nine o’clock, p. M., and drove over the white, powdery road which connects the capital and its port, overtaking several other carriages containing passengers on the way to the same boat. It is an hour’s drive, and our first stop was at the coffee-house under the group of tall silver poplar-trees, a little out of Piræus. Here is the only shade to be found on the road, and for this reason the cab-drivers always stop there to water their horses, while the passengers eat locoomia, and take a glass of water or a cup of coffee ; and no matter what is the weather, the hour, or the haste, the traveler never leaves or enters Athens, by carriage, through Piræus, without performing this ceremony.¹

Upon arriving at the quay, we embarked in a small row-boat, manned by two sturdy oarsmen, who took us out to the little steamer his. From the quiet harbor we seemed to be transferred to a pandemonium, as the usual scene of confusion prevailing on board a steamer an hour before starting was increased tenfold by the fact that the distinctions of class are very vague here. The deck was crowded with persons of every description, eager to secure the best places, and struggling to pick out their possessions in the heaps of luggage which blocked the passages. The contrasts of appearance in this crowd were very striking. Near the gay mustached officer and his fashionable wife stood the shaggy peasant, keeping guard over his various bundles with as much vigilance as they over their Paris trunks. A large number of the passengers were rheumatic invalids, bound for the mineral baths of Edipso, in the northern part of Eubœa. As the accommodations at the baths are most imperfect, they travel with all their requirements for the weeks they remain there ; and as I saw the mountains of household goods, it was difficult to imagine where the owners would be stowed. To sleep below in the stifling atmosphere seemed too terrible to think of, even if one could have found a place, and we concluded to spend the night on deck, as all the third-class passengers were preparing to do. It was the 12th of May (the 1st, Greek style), and the weather was mild, so that one who was not rheumatic could sleep in the open air without much risk ; as it was brilliant moonlight, we knew that it would be far from disagreeable. After we were well under way, the steward brought us mattresses and blankets, and we curled ourselves up comfortably beside the rows of peasants who were stretched on the deck. The latter always travel with a rug and pillow, and lie down whenever and wherever they please. Before an hour had passed, the ship’s company was silent in sleep, and we floated tranquilly along over the smooth sea. The situation was too novel for me immediately to follow the example of the natives, and for a while I watched the varying aspect of the long ridge of Hymettus, stretching out like a wall between us and the unknown land to which we were going. About two hours’ steaming brought us to Point Colonna, or ancient Sunium, where the glistening columns of its ruined temple, standing on the abrupt promontory, broke the utter barrenness of the shore. The marble of Sunium is far whiter than that of the other temples. Some conjecture that this is from the quality of the stone; others, that from its position, exposed on all sides to the sea air, it has become blanched, as the side of the Parthenon turned to the sea is also whiter than its other sides.

After Sunium, I remember no more until sunrise, when a blaze of light in the east awoke me, to catch a confused vision of peasant women combing long black tresses, and shaggy men unrolling themselves from their rugs; and from this time there was no rest, as the children began to run about, while the parents prepared breakfast and rolled up the beds. At seven o’clock we passed the plain of Marathon. We had now entered the straits, having the island of Eubœa on our right. The shores on either side were near enough for us to see them plainly, and every one turned with interest toward the mainland. Here the straits widened into a beautiful semicircular bay, a mile perhaps in its curve, defined by a soft white beach, from which the plain sloped gradually back to the green, wooded base of the Pentelic range. The upper peaks are bare, and marked in white seams by its famed marble, seen very distinctly on approaching Pentelicus from Athens, where the quarried side is exposed to view. The plain of Marathon looked to us like a simple stretch of wild, waste land, beginning to turn brown in the hot spring sun, as every green thing does in Attica. The whole region made an impression of great beauty, but of deep solitude also, as there was neither habitation nor living thing in sight. During the morning the steamer made but few stops. These were at small villages, sometimes on the shore, and sometimes lying at a distance on the hills. Among the stopping-places was Oropòs, on the mainland, where a band of brigands encamped with their English prisoners in 1872. The captain pointed out to us the heights near by, where the poor victims were murdered, and where the brigands were afterward taken by the Greek troops.

We approached the site of the ancient town of Eretria an hour before we reached Chalcis. Only a few walls and fragments of buildings mark the spot, but it is rumored that rich treasures are concealed beneath its soil. Some friends of mine found in one of their fields, near here, two statues, as beautiful as any discovered at Tanagra; also some fine glass cups, in a perfect state of preservation, except that the color had been changed by the action of the soil, reminding me of similar ones from Cyprus, seen in the Cesnola collection in New York. Private excavations in Greece are very interesting, and in many houses there are little collections of antiquities found in digging the cellar or the well.

We proceeded on our course, the shores constantly drawing nearer, and as we left Attica, and skirted the Bœotiau coast, both sides were well wooded. Entering a labyrinth of waters, which became more and more circuitous, we wound between the mountains into the quiet land-locked harbor before the town of Chalcis. I had been told that its situation was very picturesque, but I was not prepared for the extreme beauty of the view. The city is built in the form of a square, three sides of it inclosed by the straits, and protected by soft brown walls of crumbling stone. These and the old fortress on the mainland across the strait, where, carved in stone over the entrance, the lion of St. Mark still scowls on the passer-by, are relics of the Venetian rule in Greece. From, within the city walls rise the domes and minarets of mosques. Opposite Chalcis, on the Bœotian shore, is the supposed site of the ancient Aulis, where Agamemnon and his army of heroes were detained by the continuance of unpropitious breezes. We sailed close up to the town, to a point where the straits become so narrow that island and continent are separated by only a few feet. This space is spanned by an iron bridge, which was raised that our steamer might pass in with the tide. The singular rushing tide of the Euripus (swift flowing) at this narrow strait has given rise in all ages to much wonder and remark. The inhabitants, accustomed to see only an inch or two of difference between high and low tide on their shores, cannot comprehend this phenomenon, more especially as they assert that the tide has no regular time for turning, but is quite capricious in its movements. There is a fable that Aristotle, who was a citizen of Chalcis, weary with the mystery, threw himself into the whirling flood, and thus ended his troubled existence. However this may be, the tide is regarded with as much interest as ever, and one may always see some idle person hanging over the bridge and watching it.

As our destination was but a short distance beyond Chalcis, we disembarked here, and set out on foot, under the guidance of our hosts, the friends with whom we were traveling, to a house in the town, where we were to await their carriage to take us to the country. We found it very hot. The noonday sun was shining vertically on our heads, while the glittering clay of the streets reflected its rays upwards into our faces with blinding glare, and we were glad to avail ourselves of the narrow margin of shade afforded by the high walls and houses. An interval of absolute darkness occurred while passing from the old town into the new through the stone tunnel which crossed the moat, now no longer filled with water, but overgrown with green vines and bushes. The tunnel opened into a square; on one side of it stood a Turkish minaret, now used as a clock tower. The houses about the square were low, and, like most old Turkish houses, built of unpainted wood, partially plastered with white mortar, and had an outside staircase leading up to the second story, where the families live. The groundfloor may be used as a stable, or for a shop or coffee-house. In almost every house a part of the roof is made into a broad terrace, where the people sit in the cool of the evening, or sleep on summer nights. After walking through several roughly-made alleys, we turned into an inclosure, and went up the rickety stairway of an old house. Here a woman, of almost equally ancient appearance with her abode, clad in black, came forward, and greeted with the greatest joy her master and mistress, who had come to her house to await their carriage. She was an old servant, who had been born and brought up on their estate ; and now that her days of usefulness were past, they had provided her with a good home, and seemed to regard her more as a relative than an inferior. She called her master Effendi, as the country servants generally do, while he called her Graia,— the old lady. The Graia bustled about to make us comfortable ; told us all the news of Chalcis and the farm, always using the word “ours;” ran to bring sweet preserves ; made coffee; showed us her different rooms, which were very neat and clean ; and did all in her power to make our hour’s visit agreeable. The Effendi, meanwhile, poor man, did not have such a peaceful time ; for in his office of deputy to the parliament at Athens he had much business to transact, and no sooner had he set foot on his native sod than he was surrounded by a crowd of anxious neighbors, each one eager to know the result of his petition. One claimed damages from the government for land taken for the new road ; another wished the position of school-master ; another a pension : so that when the carriage finally came for us Mr. X. stepped into it with an expression of relief, knowing that during the drive, at least, he should be out of hearing of their clamorous tongues. Our road, which led for a distance of two hours outside of Chalcis, had been built only a year or two. As we drove along, by the water-side, we passed gayly-dressed people sitting at tables, taking coffee and sweetmeats, listening to the military band that was playing. They were officers and their families, who bring a little life to the quiet place when the troops are stationed here. A little further on, we came to a group of larger houses, not of Turkish construction, one of which is now occupied as the National Bank. Before this house Mr. X. drew up his horses, calling our attention to its position, somewhat to our surprise, as there was nothing to distinguish it from the adjoining buildings, all very much alike, and separated from the water by the street, beyond which lay the Chalcis shipping.

“ Thirty years ago,” he said, “ this house belonged to my father ; and one evening in the late autumn, as we were sitting together, a party of neighbors and relatives, a band of brigands entered, armed to the teeth. The terrified servants crowded into the parlor, but their presence was of no avail. Although we outnumbered the robbers, we found ourselves, unarmed as we were, completely in their power. To call for assistance from outside was impossible, as they had stationed a guard to watch the house, and attack any chance passerby who might hear the screams and carry the news further. Their first measure was to seize my aged father and demand an immense sum of money. This he stoutly refused to give, whereupon they forced my mother to surrender her keys, which opened the closets where the silver plate and jewels were

kept. They took all these, which represented an important part of our possessions, as people in those days put their money into jewels, in absence of other investments. After this, they spent some time in talking together, and amusing themselves by threatening us with tortures of every description. Finally, after what seemed hours of agony, they departed, taking with them as hostages, to be detained until they received the demanded sum of money, two of our family, —my older sister, a girl of seventeen, and my brother, nine years old. Hurrying them into the caique waiting before our house, they carried them off to the wilds of Bœotia. There they spent the whole winter as prisoners, leading the same life as the brigands: sometimes making long marches at night when pursuit by the Greek troops was feared; sometimes concealed in caves or behind rocks, their foes holding daggers ready to murder them, while they actually heard the footsteps and wellknown voices of friends who were passing close by their hiding-places in search of them. At length, in the spring, my father contrived to send word by a private envoy, who was most probably another brigand, that he would pay the money, and subsequently paid two hundred thousand drachmas, or forty thousand dollars, the larger part of what was left him, and thus got his children back.” The account which the daughter gave of her experience was most thrilling. On becoming assured, after the first few days, that their prisoners were making no attempt to escape, the brigands, except on particular occasions, — when they were under pursuit themselves, or sometimes when they had been drinking too much rakí, — treated them well. They gave them the best pieces of meat, a soft bed of leaves and a warm blanket, and were even chivalrous in helping the girl over mountain streams, and doing their best to protect her from inclement weather. When the money came, they parted from her with regret, and sent word to the father that he had a brave daughter. They appeared to be especially touched by her tender treatment of her little brother, from whom she always concealed her fears ; trying to interest him in what went on about him, and inducing him to play games with the brigands. This lady lives now in Athens, the quiet mother of a family, but regarded by all who know her story as a heroine. She has even been heard to remark that she would like to wander over those wild footpaths again; that she had never slept so well in her life; and that the awaking in the morning in the pure air of the mountains was beautiful.

As we drove on, the impression left by this story added much to the already absorbing scene through which we were passing. We could easily fancy lurking brigands in the lonely fields about us, broken only by the line of ancient aqueduct, and a ruined Venetian tower. But our friends assured us that nowhere in Greece is travel safer now than here, and the truth of this statement was well proved before our journey was over. It may be said, in justice to the Greeks, that all the recent brigandage has been done by Turkish subjects, who come over the borders from Thessaly. It is true they were Greeks by race and language, but the Greek government had no control of them, and Turkey did nothing to check them; in fact, often encouraged their inroads.

A drive of an hour and a half brought us to Vertonda, the little village where we were to see for the first time the real country life. Its name is Turkish, and is that of a flower which grows abundantly in the vicinity. We turned off the main road into a lane through the fields, then waving with wheat and barley ripe for the harvest. This farm was bought sixty years ago, by the father of the present owner, from a pasha, for a diamond-hilted sword worth five thousand drachmas, or about one thousand dollars. It is now estimated at about forty times this value. It is very extensive, and, beside the grain fields, has vineyards and valuable chromium mines. The village is small, — a group of ten or twelve houses, clustered about the whitewashed church. Behind this, on higher grounds, stand the house and garden of the proprietor, nestled at the foot of an abrupt and wooded cliff. Away in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of Delphis, the highest mountain of Eubœa, looms up to a height of over five thousand feet. Its base is a half day’s journey from Vertonda on horseback, and we hoped at first to make the ascent; but hearing on all sides of the difficulties to be encountered, we did not attempt it. One of the few people who had climbed it, however, was Queen Amelia, who was an undaunted explorer of all parts of her kingdom.

The house of Mr. X. is a low cottage, covering much ground, and built around a court-yard, which we entered through a high, strong gateway. The gate and the iron barricades at the windows gave me a feeling of trepidation ; but my friends laughed at my fears, and the attractive and cheerful aspect of the establishment reassured me. Flowers were growing everywhere, pigeons were cooing from their cotes in a little tower, and several smiling servants were awaiting our arrival. The inside of the house was most comfortable, and the view from the front windows was superb, overlooking the garden and village to the sea, half a mile away; beyond this lay the Bœotian mountains, and still farther in the distance, shining like a golden crown in the setting sun, rose the eternal snows of Parnassus. After a little, I wandered out into a field opposite the house, where a woman was cooking at a fire built in a rough sort of stone furnace. She had an immense copper kettle full of soup. I said, “ You must have a large family.” “ Yes,” she replied, with an amused smile; “thirty women.” Supposing that they had a system of coöperative housekeeping, and that she cooked for the whole village, I continued my inquiries, when she told me that, it being harvest season, there were many extra laborers, who were women, and she, as the steward’s daughter, had the supervision of them. The supper consisted only of a piece of bread beside the soup ; and this diet has but few variations, such as black olives, salad, and fruit in the season. Meat is a great rarity; many eat it but once a year, at the feast of Lambri, or Easter. Then every one eats roast spring lamb ; and if one is too poor to buy it, he will be sure to find somebody to give it to him. The generosity of the Greeks is extreme at Easter and New Year, as it is considered a religious duty to help the poor at these seasons. She took her soup off the fire, and put it out in the air to cool, remarking that it was very injurious to the teeth to eat hot food. As Greek peasants always have fine teeth, probably the theory is a correct one. After this, she raked out her fire, and put a number of loaves of bread on the heated stones: there, she said, they must remain all night, to be thoroughly cooked. Her work finished, she gave a sigh of relief, and sat down to await her family of thirty women, whom we soon saw approaching through the gathering darkness. As they came nearer, I perceived that they were mostly girls of fourteen or fifteen years, with one or two older women, who led the party ; they were a sturdy-looking, sunburned set, and instead of seeming weary with the long day’s work were in the best of spirits, laughing and talking. The effect was most picturesque ; for although clad in the poorest, and in many cases most ragged costumes, the shape of their garments was such as best to set off their superb figures, and their free, untrammeled gait gave them even a majestic air. The material of the dress is both woolen and cotton, of soft yellowish-white embroidered with bright colors ; the broad sashes and the kerchiefs worn over the head are also of some gay color, becoming to their dark hair and eyes. As soon as they had reached the place where we were, they sat down in groups, keeping up the same lively chatter.

During our own repast, which was soon announced, Mr. X. told us that these women laborers were a set of people from the poorest part of the population, who always went about together from estate to estate to help when there was extra work on hand. They receive a drachma per day and their food ; the day lasting from sunrise to sunset. This company was from Chalcis; but he soon expected a band of men from Salamis, whose natives are considered remarkably good workers. The conversation then turned upon the condition of the laboring classes in Greece, whereupon he expressed much dissatisfaction at the large number of feast-days that peasants keep, and said that the country would always be poor, until the laborers would learn to work more steadily. Some of his people, particularly the older ones, would never work on any saint’s day; as the name of the saints is legion, there would be an average of nearly a day a week, beside the Sunday, when they would do nothing but dress in their best clothes, and dance and sing. I could not help thinking how much this sociable dancing and singing added to their charms as human beings, and wondering whether they would come home at night from their labors with such an elastic step, were it not for this waste of time, of which the landlords so bitterly complain.

A strange chanting song soon reached our ears, which came from the peasant women, and we hurried out to see them at their dance. Nearly all had joined hands, and were moving around in a circle, with a slow, measured step, at the same time singing in a shrill, nasal tone. One of the older women took the part of soloist, and droned out a line of a curious air, to which the young girls, after a short pause, responded together. It had the effect of question and answer, but was really solo and chorus, as the same words were sung both times. When men are present they begin the song, and the Women repeat it after them. The abrupt pause between the two parts adds much to the effect, especially as the men thunder out their part in deep, sonorous tones, while the women sing at a very high pitch, the oldest and most cracked voices in general predominating. The music is oriental, and the scale is written on a different plan of intervals from the European method, making a startling impression on the uninitiated ear; but after one is accustomed to it, there is something sympathetic, even soothing, in the weird, wailing sound, particularly as the singers put their whole soul into their performance. The words of the song have a separate origin from the music, and date from the time when Klepthic bands inhabited the mountain fastnesses of Greece, and waged incessant warfare on the Turkish land-holders. At this period the term Klepth, which simply means robber, acquired a new and peculiar signification, inasmuch as these warriors, although leading a life of blood and rapine, always held as their first object the extermination of the Mussulman and tlie maintenance of their liberty. They afterwards played a most important part in the Greek Revolution, several of them becoming leading generals in the regular army. A modern German author has said that when the populace learns to read and write it ceases to improvise, and that the birth of literature to a land is the death-knell to the songs of the people. This remark applies directly to the Klepthic poetry, which was composed, for the most part, near the end of the last and the beginning of the present century. The latest date which we have found in a collection of songs is 1844. The robber bands are dispersed ; the motives of their ballads exist no more ; and this interesting poetry will soon be forgotten and lost, if the words of this generation of peasants are not carefully noted down and preserved. As we might expect, its predominating character is epic, and the extravagant praises of a Greek hero who holds a mountain pass against a thousand dastardly Turks recall the Homeric strains. The gloating over the destruction of the enemy, and the detailed description of his discomfiture and annihilation, are also similar to the delight of the ancient Greek, when he sees the dishonored body of the Trojan dragged in the dust, and submitted to every indignity.

Nature, in all her aspects, was another favorite theme of these simple narrators, and they expressed in the most exuberant and vivid language their joy in the return of spring, in the song of the bird, in the glowing blue sky, in the snow gleaming on the mountain top. Nothing was too insignificant or too familiar to awaken a response in their sensitive, child-like hearts, and they sang out their delight in a most happy, original manner. In the winter, when warfare was impossible, the Klepht came down from his mountain fastness to the lowlands, here to find a shelter among some of his people. Then in the ballads comes a brief lull in his hatred of the Turk, and his breast is stirred not less deeply by a more tender passion. He basks for a brief interval in the smile and sunny glance of some beautiful daughter of his race, who will do as much to help on the common cause by her ingenuity and artifices as a hundred armed heroes. She will send off the Turkish squads, who ride about seeking for information, on the wrong scent; she will lay the most destructive pitfalls for the foe, and do it all in a cool, determined spirit, regardless of the terrible consequences to herself, should her schemes fall through. Her only fear is for her lover and her nation. She will also carry food and clothes to the soldiers, at the greatest risk to her own life and safety. Then, in the springtime, when the Klepht returns to the mountains, we hear the most intense grief poured forth. Vows are exchanged, and the most sacred promises made of fidelity on both sides, while threats and curses are piled up for the unfaithful one.

In these ballads woman’s beauty is often depicted by its effect on the world around her. A maiden walks across the meadow, and the whole region is lighted up as by magic; the flowers open, and the birds sing their sweetest song, as she passes. Another girl sits at her window, looking toward the sea, and singing a lament for her lover, who has been drowned. The beauty of her face and the melody of her voice act like a spell on nature. The wind forgets to blow, so that the sail-boats are motionless; the waves do not move, and the fisherman’s oar drops from his hand. This is also Homer’s way of describing the beauty of Helen, as she walks out on the wall of Troy to watch the battle-field. All are silent as she passes ; and then the elders of Troy whisper together, and confess it not strange that this woman has caused such havoc among men. Songs are made on all subjects of every-day life, and some on gossip are quite amusing. One begins with a question : “ Who saw us ? ” Then comes the answer : “ A star that dropped into the sea, who told it to the waves ; they repeated it to the oar, the oar to the fisherman, and he to his love, who told it to the whole village.” We find also numberless sad, melancholy dirges on death, darkness, and the grave; these enemies of man, as the Greek always represents them. “ Better a plowman in a field in this world than a king in Hades,” said Achilles ; and one dying hero asks to have a window made in his grave, so that he can hear the birds sing and see the blessed light.

In the performance of the songs the metre often changes with the character of the piece, as it turns from joy to sorrow, or from narrative to conversation ; the time being altered according to the subject. The steps can be varied, and a good leader performs many wild capers, makes high jumps, changes hands, and in fact does anything that comes into his head, if only it be in time. One of the dances most admired is the Tratto, which is to be seen at Megara every year, at the great feast of the Virgin. The music begins with a slow and dignified movement, which afterward changes to wild and fantastic bursts; the time becoming quicker, the voices louder, till the climax is passed, when the theme resolves itself again by degrees into its former calm and lofty character. As I saw the dance performed by four tall, lithe maidens, their swaying garments and serious, absorbed faces made an ineffaceable impression on my memory.

On Sunday, almost before daylight, the bells began to ring for morning service, and the peasants, who are early risers, were soon flocking into the little church. Not only the villagers came, but people from surrounding farms ; and from my window I saw the priest, who had come from a distance, dismounting from his horse, and answering the salutations of his parishioners, who perhaps had the more regard for him because he did not live among them, but came only once a fortnight to conduct service. I had been told that there was to be a second Liturgia said at seven o’clock, for the master and family; so I waited for that hour, when we all walked down together. On entering the church we found there a goodly number of peasants, who had not been able to get to the early mass. As is the custom in the Greek church, the congregation remained standing during the entire service, the men on the right, and the women on the left. They were very devout in manner, looking toward the picture of the Virgin near the altar; and to her they addressed their prayers, in a low voice, their only motion being the frequent sign of the cross. Several mothers were there, holding babies in their arms, with small children clinging to their skirts. The little ones crossed themselves with their tiny fingers, in imitation of their elders. Sometimes a person coming in would step forward, put down a small coin, and light a little taper, which he would put into the candlestick, saying a prayer for the soul of a dead friend, or would kiss the picture of the Virgin. The priest, who officiated at the altar, had exchanged his usual black robe for a gayly-colored one of some common stuff, and his hair, always concealed under his high cap, except in church, hung down in heavy black curls over his shoulders. He went through the prayers in a loud, nasal chant, and read the Gospel in the same tone, with great speed, assisted in his duties by a peasant lad, whom he had trained, and who was probably destined to be a priest. The worshipers made their responses with fervor, and after the doxology was said went up and kissed the priest’s hand, and the Bible which he held. This was handsomely bound in silver and gold, set with colored stones, and was a family relic; so also was the sacred picture, worn and effaced, as if it dated from Byzantine days. The Greeks often have these valuable religious pictures hanging on the wall, at the head of the bed, and a devout soul keeps a lighted taper burning day and night before them.

As we came out of church, the people all crowded about Mr. and Mrs. X., who shook hands with each one, and made inquiries after all their concerns. The peasants were dressed in their best clothes, and looked neat and thrifty; and what especially struck me was the entire ease and dignity of their bearing; there was no apparent shyness, and their greeting to us, the strangers, was most cordial and hearty, each putting out his hand to shake ours.

At the house, we found a number of shepherds waiting, who had come to pay the yearly rent for the pasture of their sheep. They were a shaggy, swarthy company, and reminded one of the ideal David of Scripture. Their hair, long, and looking as if it had never felt the touch of a brush, was surmounted by a small black fez, worn upon one side ; their cotton fustanellas and coarse white leggins were threadbare and brown with long usage, as it is their custom not to change their garments until they are so old that they are ready to drop off. Each shepherd wears a leather belt about his waist, to which is attached, in front, an immense pouch, and in this is contained all that he constantly needs : his sharp knife, money, tobacco, and cigarette papers. His shoes are made of heavy red leather, turned up at the end like a boat’s prow, and ornamented with a red silken tassel. In his hand he carries a shepherd’s crook. From his shoulder hangs a bright-colored woolen bag for his food, and a wooden bottle for his wine or water ; and over all he wears his heavy dark capote, to keep out the sun of summer or the rain of winter, and to serve as a bed in all seasons. It is made of the undyed, brownish wool of the goat’s hair, and is a graceful, even elegant garment on the erect figure of the shepherd. He has a hard life, wandering up and down, with his flocks, over the scanty pasturage which is to be found on the dry Greek hillsides, and with difficulty manages to pay his rent from the slender gains obtained from the sale of his butter, milk, and cheese, and his lambs at Easter. However, as cow’s milk is the greatest rarity, — there being but one herd of cattle in the kingdom, and this belonging to the king, — society is very dependent upon the shepherd, and his goats and sheep. Grass is an unknown article, and the Greeks express great admiration, when they first travel in other parts of Europe, at the rich green pasturage seen everywhere.

Most of the rent was paid in lepta, the smallest Greek coin, and the form in which the shepherds realize their daily sales. They brought it tied up in bags, the contents of which the landlord, with infinite trouble, counted out, and divided into piles, to be exchanged afterward for notes at the bank. These people generally live in colonies, and their families move about with them, as the season requires, in the winter to the plains and the bases of the mountains, and in summer to the higher lands. The women are very industrious, as on them falls all the household labor, the men being exclusively occupied with the flocks. I have often met women carrying heavy barrels of water, which were strapped to the back, while they were busily engaged in spinning wool from the distaff. The dexterity with which they did this, the left hand smoothing and twisting the wool into a thread, while with the right they rolled it into a ball, led me to suppose that it was a simple process, which any one might learn immediately; but I soon found that it required long practice to do it quickly. They spin, weave, and make all their garments. Some of their materials are extremely thick and durable, which is the more important because their clothing is their principal protection against the weather; their houses being made of nothing but boughs of the pine-tree, twisted and joined together. The poor people suffer much in winter from rain and cold. An important member of their community is the donkey, who carries the great copper kettle, the rugs, and a few other possessions, when they move about, sometimes being several days on the march from one pasturage to another. One need not go far from Athens to meet shepherds, as they encamp in winter at the base of Mount Hymettus. Standing with their flocks on the treeless plain of the Ilyssus, their tall, grand figures in silhouette against the clear sky, they form a very interesting part of the landscape.

Although so poor, the various shepherds had each brought a present to the landlord: one a woolen bag, another some cheese, or, what is considered a great delicacy, some yaouti, — a kind of curdled milk, which looks delicious, white, and foamy, but has a sharp and acid taste. Through the entire week which we passed at Vertonda these offerings did not cease to be forthcoming: the fisherman offered his finest fish, and many brought a flask of Rezinata, or resinous wine, recommending it highly as they presented it. This we found very disagreeable at first, but after one acquires the habit of drinking it other wine seems insipid; and when tired from a long journey, we found it marvelously refreshing. One sees everywhere in Greece the marks on the pinetrees where they have been tapped for the resin: but this process, so productive of benefit to the peasant, is very soon most destructive to the tree, which turns brown, dries up, and is cut down for firewood.

Among these friendly people a week quickly slipped by. Each day there was some new excursion to take, something pleasant and curious to learn, and it was with much regret that we left them for a further journey to the northern part of Eubœa.

Eunice W. Felton.