60 



THE GREEK BARBER. 



WHO has not longed to become a pilgrim in the beautiful land of Greece, 

 to inhale the perfume of her orange groves, and to pay his adoration at 

 her classic and immortal shrines ? Who has not longed to behold the 

 beautiful Parthenon, the fabled Scamander, and the glorious Thermopylae, 

 the grave of heroes ? Few comparatively of our British voyagers have 

 journeyed so far ; they have explored every part of Italy and France ; but 

 Greece classic Greece, has no charms for them ; to be sure, the roads 

 and the inns are indifferently bad, and they would find it inconvenient to 

 get their tea. I love the country, and have some claim on the gratitude 

 of its sons ; for I have fought side by side with them against their barbarian 

 spoilers, and have participated in their victories and defeat. Well may the 

 tory Turks love to linger there, their Prophet has not promised them a 

 brighter resting place. 



Thoughts of this nature were passing in my mind, as I reclined on a 

 bank of soft turf, in the neighbourhood of Damala, canopied by the grace- 

 ful and spreading branches of the lemon tree, smoking the fragrant weed 

 of the Levant, and from time to time looking from the pages of the Arabian 

 Nights, to the expanse before me, when I was roused by the notes of a 

 bugle from our encampment. I started to my feet, and went to the parade. 

 The route had at last arrived, and I found that we were to embark the 

 same evening for Mitochi, a small farm in the neighbourhood of a heap of 

 ruins, ancient and modern, marking the site of the famed Megara. Not 

 wishing to participate in the bustle preparatory to an embarkation, and 

 having no duty to perform, I crossed the ferry to Poros. Now the con- 

 veniencies for the indulgences of the toilet, situated as I then was, were 

 exceedingly limited ; and^seeing the depot of an artist, vulgarly recognised 

 as a barber, abundantly stocked with clean towels, and keen-looking razors, 

 I entered, and intimated my wish to have my hair cut, and the performance 

 of other little operations in his line, to the effect that I might be made 

 comfortable. I seated myself complacently upon the bench which was 

 extended round the room, and folded my legs under me with as much 

 grace as the little practice I had had in that position enabled me. Seeing that 

 I was a Frank Franks generally pay better than natives the master of 

 the shop approached me with an air of considerable deference. He was 

 a goodnatured-looking Greek, particularly neat and trim in his attire. He 

 wore his crimson Phesi jauntily on one side, discovering a great portion 

 of his very clean-shorn temple. His eyebrows were reduced to a beautifully 

 fine curved line, his moustaches, though very large and thick, were 

 balanced to a hair, in fact, it might be said of him, that he carried the best 

 recommendation to his customer in his face. 



From his waist hung a broad leathern strap, and his girdle was garnished 

 with several razors of very peculiar construction, very narrow in the 

 blade, and firmly fixed in straight wooden handles. He addressed me 

 with an " Oriste Effendi, 'Ti theles,"- " Command me, Sir ! what is 

 your wish ?" I signified my intentions " Efthese," said he, " speedily j' f 

 and with his left hand, stretching the strap that hung from his middle, he 

 smoothed it down with his right, and ended by giving it two or three 

 smart slaps, that sounded like the sharp crack of a rifle. The art of 



