little
energy, or so great an aversion to new-comers and Christians, that none
of them are put under repairs.

On the walls of the city are many old bronze guns of both Venetian and
Turkish manufacture. The former still bear the Lion of St. Mark's, and
one long nine-pounder is exquisitely ornamented with a reticulation of
vines cast in relief over the whole length of it. It bears the name of
Albergetti, its founder. The only modern guns I saw were half a dozen
heavy cast-iron thirty-two-pounders of Liege, and a few light bronze
guns on the battery commanding the entrance of the harbor. The whole
circuit of the walls is still furnished with the ancient bronze guns, of
which several are of about twelve-inch calibre, with their stone balls
still lying by them.

The harbor of Canea approximates in form to a clumsy L, the bottom of
the letter forming the basin in the centre of which our yacht was
moored, with a longer recess running eastward from the entrance, and
divided from the open sea only by a reef on which the mole is built,
following the direction of the coast at this part of the island. The
narrow entrance is at the exterior angle of the L, between the
water-battery and the lighthouse; and in the interior angle are the
Castelli, Konak, &c. Along the inner side of the eastern recess, and
across its extremity, is a line of galley-houses,--the penitential
offering, it is said, of a patrician exiled here, to purchase his
repatriation. Earthquakes have rent their walls, decay has followed
disuse, for the harbor has now become so filled up that only a small
boat can get into the furthermost of the arches, and the greater part of
the galley-houses have dry land out to their entrances, and the
ship-yard of to-day is in the vacant space left by the fall of two or
three of them.

As might be expected, Canea is a very dull city. Out of the highway of
Eastern trade or travel, whoever visits it must do so for itself alone,
for the arts of amusing idlers and luring travellers are unknown to it.
The only amusements for summer are a nargile on the Marina, studying
primitive civilization the while, during the twilight hours, and the
afternoon circuit of the ramparts, where every day at five o'clock an
execrable band tortures the most familiar arias with clangor of
discordant brass. From the ramparts we overlooked the plain, bounded by
Mount Malaxa, above which loomed the Aspravouna, showing late in summer
strips of snow in the