went loitering along the plains of Troy by the
willowy banks of a stream which I could see was finding itself new
channels from year to year, and flowed no longer in its ancient track.
But I knew that the springs which fed it were high in Ida--the springs
of Simois and Scamander. Methley reminded me that Homer himself had
warned us of some such changes. The Greeks, in beginning their wall, had
neglected the hecatombs due to the gods, and so, after the fall of Troy,
Apollo turned the paths of the rivers that flow from Ida, and sent them
flooding over the wall till all the beach was smooth and free from the
unhallowed works of the Greeks.

After a journey of some days, we reached Smyrna, from which place
private affairs obliged Methley to return to England. Smyrna may be
called the chief town of the Greek race, against which you will be
cautioned so carefully as soon as you touch the Levant. For myself, I
love the race, in spite of their vices and their meannesses. I remember
the blood that is in them. I sailed from Smyrna in the Amphitrite--a
Greek brigantine which was confidently said to be bound for the coast of
Smyrna. I knew enough of Greek navigation to be sure that our vessel
should touch at many an isle before I set foot upon the Syrian coast. My
patience was extremely useful to me, for the cruise altogether endured
some forty days. We touched at Cyprus, whither the ship ran for shelter
in half a gale of wind. A Greek of Limasol who hoisted his flag as
English Vice-Consul insisted upon my accepting his hospitality. The
family party went off very well. The mamma was shy at first, but she
veiled the awkwardness she felt by affecting to scold her children, who
had all of them immortal names. Every instant I was delighted by some
such phrases as these: "Themistocles, my love, don't fight,"
"Alcibiades, can't you sit still?" "Socrates, put down the cup!" "Oh,
fie! Aspasia, don't be naughty!"

The heathenish longing to visit the scene where for Pallas Athene "the
hundred altars glowed with Arabian incense, and breathed with the
fragrance of garlands ever fresh," found disenchantment when I spent the
night in the cabin of a Greek priest--not a priest of the goddess, but
of the Greek church--where there was but one room for man, priest, and
beast. A few days after, our brigantine sailed for Beyrout.

At Beyrout I soon discovered that the standing topic of interest was the
Lady Hester Stanhope, who lived in an old conven