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. Oh! don't be naughty!" It is true that the names were
pronounced Socrahtie, Aspahsie--that is, according to accent, and
not according to quantity--but I suppose it is scarcely now to be
doubted that they were so sounded in ancient times.
To me it seems, that of all the lands I know (you will see in a
minute how I connect this piece of prose' with the isle of Cyprus),
there is none in which mere wealth, mere unaided wealth, is held
half so cheaply; none in which a poor devil of a millionaire,
without birth, or ability, occupies so humble a place as in
England. My Greek host and I were sitting together, I think, upon
the roof of the house (for that is the lounging-place in Eastern
climes), when the former assumed a serious air, and intimated a
wish to converse upon the subject of the British Constitution, with
which he assured me that he was thoroughly acquainted. He
presently, however, informed me that there was one anomalous
circumstance attended upon the practical working of our political
system which he had never been able to hear explained in a manner
satisfactory to himself.
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