cleft made their chapel, where they performed
their devotions with the utmost piety. Some
of the Klephts made pilgrimages to Jerusalem
on foot; their rifles on their backs. No
Klepht was ever known to be a renegade.
Whatever horrors awaited him if he refused
to become a Mussulman, he remained true to
his faith. But, indeed, he pined away and
died if he was forced to leave his wild
rocks, and the mountain gorges which
were his home. Up in these homes, women
cooked the flesh of goats and kids, roasting
them whole in the open air; and
they had always secret friends in the fertile
plains, who furnished them with wine in
abundance to wash down their Homeric
feasts. Mount Olympus was the especial
hold of the Klephts, and although not so high
as some of the Alps or the Pyrenees, it is
uninhabitable in the winter on account of the
snow. The poor Klephts were often obliged
to descend. They first hid their arms and
ammunition by wrapping them well up in
waxen cloths, and covering them over with
stones. Then they dispersed and sought some
hospitable shelter among the Ionian islanders,
under the protection of the Venetian government.
But they never mixed themselves up
with the Greek population that they had to
pass through; they preserved their national
dress, their proud and haughty bearing, their
brilliant complexion, which made their great
beauty yet more distinguished. The Greeks
looked on them with admiration; these were
the men who dared to defy the Turks; in
each Greek cottage there hung a rude portrait
of some Klephtic hero, and their fame was
the staple subject of all the popular songs. It
was the Klephts who contributed mainly to
the establishment of the kingdom of Greece.

The Greeks would shudder if they thought
that they preserved any of the old Pagan
superstitions; nevertheless, without their
knowing it, much of the heathen belief is
mingled with their traditional observances.
They speak of their Hellenic forefathers as
giants who once inhabited the country where
they now dwell. These giants were as tall as
the highest poplar trees; and, if they fell
down, they died, not having power to get up
again. The most terrible oath among these
old Pagans, according to the modern Greek
tradition, was "May I fall if it was not so."
Many of the superstitious derived from their
ancestors are common to all nations, such as
the necessity for blessing themselves if they
sneezed, to prevent the entrance of an evil
spirit at such times; the evil eye; the presage
of death by the barking of dogs, &c. Every
one knows how famous or infamous Thessaly
was in ancient times for its magicians. Thessaly
is still the head quarters ot witches and
wizards, who (so says popular report) can
draw the moon out of the heavens to do their
bidding (a remnant of the old invocations
to Hecate), and to turn the moon into a cow,
from which they draw milk that has
irresistible power of enchantment. All over
Greece they believe firmly in sorcery. The
Hamadryads, the Nymphs, the Nereids, &c.,
under which names the ancient Greeks
personified the different objects of nature, are
gone—their very names forgotten by their
descendants, who, nevertheless, believe that
every tree, and rock, and fountain, has its
guardian genius, who takes any shape he
likes, but most frequently that of a serpent
or a dragon, and is always on the watch to
defend the object which is put under his care,
and with the existence of which his own is
bound up.

The plague is personified, as I think I have
read is also the case in some of the country
towns of Scotland. My idea is that Hugh
Miller mentions it somewhere, as a blind
woman, going from house to house, giving
death to all whom she touches; but, as she
can only grope along by the sides of the
walls, those escape harmless who keep in
the middle of the streets, or the centre of
rooms. This is probably a modern
superstition. But again, the plague is personified
as the ancient fates, in many places. No
longer a blind woman, but as a terrible Three
does it come to a doomed town. One awful
woman holds a roll of paper, on which she
writes the name of those appointed to die;
another has the shears with which she snaps
the thread of life, and the third carries the
besom of destruction, with which to sweep the
dead forth from their habitations. The Furies
are no longer known; but every one remembers
how the attempt was made to propitiate
them by calling them the Eumenides; just as
in Scotland the fairies, who stole children
and performed all manner of small mischief,
were called "the good people." There is the
same desire now shown to conciliate the
small-pox, which is to this day a terrible
scourge among Greek families. The small-
pox is personified as a woman scowling on
children, but who may be mollified by
calling her, and invoking her under a Greek
name which means "she who mercifully
spares;" the small-pox indeed is universally
spoken of as Eulogia—the "well spoken-of,"
she whom all are bound under pain of terrible
penalties to name with respect.

Some of their superstitions are a confused
blending together of several ancient beliefs.
For instance, it is said that round the summit
of Mount Scardamyla three beautiful maidens
dance perpetually. They appear at first
of unearthly beauty, but they have the legs
and feet of goats. Whoever draws near to
that enchanted spot is first compelled to kiss
them, and then is torn to pieces, and thrown
down from the rocks. This is evidently a
mixture of three old beliefs; the Oreads, the
Satyrs, and the Graces.

Death is personified under the form of a
stern old man, who comes to summon the
living to leave the light of day. He is called
Charon, although his office is more properly