CHAPTER VII.
Cyprus.
There was a Greek at Limesol, who hoisted his flag as an English Vice-Consul, and he insisted upon my accepting his hospitality; with some difficulty, and chiefly by assuring him that I could not delay my departure beyond an early hour in the afternoon, I induced him to allow my dining with his family, instead of banqueting all alone with the representative of my sovereign, in consular state and dignity; the lady of the house, it seemed, had never sat at table with an European; she was very shy about the matter, and tried hard to get out of the scrape, but the husband, I fancy, reminded her, that she was theoretically an English-woman by virtue of the flag which waved over her roof, and that she was bound to show her nationality by sitting at meat with me; finding herself inexorably condemned to bear with the dreaded gaze of European eyes, she tried to save her innocent children from the hard fate which awaited herself, but I obtained that all of them (and I think there were four or five) should sit at the table. You will meet with abundance of stately receptions, and of generous hospitality, too, in the East, but rarely, very rarely in those regions (or even, so far as I know, in any part of southern Europe), does one gain an opportunity of seeing the familiar and indoor life of the people.
This family party of the good consul's (or rather of mine, for I originated the idea, though he furnished the materials) went off very well; the mamma was shy at first, but she veiled the awkwardness which she felt by affecting to scold her children, who had all of them, I think, immortal names—names, too, which they owed to tradition, and certainly not to any classical enthusiasm of their parents; every instant I was delighted by some such phrases as these—"Themistocles, my love, don't
