I notice that every day the food supplied by him deteriorates a little in quantity and quality. I conceive, therefore, that this astute descendant of Pittacus is deliberately trying the experiment on how little Englishmen can be fed, and how much their patience will bear.
One day, a fowl was brought us for dinner. We noticed a certain discomposure in its general aspect: its limbs were more than usually distorted; its surface ragged and gritty; and there was a singular absence of all gravy. There was, too, a strange flavour about this fowl; but a good appetite does not stop to speculate on such phenomena, and we ate our dinner in unsuspecting confidence. It was not till many days afterwards that we were informed that in its passage to our house this unhappy bird had been dropped in the street gutter, picked up again by our Greek serving-boy, wiped, and replaced in the dish, minus the gravy.
Last night we had from the Dragoman our usual dinner of two plats, one of which Blunt declared to be cat disguised as hare; but I assured him that the Mytileniotes starved their cats so effectually that it would have been impossible to find any flesh on then bones. Blunt is a capital ally, particularly for coins. He goes about all sorts of unfrequented streets, hunting for antiquities, and drawing down on himself thereby many angry looks and inquiries from jealous husbands and duennas.
"It is not coins you are looking for, 'pallikari,'" said an old hag to him the other day; "you are looking for black eyes."
