It had been our intention to procure horses that night, and ride as far as Mycenae, but we were too late, so contented ourselves with a walk to Tiryus, and a rapid examination of its ruins.  The massive walls of this venerable town—­they were a wonder in the age of Pericles as in ours—­still stand in their whole circuit, and here and there apparently in their whole hight.  It is a small, steep, mound-like hill—­you can walk around it in fifteen minutes—­and within the walls the terraced slope, thickly sprinkled with fragments of ruins, is grown over with the tall purple flowers of the asphodel—­a fit monument to the perished city.  From the citadel of Tiryus the view over the wide plain of the Inachus, the broad bay beyond, covered with sails, the bold headland of Napoli crowned with the ruined castle, the noble citadel of Argos, and the mountain ranges on every side, made a picture beautiful even under the dull sky of that March evening.  Our walk—­quickened by the fear that the city gates would be found closed—­gave us a hearty appetite, and a classic smack was imparted to our modest viands by the fact that Orestes himself waited on our table.  We slept well, notwithstanding the uncomfortable reputation of the inn, and set off early the next morning upon our wanderings.

Traveling in Greece is no child’s play.  Roads there are none, except between some large towns; indeed, the nature of the country hardly allows of them, as it is made up chiefly of mountain ridges and ravines.  Neither would the poverty-stricken inhabitants be able at present to make much use of them.  When I expressed to Dhemetri the great benefits I conceived that roads would confer upon the community, he asked contemptuously:  ’What good would roads be to them, when they have no carriages?’ Inns, too, there are none, or almost none; after leaving Napoli we found none until we returned to Athens.  In their stead, each village has its khan, a house rather larger than ordinary, and containing one large unfurnished room for guests.  Here a fire is made on the hearth, (the smoke escaping, or intended to escape, through a hole in the roof, for chimneys do not exist,) and the traveler pitches his tent metaphorically in this apartment.  The beds, which he carries with him, are spread on the floor, to do double duty as seats during the evening and beds by night.  Thus the accommodations are reduced to their lowest terms—­shelter and fire; to which add a lamb from the flock, eggs in abundance, or sometimes a chicken, loaf of bread, or string of figs.  Wine, too, flavored with resin in true classic style, and tasting like weak spirits of turpentine, is to be had every where.  But for any entertainment beyond this, the host is no-way responsible.  If you do not choose to sleep on the bare floor, you must bring beds and bedding with you.  If you wish the luxury of a knife and fork, you must furnish them yourself.  Kettles, plates, saucepans, cups, coffee, sugar, salt, candles, all came from that mysterious basket which rode on the pack-horse with the baggage.  Were I visiting Greece again, I would eschew all these vanities—­carry nothing but a Reisesack, or travel-bag, as the Germans are wont to call every variety of knapsack—­a shawl, and a copy of Pausanias, and live among the Greeks as the Greeks do; but I was inexperienced then.