Their chains hang lightly on them, tho’ ’tis not long since they were imposed, not being under the Turk till 1566.  But perhaps ’tis as easy to obey the grand signior as the state of Genoa, to whom they were sold by the Greek emperor.  But I forget myself in these historical touches, which are very impertinent when I write to you.  Passing the strait between the islands of Andros and Achaia, now Libadia, we saw the promontory of Lunium, now called Cape Colonna, where are yet standing the vast pillars of a temple of Minerva.  This venerable sight made me think, with double regret, on a beautiful temple of Theseus, which, I am assured, was almost entire at Athens, till the last campaign in the Morea, that the Turks filled it with powder, and it was accidentally blown up.  You may believe I had a great mind to land on the fam’d Peloponnesus, tho’ it were only to look on the rivers of Asopus, Peneus, Inachus and Eurotas, the fields of Arcadia, and other scenes of ancient mythology.  But instead of demigods and heroes, I was credibly informed, ’tis now over-run by robbers, and that I should run a great risque (sic) of falling into their hands, by undertaking such a journey through a desert country, for which, however, I have so much respect, that I have much ado to hinder myself from troubling you with its whole history, from the foundation of Nycana and Corinth, to the last campaign there; but I check the inclination, as I did that of landing.  We sailed quietly by Cape Angelo, once Malea, where I saw no remains of the famous temple of Apollo.  We came that evening in sight of Candia:  it is very mountainous; we easily distinguished that of Ida.—­We have Virgil’s authority, that here were a hundred cities—­

         _—­Centum urbes habitant magnas—­_

The chief of them—­the scene of monstrous passions.—­Metellus first conquered this birth-place of his Jupiter; it fell afterwards into the hands of ——­ I am running on to the very siege of Candia; and I am so angry with myself, that I will pass by all the other islands with this general reflection, that ’tis impossible to imagine any thing more agreeable than this journey would have been two or three thousand years since, when, after drinking a dish of tea with Sappho, I might have gone, the same evening, to visit the temple of Homer in Chios, and passed this voyage in taking plans of magnificent temples, delineating the miracles of statuaries, and conversing with the most polite and most gay of mankind.  Alas! art is extinct here; the wonders of nature alone remain; and it was with vast pleasure I observed those of mount Etna, whose flame appears very bright in the night many leagues off at sea, and fills the head with a thousand conjectures.  However, I honour philosophy too much, to imagine it could turn that of Empedocles; and Lucian shall never make me believe such a scandal of a man, of whom, Lucretius says,

         _—­Vix humana videtur stirpe creatus—­_