I could not but recall besides a memorable incident in connection with the Saint Andrew's Cross.

We had passed the Isthmus of Corinth, and our train halted for a space at Megara, a town of six or seven thousand people, where is the bluest blood in all Greece; and as I alighted from my coach on the Athens and Peloponnesus Railway, I saw, some twenty rods away, a Greek Papa or Priest, who made a splendid figure.

An impulse came over me to speak to him, and I knew there was one sign which he would recognise and understand.

It was the Saint Andrew's Cross, which I made by crossing my arms.

He immediately came to me and we conversed briefly as the time would permit, in the old language of Homer and Plato, which all patriotic Greeks love.