The position of a district chief commissioner was by no means enviable
in Cyprus. The pay was absurdly small, and he was obliged to institute
reforms both for sanitary and municipal interests which necessitated an
outlay, and increased the local taxation. The population had been led to
expect a general diminution of imposts upon the suddenly-conceived
British occupation, and the Cypriotes somewhat resembled the frogs in
the fable when the new King Log arrived with a tremendous splash which
created waves of hope upon the surface of the pool, but subsided into
disappointment; they found that improvements cost money, and that
British reforms, although they bestowed indirect benefits, were
accompanied by a direct expenditure. The calm apathy of a Cypriote is
not easily disturbed; he is generally tolerably sober, or if drunk, he
is seldom the "WORSE for liquor," but rather the better, as his usual
affectionate disposition may be slightly exaggerated, instead of
becoming pugnacious and abusive like the inebriated Briton. There are no
people more affectionate in their immediate domestic circle, or more
generally courteous and gentle, than the Cypriotes, but like a good many
English people, they have an aversion to increased taxation. Thus,
although the British commissioners of districts vied with each other in
a healthy ambition to exhibit a picture of paradise in their special
localities, the people grumbled at the cost of cleanliness and health
within their towns, and would have preferred the old time of
manure-heaps and bad smells gratis to the new regime of civilisation for
which they had to pay.
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