she would have even spoken if he could have heard. And after the sacrifice was completed they went away in sorrow of heart, and they blamed the haste of the departure, and often did they turn back and look on each other, and all kinds of excuses did they make for the delay."

We have slightly condensed the above, but surely there is a gentle vein of feeling running through it which bespeaks a kindly nature in the writer. Perhaps it was but an imitative feeling, and derived from the pastorals and love-songs of older times, rather than from real knowledge of the human heart; but this almost takes the place of originality in such times of national calamity and poverty of thought as the later days of the Roman empire. Everything had then grown hollow and false; the Greek and Roman nationality had utterly vanished, though the languages in which they once spoke still survived, and indeed, as respects the former, many a sophist boasted of writing the language of Pericles in almost more than its pristine purity. But though the words yet remained, obedient to the old rules of syntax and prosody, the spirit which breathed them forth was no longer on the earth, and they only lingered like bright icicle ornaments round the human heart, which lay frozen in a winterdearth of all that was great or glorious, and waiting in a mournful torpor for some future spring to recall it to warmth and vitality!

But we return to our author. The lovers returned to their respective homes, and remained for some time without seeing each other; and both through anxiety and care began to lose the bright looks which had once characterized them. At length their parents respectively consult the oracle of Apollo at Colophon, and the god reveals the cause of their alarm, and orders the marriage of their children to be solemnized without delay, after which they were to set out on their travels, where they were to meet with many adventures and perils, but a happier portion was promised them at the end. The lovers are forthwith united, and preparations are made for their journey with all speed.

"Egypt was the place fixed for their

destination; and when the day for their departure arrived, and the ship was about to sail, the whole city of Ephesus accompanied them to the port. . . . And now arose the noise of the sailors, and the cables were loosed, and the pilot took his station, and the ship began to move; and a mingled cry came from those on the shore and those in the ship, the former exclaiming, 'O children, when shall your parents see you again?' and the others replying, 'Ŏ parents, and when shall we also, your children?' And tears arose and wailing, and each called his relative by name, leaving their names as a kind of memorial behind them. And Megamedes taking a cup offered a libation and prayed, so that those who were in the ship heard his voice, 'O my children, may ye prosper and escape the sad predictions of the oracle, and may the Ephesians welcome your safe return, and may ye revisit your own land again in peace; but if aught else should happen unto you, be well assured that we shall not survive you; but we send you forth on your sorrowful but fated journey.' And while he yet spoke the tears stopped his utterance; and they all returned unto the city, surrounded by their friends, who endeavoured to console them."

Habrocomes and Anthia then proceed on their voyage, and touch at Samos, where they sacrifice at the temple of Juno; they next arrive at Cos and Cnidos and Rhodes; at the latter place they stop several days, and set up a votive offering in the temple of the Sun, with an inscription in verse. They then renew their voyage, "and at first the wind was fair, and that day and the following_night they sailed pleasantly over the Egyptian sea; but on the second day it ceased, and a calm came on, and the vessel lay motionless and the sailors grew idle and drunken, and now their sorrows began! And Habrocomes dreamed that there stood over him a woman of more than mortal size, and with an awful countenance, and wearing a purple robe; and it seemed that she set the ship on fire, and that the crew all perished, and only he and Anthia were saved. And when he saw this he woke in alarm, and the dream filled

him with an evil presentiment, and the presentiment was indeed fulfilled. "Now some Phoenician pirates in a great trireme had happened to lie at anchor near them in the harbour at Rhodes, and they lay there as if they were merchants, and these learned that the ship was full of gold and silver; and they resolved to capture it, and kill all those who resisted, and lead the rest away captive to Phoenice, and sell them there as slaves. Having thus determined, at first they sailed quietly, only taking care to keep close to them; but at last one day at noon, when the sailors were all scattered about the ship in indolence and drunkenness, and some were sleeping, and others were lying idly about the deck, the pirates suddenly make their attack."

Of course the vessel is immediately taken, and all on board were either killed or captured, and Anthia and Habrocomes among the rest. On arriving at Phoenice, where the pirates had their chief station, the leader of the whole band, Apsyrtus, takes them both, with their two attendants Leucon and Rhode, as his own prize, while the remainder of the booty is divided among the company; and he takes them to his own house, intending to sell them when a rich purchaser appeared. In the meantime his daughter, Manto, falls in love with Habrocomes, and uses every effort to win his heart, but, finding all her attempts fail, love turns to anger, and like Phædra in the Greek legend, or Zuleikha in the Persian, she accuses him to her father, who in sudden passion throws him into a dungeon. While he is thus imprisoned, Manto is married to a Syrian, and Anthia and the two attendants are given to her by her father as a wedding present; and thus the husband and wife are parted.

We cannot follow the hero and heroine in the numerous adventures which now befel them, and separated them ever further from each other; but Xenophon displays no little art in filling his story with a busy, but by no means uninteresting, succession of events. His heroine glides gently through them all, like a sunbeam through a cloud; and our sympathy follows all her wanderings. By turns she falls into the hands of robbers and slave

dealers, and kind and cruel masters; and at one time she is on the point of marriage with Perilaus, the irenarch of Cilicia, from which she only escapes by swallowing what she supposed to be poison, but which happily was only a sleeping potion similar to that which Friar Laurence gives to Juliet. At another time she narrowly escapes being offered up as a sacrifice; but still, notwithstanding all her trials and temptations, her heart remains devoted to her husband, and her faith is never broken for a moment. Habrocomes also goes through a similar round of adventures, but, as he soon effects his escape from captivity, they chiefly occur to him in his lone wanderings after Anthia. At last he forms a friendship with a robber chieftain named Hippothous, to whom he mainly owes his final success. The two friends are in the course of the story separated, but Hippothous carries his friend's memory with him, and at last one day he discovers Anthia, in the person of a slave girl, whom he had purchased in an Italian market, and then they both set out to search for Habrocomes. The remainder of the story is so full of gentle pathos and truth to nature that we present a translation of the concluding chapters entire.

"Habrocomes continued thus for some time in his hard labour at Nucerium,but at last, being unable to bear it any longer, he resolved to embark on board a vessel and sail for Ephesus, and, having met with a ship bound thither, he set sail for Sicily, resolving from thence to go to Crete, Cyprus, and Rhodes, and thence to Ephesus, and he hoped too in the course of the voyage to learn something of Anthia ; and having put his little property on board he set sail, and coming first to Sicily he finds that his old friend Ægialeus is dead, and having offered libations on his grave he once more sets sail, and having passed Crete he arrives at Cyprus, where he offers his

* As the office of irenarch (elpnuns apxwv) was abrogated in the time of Ho

norius, about A.D. 400, this tends to fix

the latest period at which Xenophon may be supposed to have lived. The office was instituted by Adrian.

prayers to the Cyprian goddess, and thence sets sail for Rhodes, where he disembarks once more, and takes up his abode near the harbour. And, being now so near to Ephesus, there came over his soul a sad rush of sorrows and cares, and he exclaimed to himself, I shall come to Ephesus alone, and be seen there with no Anthia by my side, and in utter woe shall I sail my empty voyage, and my story perhaps will gain no credence when she who should be my companion is not there to confirm it; still will I persevere, and I will go to Ephesus, and raise a tomb to Anthia, and I will bring my tears and libations there till I rejoin her in the grave.' Thus musing he wandered forlorn about the city, in distress of body for his want of provisions, but in far worse distress of mind for want of his Anthia. Now it happened that Leucon and Rhode* had set up an anathem in the temple of the Sun, near the golden armour which their master and mistress had set up when they first commenced their voyage; and they had put there a pillar, whereon was written in letters of gold concerning Habrocomes and Anthia, and they had written also their own names below. And Habrocomes casts his eyes upon this pillar as he came to offer his prayers to the god. Having read the inscription and recognised his old servants' fidelity, and having seen too the golden armour close by, he burst into tears, and he sat down beneath the pillar and wept there. And while he was weeping, Leucon and Rhode came into the temple to pray, as their wont was, and they see Habrocomes sitting by the pillar and looking at the armour, but they recognise him not, and they only marvel that a stranger should thus linger by another's offerings. At last Leucon addressed him, and asked him why he felt such an interest in things which so little concerned him, and Habrocomes replied, These are the offerings of old servants of mine, Leucon and Rhode, and would that

*These were the two attendants who had been carried with them to Phoenice; they had early escaped from slavery, and had come to Rhodes, and married and settled there.

I could see them once more with my Anthia.' On hearing this, Leucon at first stood speechless with astonish ment, but soon recovering himself, he recognised his old master, and immediately he and Rhode threw themselves at his feet and relate their history, and they then conducted him to their house, and took all care of him, and bade him be of good cheer; but nothing could supply Anthia's loss to him, and everything only reminded him of her the more.

"But while he thus abode in Rhodes with them, in doubt as to what he should do, Hippothous in the meantime resolved to bring Anthia from Italy to Ephesus, that he might give her back to her parents, and perhaps learn there something of Habrocomes; and, having put all his property on board a large Ephesian vessel, he set sail with Anthia, and, having had a pleasant voyage, after a few days arrived at Rhodes while it was yet night, and there lodged with an aged woman named Althæa, whose house was near the shore, and he puts Anthia under her care, and stays there that night, and on the morrow they were preparing to renew their voyage, but they delayed for the sake of a festival which the whole Rhodian people held in honour of the Sun, and where there was a procession and sacrifice, and a great concourse of citizens. Thither too came Leucon and Rhode, not so much for the sake of joining in the festival as in hopes of learning some tidings of Anthia. Hippothous also came to the temple with Anthia, and as she looked at the votive offerings, and remembered the days gone by, she could not refrain from exclaiming to herself, Oh thou great Sun, who seest all mankind, once I came here in joy and prayed in this temple, and sacrificed unto thee with Habrocomes, and I was called happy; but now I come a slave instead of a free woman, and woful instead of joyous, and I am returning to Ephesus, alas! without my Habrocomes!' As she thought of these things she wept, and she entreated Hippothous to let her cut off some of her hair and offer it to the Sun, and at the same time pray for her husband. Hippothous consents; and, having therefore cut off several of her

tresses and watched her opportunity when the crowd were gone, she hangs them up, and writes beneath Anthia offers her hair unto the god on behalf of her husband Habrocomes.' Having done this and prayed, she went away with Hippothous.

"Soon afterwards Leucon and Rhode, having accompanied the procession, come to the temple and observe the offering, and recognise their mistress' name, and salute the hair and weep at the sight of it as if it were Anthia herself; and at last they wander about, if by chance they may happen to find her. And now too many of the Rhodians began to recognise the name and call to mind the former visit and offering; but all that day they found no trace of her, and Leucon and Rhode returned to their homes and told Habrocomes of the strange occurrence in the temple; and he was full of doubts and misgivings, but hope nevertheless carried the day in his heart. The next morning Anthia came once more to the temple with Hippothous, as the wind was not fair for their voyage, and she sat again beneath the offerings and wept and sobbed; and while she sat there, Leucon and Rhode entered, having left Habrocomes in sad spirits at home, and immediately they see Anthia, and ere long they recognise her, and fall at her feet in silence; and she sat gazing in wonder, for she dared not indulge the hope that they were really her old attendants. After a brief pause they address her by name, and they tell her that Habrocomes is safe; and Anthia, on hearing their words could hardly endure the shock, and she sprang up and fell on their necks, and kissed them and learned all about her husband."

She instantly accompanies them to their house, but the glad news had flown before them, and ere they had proceeded half way Habrocomes comes running to meet them. Our readers may picture the joy which ensues in all hearts, and the shouts of the Rhodians follow the glad party to their home.

"And when it was day, they embarked in the ship, having put all that they had on board, and they set sail, the whole people of Rhodes having accompanied them to the shore; and with them went Hippothous and his friend Cleisthenes, and in a few days they accomplished their voyage, and anchored at Ephesus; and the whole city had heard the tidings of their coming; and when they disembarked, they proceeded at once, just as they were, to the temple of Diana, and offered their prayers and sacrifices, and they set up their votive tablets; and after this they go up to the city, where they learn that their parents had died in their absence; and they build great tombs to their memory; and there they abode the rest of their days, making their lives one happy festival; and Leucon and Rhode shared all their good fortune."

Thus ends this pretty little tale, which comes down to us from those stormy times of Rome's decline, and safely bears its master's name, as on a raft, even to our day. It belongs, indeed, to Greece's later literature, but even some of this later literature has its value. The harvest of the Greek mind was indeed past, and time had gathered into his garners the immortal stores which it bore, but this is as the gleanings which were left behind; and after such a harvest, even the very gleaning-ears will seem precious in the scholar's eyes. For, after all, the wonderful language in which they are written still maintains its power, even in the pages of Greek romancists, or the turbid heroics of Nonnus; no human speech can vie with its universal freshness and fulness; even modern Romaic still preserves the charm; and if ever modern Greece produces a real poet, he will find that the words are still obedient to genius, and only wait for its breath to speak to the human heart in trumpet-tones again!

E. B. C.