Eutychus fell in his sleep and was taken up dead, to be afterwards restored to life by the apostle. Troas in his day was one of the most important ⚫ cities of the province of Asia. The ancient harbor can still be traced in a basin about four hundred feet long and two hundred wide. Sitting among the broken columns and friezes of the ruined city we watched the sunset over the Ægean. A trail of ruddy light swept over the sea once dotted with the white sails of Greek, Trojan and Roman fleets, and finally behind the remote Thasos the sun-god sunk to rest. It was a staggering thought to think of the million of eyes that had watched that picture from the site where I then stood. St. Paul and perhaps some of the Cæsars had seen the same western horizon flushed radiantly, and the long waving line of Imbros lifting to peaked Samothrace. While the short, splendid Levantine twilight was thickening around us we hastened up through the oak and olive groves that covered the hillside, and sought shelter for the night at the hut of a present some admirable specimens of manly beauty. The women are not so beautiful, and this inferiority seems to have descended straight down from the days of the "Iliad." For everybody has probably observed that, while in Greece it was the women who attracted the love of the deities, in Troy it was the men. These people subsist by hunting and rude pastoral labor. Their habitations are clay-built cabins, shaggy and brushcovered, fac-similes of those older huts that clustered about the woody recesses and the valleys at the spurs of Ida, one of which may have sheltered the infant Paris, when, cast out from the royal palace, he was protected by the Idæan shepherd. We had journeyed the whole length of the Trojan plain, but we had not yet finished Homer's land. The Idæan mountains towered aloft in the eastern sky, the fabled haunt of cloud-compelling Zeno, its tall dark pines and summery swales golden with the legends of Ganymede and the sweet shepherd-maid whom Paris deserted for the MODERN PERGAMOS. Yuruk herdsman. The Yuruks are a people who have inhabited the Troad from a time long anterior to the Ottoman conquest. They are a hardy, rude, but hospitable race, and in their physique charms of the Spartan queen. The next day at early dawn we left the hospitable Yuruk hut, and proceeded through the fertile valleys and over the wooded hills, with Mount Ida for our destination. We were fortunate enough to have another bril- the tablets of our mind, we followed the course of liant day for our journey. Dreamy and solemn the Scamander up were the skies overhead, the breeze whispered pine groves of Ida. THE RAVAGES OF TIME. softly among the olive and pine groves, and we struggled along with our mind in a sort of dream. As we crossed the Scamander for the first time we came upon a scene that carried us back three thousand years with the rapidity of thought. Some Yuruk women, black-eyed and black-haired, lithe, agile and handsome, with the contrast of scarlet and purple jackets against white nether garments, whose huts were on the hillside, were performing their week's clothes-washing in the channel of the the river. It was almost the exact scene of the "Iliad," the Washing-troughs of well-wrought stone Where Trojan dames, ere yet alarmed by Greece, Washed their fair garments in the days of peace. With Homer's picture engraved indelibly upon among the rough ravines and The river must have changed since Homer's day, for its true sources are far removed from those ascribed to it by the bard. Half-way up the mountain side on the west, from a vast cavern known among the natives as Buyuk-Megara, the clear waters gush forth in mighty volume, a fullformed river in their earliest start. The cave has never been fully explored, but a more appropriate source for the classic river cannot well be imagined than this magnificent grotto far up among the groves of many-fountained Ida. The view down through the valley of the Scamander from this point is enchanting. Tennyson has scarcely done it justice in the beautiful picture that he draws of it in his "Enone." No adornment of fancy is needed to make the surrounding glades the perfect ideal scenes which the poet describes. As if to carry out the perfect reminiscence of the ancient pastoral life, shepherds still lead their woolly, white-hoofed charges through the valleys; and once as we rode under the chestnuts and oaks, the warbling of a reed-flute playing a primitive air seemed to carry us back to the halcyon days prior to the Trojan war, when the daughter of the river-god mourned her cidevant lover perhaps in these very groves. Tennyson, taking the license of a poet, makes Troy visible from this place, which could hardly have been, as a range of hills shuts out from sight entirely the Ilian plain and the valley of the lower Scamander. But behind the valley "topmost Gargarus" does indeed "stand up and take the of Constantinople, which are sometimes visible, it is said, from Ida; but we failed to see them. A thousand memories of ancient history crowded upon the mind as we looked around in the Asian sunlight-Alexander at the Granicus, the manynationed host of Xerxes with Libyan chariots and Arabian camels and Cappadocian steeds, swarming on the plain to the northward, and many a pageant of Greek, Roman, and Crusading times, which are only memories now. morning." The Turks term the mountain Kazdagh, or Goose-height, on account of its white appearance, which resembles the breast of a goose. We were the greater part of a day in reaching its summit, which is a level area, broad enough for all the gods of the Olympian mythology to find standing-room upon. Its altitude is somewhat less than our own Mount Washington-hardly five thousand feet-but the prospect from it is unsurpassed. Homer could not have chosen a more favorable place whereon to seat his divinities than Mount Ida is not altogether desolate. Religion this peak of topmost Gargarus. A view from it and hunting combine to revive much of the old takes in all Western Asia Minor and European antique life which has made the famous mountain Turkey, and the peninsula of Greece. Although classic ground. Once a year the Yuruk populace thirty miles distant, the plain of Troy appears of the surrounding territory ascend this lofty Gar almost directly under the gazer's feet, and a single garian height, and carouse days and nights toglance suffices to take in all the incidental local- gether in honor of the occasion of one of their ities of the "Iliad." Beyond, like a mirror of superstitious festivals. Much fierce liquor is consilver, flashed the waters of the Ægean, over which sumed at these times by the thirsty worshippers, Byron passed in his "Pilgrimage," stopping to and the quantity of broken bottles strewn about Rail Ida with a stanza from the sea, and over the summit would seem to indicate that Dionysus which I had passed in my upward passage from rather than Zeus is the divinity most worshipped Athens only the week before. The Hellespont at present upon the mountain. The to his hut in the valley never to go forth again when the hunter's horn peals through the wildwood. The pines of Ida are the finest in the от N world. Not even the forests of Scandinavia, which furnished timber for many a viking's craft in the olden time, can produce anything to match the colossal classic trunks of this Asiatic clime. They rise stupendous and straight from the lower terraces, crown the upper cliffs with a more than kingly diadem, and sweep around the ravined sides with a profusion that would warrant the building of a thousand navies yet. As we went down through the wooded defiles we could not help thinking of the days when the Trojan ship-builders laid their impost upon these kingly trunks to provide fleets for Paris and Æneus. Many a Greek quinquereme and Roman galley have been constructed from their timber since those older days; but EARLY TROJAN URNS AND Vases. wolves and panthers frequent its gloomiest defiles, and multitudinous wild boars literally plow the hillsides. Famous sport there is in the autumn months, when Frank strangers visit the governor of Beiramitch on the upper Scamander. promise of a few liras from this Turkish potentate tempts out nearly all the Yuruk population of the Western Troad, and for a week or two the old mountain is transformed from its loneliness into the most exciting holiday spot in the world. The ringing of muskets, the shouts of savage huntsmen, the flash of steel weapons, the rush of wild boars through the gorges, with all the indescribable scream and clangor of the occasion, lends to the classic mountain a picturesqueness that could not have been surpassed when the royal hunting parties of Laomedon's or Priam's court took a week's sport among the hills. Not without loss of life and limb is this dangerous pastime pursued. Many a valuable steed is ripped open by the gleaming long tufts of the boars, and often a poor Yuruk is carried home ETEXEN NETYXEN TAMBINO ME'I1ADOY APICH EARLY TROJAN URNS AND Vases. the Idæan summits seldom ring with axe-strokes now. The seats of civilization have moved from the Tread boundaries, and the dryads and naiads rule undisturbed in their present fastnesses. Another night passed in the wilderness, another day of wandering under the dreamy skies of Priam's kingdom, passing along the upper and lower Scamander and traversing the Trojan plain again, and we came out of the ancient land. We looked our last upon the ruins of Homer's city, dipped our fingers in the waves of the Scamander as a parting salutation to its presiding deity, lifted our caps to the mist-covered mountain of the gods, and then stepped out of a palace of enchantment into the cold gray light of ordinary life, frosty as a polar day. Henceforward the land of the "Iliad" was to live only in our memories. XVIII. WITH MEN AND BOOKS. By A. F. BRIDGES. IN contemplating the achievements of a great mind, we are apt to think they spring, Minervalike, full-grown, into existence. The secret hisLory of the masterpieces of literature, in prose and in poetry, would reveal many a fact of curious -interest regarding the immature plans as they originally existed in the minds of their authors, the eliminations, and last, but not least, the aid from outside sources by way of suggestions, and of the very material itself. Indeed, the latter no doubt would fill an important volume. A worthy critic, in speaking of the few minds "the results of whose labors are placed by history and the judgment of a daily increasing wisdom high above competition," says, "They beam upon our world like the sun among the stars. . . . We forget that the sun, whose regal power we so readily recognize, is acted upon no less subtilely and surely by all inferior influences, that, to climb to any glorious height, we must have assistance and guides." Tacitus had a happy faculty of improving upon the productions of others. His brevity of style was such that he could reduce a bulky compilation to less than one-half its dimensions; and his graces as a writer enabled him to weave dates and figures into a story that read like romance. But Tacitus was a historian; and to a certain extent it was his place, as a historian, to avail himself of the researches of others, and to use their material at pleasure. A poet, however, is a creator. He conceives a design and he executes it. The plan, the thought, the language are his. If any of these are borrowed, they are stolen, and the reflection is on his morals. Design, thought, language are borrowed; and this serves to illustrate the littleness of human greatness, as well as to point out the various steps, the aids and the guides by which even this greatness is attained. The immortal lines of Robert Burns, "Auld Lang Syne," are an improvement on a love-song of the same title, to be found in a collection of Scotch poems printed by James Watson, Edinburgh, 1711. The original has for its theme love, while the well-known lines of the latter are far more happily dedicated to friendship. The "Pilgrim's Progress" was not originally conceived by John Bunyan. It was adapted by him. while in prison from the dreamings of a monk, whose manuscript had in some way fallen into his possession. "Though we regret to give to another than Bunyan," said a writer of note, "a single thrill of the gratitude with which this little book inspires us, though we may dread to regard its author as a tithe less than the inspired saint we have always believed him, still let justice be done though the heavens fall; and at the same time let him who was a victim of tyranny, both in body and soul, have due meed of praise in that he saw so clearly, through the gloom of superstition, the heavenly light and the narrow path." Though Bunyan is not to be considered a plagiarist, inasmuch as the development of the plan, the detail and the doctrine are peculiarly his, yet had it not been for the first idea of the dead monk, the immortal allegory would never have been written. These two instances do not seem so important when we consider that even Milton is not the originator of the world-renowned epic, “Paradise Lost." The discoveries that have been made within the last few years establish this beyond hope of successful contradiction. As in the case of Bunyan, a meed of praise is to be given Milton for his labor. The superiority of his mental en |