CHAPTER IV.

LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE

OF

_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE_.

FEBRUARY, 1873.

Vol. XI., No. 23.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

SEARCHING FOR THE QUININE-PLANT IN PERU.

Concluding Paper.

A GLANCE AT THE SITE AND ANTIQUITIES OF ATHENS By J.L.T. PHILLIPS.

COMMONPLACE By CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

PROBATIONER LEONHARD; OR, THREE NIGHTS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY

By CAROLINE CHESEBRO.

Chapter IV.--The Test--With Mental Reservations.

Chapter V.--Sister Benigna.

Chapter VI.--The Men Of Spenersberg.

Chapter VII.--The Book.

Chapter VIII.--Conference Meeting.

Chapter IX.--Will The Architect Have Employment?

COUNTRY-HOUSE LIFE IN ENGLAND By REGINALD WYNFORD.

THE FOREST OF ARDEN By ITA ANIOL PROKOP.

JACK, THE REGULAR By THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

OBSERVATIONS AND ADVENTURES IN SUBMARINE DIVING By WILL WALLACE HARNEY.

CONFIDENTIAL.

GLIMPSES OF JOHN CHINAMAN By PRENTICE MULFORD.

A WINTER REVERIE By MILLIE W. CARPENTER.

"PASSPORTS, GENTLEMEN!" By A.H.

OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.

The Cornwallis Family.

Novelties In Ethnology.

The Steam-whistle.

Siamese News.

Madison As A Temperance Man.

NOTES.

LITERATURE OF THE DAY.

Books Received.

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Cones of Patabamba.

"Pepe Garcia, Who Marched Ahead, Announced the Print Of A South

American Tiger."

"Napoleon-like, They Washed Their Dirty Linen in The Family"

"Aragon and his Men Fell Upon the Deserters Without Mercy."

"They Greeted These Indian Relics As Crusoe Did The Footprints of the

Savages."

"Another Savage Had Found a Pair of Linen Pantaloons."

View of the Acropolis and The Columns Of The Temple Of Jupiter Olympus.

Theatre of Dionysus (Bacchus).

Victory Untying Her Sandals.

Temple of Victory.

The Parthenon.

Bas Relief of the Gods (Frieze Of The Parthenon).

Porch of the Caryatides.

Monument of Lysicrates.

SEARCHING FOR THE QUININE-PLANT IN PERU.

CONCLUDING PAPER.

Early on a brilliant morning, with baggage repacked, and the lessening

amount of provisions more firmly strapped on the shoulders of the

Indians, the explorers left their pleasant site on the banks of the

Maniri. The repose allowed to the bulk of the party during the absence

of their Bolivian companions had been wholesome and refreshing. The

success of the bark-hunters in their search for cinchonas had cheered

all hearts, and the luxurious supper of dried mutton and chuno

arranged for them on their return gave a reminiscence of splendor to

the thatched hut on the banks of the stream. This edifice, the last of

civilized construction they expected to see, had the effect of a home

in the wilderness. The bivouac there had been enjoyed with a sentiment

of tranquil carelessness. Little did the travelers think that savage

eyes had been peeping through the forest upon their fancied security,

and that the wild people of the valleys who were to work them all

kinds of mischief were upon their track from this station forth.

The enormous fire kindled for breakfast mingled with the stain of

sunrise to cast a glow upon their departure. Across the vale of the

Cconi, as though a pair of sturdy porters had arisen to celebrate

their leavetaking, the cones of Patabamba caught the first rays of

the sun and held them aloft like hospitable torches. These huge forms,

soldered together at the waist like Chang and Eng, and clothed with

shaggy woods up to the top, had been the guardian watchers over their

days in the ajoupa at Maniri. The sun just rising empurpled their

double cones, while the base and the surrounding landscape were washed

with the neutral tints of twilight.

After passing the narrow affluent after which the camping-ground of

Maniri was named, the party pursued the course of the Cconi through

a more level tract of country. The stones and precipices became more

rare, but in revenge the sandy banks soon began to reflect a heat that

was hardly bearable. As the implacable sun neared its zenith the party

walked with bent heads and blinded eyes, now dashing through great

plains of bamboos, now following the hatchets of the peons through

thickets of heated shrubbery.

Whenever the country became more wooded in its character, the

bark-hunters, whose quest obliged them to stray in short flights

around the wings of the column, redoubled their mazes. The careless

air of these Bolivian retrievers, their voluntary doublings through

the most difficult jungles, and their easy way of walking over

everything with their noses in the air, proved well their indifference

to the obstacles which were almost insurmountable to the rest.

[Illustration: THE CONES OF PATABAMBA.]

Nothing could be more singular and interesting than to see them

consulting one by one the indications scattered around them, and

deciding on their probabilities or promises. Where the height and

thickness of the foliage prevented them from seeing the sky, or

even the shade of the surrounding green, they walked bent toward the

ground, stirring up the rubbish, and choosing among the dead foliage

certain leaves, of which they carefully examined the two sides and the

stem. When by accident they found themselves near enough to speak to

each other--a rare chance, for each peon undertook a separate line of

search--they asked their friends, showing the leaves they had found,

whether their discoveries appertained to the neighboring trees or

whether the wind had brought the pieces from a distance. This kind

of investigation, pursued by men who had prowled through forests

all their lives, might seem slightly puerile if the reader does

not understand that it is often difficult, or even impossible, to

recognize the growing tree by its bark, covered as it is from base

to branches with parasitic vegetation of every sort. In those forests

whatever has a stout stem is used without scruple by the bignonias and

air-plants, which race over the trunk, plant their root-claws in the

cracks, leap over the whole tree at a single jet, or strangle it with

multiplied knots, all the while adorning it with a superb mantle of

leaves and blossoms. This is a difficulty which the most experienced

_cascarilleros_ are not able to overcome. As an instance, the history

is cited of a _practico_ or speculator who led an exploration for

these trees in the valley of Apolobamba. After having caused to be

felled, barked, measured, dried and trimmed all the cinchonas of one

of those natural thickets called _manchas_--an operation which had

occupied four months--he was about to abandon the spot and pursue

the exploration elsewhere, when accident led him to discover, in

the enormous trunk buried in creepers against which he had built his

cabin, a _Cinchona nitida_, the forefather of all the trees he had

stripped.

In this kind of search the caravan pursued the borders of the

river, sometimes on this side and sometimes on that, now passing the

two-headed mountain Camanti, now sighting the tufted peak of Basiri,

now crossing the torrent called the Garote. In the latter, where

the dam and hydraulic works of an old Spanish gold-hunter were still

visible in a state of ruin, the sacred golden thirst of Colonel Perez

once more attacked him. Two or three pins' heads of the insane metal

were actually unearthed by the colonel and displayed in a pie-dish;

but the business of the party was one which made even the finding of

gold insignificant, and they pursued their way.

The flanks of these mountains, however, were really of importance to

the botanical motive of the expedition. Along the side of the Camanti,

where the yellow Garote leaked downward in a rocky ravine, the

Bolivians were again successful. They brought to Marcoy specimens of

half a dozen cinchonas, for him to sketch, analyze and decorate with

Latin names. The colors of two or three of these barks promised

well, but the pearl of the collection was a specimen of the genuine

_Calisaya_, with its silver-gray envelope and leaf ribbed with

carmine. This proud discovery was a boon for science and for commerce.

It threw a new light upon the geographical locality of the most

precious species of cinchona. It was incontestably the plant, and

the Bolivians appeared amazed rather than pleased to have discovered

outside of their own country a kind of bark proper only to Bolivia,

and hardly known to overpass the northern extremity of the valley of

Apolobamba. This discovery would rehabilitate, in the European market,

the quinine-plants of Lower Peru, heretofore considered as inferior to

those of Upper Peru and Bolivia. The latter country has for some time

secured the most favorable reputation for its barks--a reputation

ably sustained by the efforts of the company De la Paz, to whom the

government has long granted a monopoly. This reputation is based on

the abundance in that country of two species, the _Cinchona calisaya_

and _Boliviana,_ the best known and most valued in the market. But

for two valuable cinchonas possessed by Bolivia, Peru can show twenty,

many of them excellent in quality, and awaiting only the enterprise of

the government and the natural exhaustion of the forests to the south.

This magnificent bit of luck, the finding of the calisaya, awakened

in the susceptible bosom of Mr. Marcoy an ardent desire to explore

for himself the site of its discovery. But Eusebio, the chief of the

cascarilleros, assuming a mysterious and warning expression, informed

the traveler that the place was quite inaccessible for a white man,

and that he had risked his own neck a score of times in descending the

ravine which separated the route from the hillside where the fortunate

plants were growing. He promised, however, to point out the locality

from afar, and to show, by a certain changeable gloss proper to the

leaf, the precise stratum of the calisaya amongst the belts of the

forest. This promise he forgot to execute more particularly, but it

appeared that the locality would never be excessively hard to find,

marked as it was by Nature with the gigantic finger-post of Mount

Camanti. Placing, then, in security these precious specimens among

their baggage, the explorers continued their advance along the valley.

The footing was level and easy. Rocks and precipices were left behind,

and were displaced by a soft, slippery sort of sand, where from space

to space were planted, like so many oases in a desert, clumps of giant

reeds. By a strange but natural caprice these beds of rustling verdure

were cut in an infinity of well-defined geometric forms. Seen from an

eminence and at a distance, this arrangement gave a singular effect.

In the midst of these native garden-beds were cut distinct and narrow

alleys, where the drifting sands were packed like artificial paths.

It is unnecessary to add that the soft footways, notwithstanding

their advertisement of verdure and shade, proved to be of African

temperature.

The last hours of daylight surprised the travelers among the

labyrinths of these strange gardens. A suitable spot was chosen for

the halt. As the porters were preparing to throw down their packs,

Pepe Garcia, who marched ahead, announced the print of a South

American tiger. The first care of the Indians, on hearing this news,

was to send forth a horrible cry and to throng around the marks. The

footprints disappeared at the thickest part of the jungle. After

an examination of the traces, which resembled a large trefoil, they

precipitated themselves on the interpreter-in-chief, representing

how impossible it was to camp out in the neighborhood of the dreaded

animal. But Pepe Garcia, accustomed as he was by profession to try his

strength with the ferocious bear and the wily boar, was not the man to

be afraid of a tiger, even of a genuine tiger from Bengal. To prove

to the porters how slight was the estimation he placed on the supposed

enemy, and also to drill them in the case of similar rencounters, he

pushed the whole troop pellmell into the thickest part of the reeds,

with the surly order to cut down the canes for sheds. Drawing his own

knife, he slashed right and left among the stems, which the Indians,

trembling with fear, were obliged to make into sheaves on the spot and

transport to the beach selected for the bivouac. Double rows of these

_arundos_, driven into the sand, formed the partitions of the cabins,

for which their interwoven leaves made an appropriate thatch. The

green halls with matted vaults were picturesque enough; each peon,

seeing how easily they were constructed, chose to have a house for

himself; and the Tiger's Beach quickly presented the appearance of a

camp disposed in a long straight line, of which the timorous Indians

occupied the extremity nearest the river.

No "tiger" appeared to justify the apprehensions of the porters; but

what was lacking to their fears from beasts with four feet was made

up to them by beasts with wings. The night closed in dry and serene.

Since leaving Maniri, whether because of the broadening of the valley,

the rarity of the water-courses or the decreasing altitude of the

hills, the adventurers had been little troubled with fogs at night.

The fauna of the region, too, had offered nothing of an alarming

complexion, except the footprints of the tiger in question: an

occasional tapir or peccary from the woods, and otters and fish from

the streams, had attracted the shots of the party, but merely as

welcome additions to their game-bags, not as food for their fears.

To-night, however, the veritable bugbear of the tropical forest paid

them a visit, and left a real souvenir of his presence. As the Indian

servants stretched themselves out in slumber under the bright stars

and in the partial shelter of their ajoupas, a bat of the vampire

species, attracted by the emanations of their bodies, came sailing

over them, and emboldened by the silence reigning everywhere, selected

a victim for attack. Hovering over the fellow's exposed foot, he bit

the great toe, and fanning his prey in the traditional yet inevitable

manner by the natural movement of his wings, he gorged himself with

blood without disturbing the mozo. The latter, on awakening in the

morning, observed a slight swelling in the perforated part, and on

examination discovered a round hole large enough to admit a pea.

Without rising, the man summoned his companions, who formed a group

around him for the purpose of furnishing a certain natural remedy in

the shape of a secretion which each one drew out of his ears. With

this the patient made himself a plaster for his wound, and appeared to

think but little of it. Questioned as to his sensations by the white

travelers, who found themselves a good deal more disturbed with the

idea of the vampire than they had been by any indications of tigers or

wild-boars, the fellow explained that he had felt no sensation, unless

it might have been an agreeable coolness of his sand-baked feet.

The incident seemed so disagreeable and so likely of recurrence

that Colonel Perez ever afterward slept with his feet rolled up in a

variety of fantastic draperies, while Mr. Marcoy for several nights

retained his boots.

[Illustration: "PEPE GARCIA, WHO MARCHED AHEAD, ANNOUNCED THE PRINT OF

A SOUTH AMERICAN TIGER."--P. 132.]

The path along the river-sands would have been voluntarily followed by

all the more irresponsible portion of the party, notwithstanding the

blinding heats, on account of its smoother footing. The cascarilleros,

however, objected that its tufts of canes and passifloras offered no

promise for their researches. A compromise was effected. The porters,

under the command of Juan of Aragon, were allowed to follow the shore,

and were armed with a supply of fish-hooks to induce them to add from

time to time to the alarmingly diminished supply of provisions. The

grandees of the party followed the Bolivians, whose specialty entitled

them to control practically the direction of the route, and plunged

into the woods to botanize, to explore and to search for game.

A system of conversation by means of shouts and pistol-shots was

established between the two divisions. The next night proved the

wisdom of this bifurcation. The united booty of earth, air and water,

under the form of a squirrel, a pair of toucans and a variety of fish,

afforded a meal which the porters described as _comida opipara_ or

a sumptuous festival. Lulled and comforted by the sensation which a

contented stomach wafts toward the brain, the explorers, after

washing their hands and rinsing their mouths at the riverside, betook

themselves to a cheerful repose _sub jove_, the locality offering no

reeds of the articulated species with which to construct a shelter.

The party, then, betook themselves to slumber with unusual

contentment, repeating the splendid supper in their dreams, with the

addition of every famous wine that Oporto and Rheims could dispense,

when they were awakened by a sudden and terrible storm. A waterspout

stooped over the forest and sucked up a mass of crackling branches.

The camp-fire hissed and went out in a fume of smoke. A continuity of

thunder, far off at first, but approaching nearer and nearer, kept up

a constant and increasing fusillade, to whose reports was soon added

the voice of the Cconi, lashed in its bed and bellowing like the sea.

The surprising tumult went on in a _crescendo_. The hardly-interrupted

charges of the lightning gave to the eye a strange vision of flying

woods and soaring branches. Startled, trembling and sitting bolt

upright, the adventurers asked if their last hour were come. The rain

undertook to answer in spinning down upon their heads drops that were

like bullets, and which for some time were taken for hail. Fearing to

be maimed or blinded as they sat, the party crowded together, placing

themselves back to back; and, unable to lay their heads under their

wings like the birds, sheltered them upon their knees under the

protection of their crossed arms. The fearful deluge of heated shot

lasted until morning. Then, as if in laughter, the sun came radiantly

out, the landscape readjusted its disheveled beauties, and the ground,

covered with boughs distributed by the whirlwind, greedily drank in

the waters from heaven. Soon there remained nothing of the memorable

tempest but the diamonds falling in measured cadence from the

refreshed and stiffened leaves.

Up to sunrise the unfortunates rested stoically silent, their knees in

their mouths, and receiving the visitation like a group of statuary.

The rain ceasing with the same promptitude with which it had risen,

they raised their heads and looked each other in the face, like the

enemies over the fire in Byron's _Dream_. Each countenance was blue,

and decorated with long flat locks of adhesive hair. The teeth of the

whole party were chattering like a concert of castanets. The sun, like

a practical joker, laughed ironically at the general picture.

The first hours of morning were consecrated to a general examination

of the stores, especially the precious specimens of cinchona. Bundles

were restrapped, the damp provisions laid out in the sun, and the

clothing of the party, even to the most intimate garment, was taken

down to the river to be refreshed and furbished up. A common disaster

had created a common cause amongst the whole troop, and with one

accord everybody--peons, mozos, interpreters, bark-strippers and

gentlemen--set in motion a grand cleaning-up day. Napoleon-like, they

washed their dirty linen in the family. Whoever had seen the strangers

coming and going from the beach to the woods, clothed in most

abbreviated fashion, and seeming as familiar to the uniform as if they

had always worn it under the charitable mantle of the woods, would

have taken them for a savage tribe in the midst of its encampment. It

is probable they were so seen.

Thanks to the intense heat of the sun-shine, the garments and baggage

of the expedition were quickly dried. The first were donned, the last

was loaded on the porters, and the line of march was taken up. Up to

noon the road lay along the blazing sands under a sun of fire. All the

members of the party felt fresh and hardy after the involuntary bath,

except one of the Indians, who was affected with a kind of ophthalmia.

This attack, which Mr. Marcoy attributed partly to the glare, partly

to the wet, and partly to a singular hobby peculiar to the individual

of sleeping with his eyes wide open, was of no long duration. The pain

which he complained of disappeared with a few hours of exercise and

with the determination he showed in staring straight at the god of

day, who, as if in memory of the worship formerly extended toward him

in the country, deigned to serve as oculist for the sufferer. A little

before sunset halt was made for the night-camp in the centre of a

beach protected by clumps of reeds in three quarters of the wind. The

Indian porters, despatched for fish and firewood, returned suddenly

with a frightened mien to say that they had fallen into the midst of

a camp of savages. The white men quickly rejoined them at the spot

indicated, where they found a single hut in ruins, made of reeds which

appeared to have been cut for the construction some fortnight before,

and strewn with fire-brands, banana skins and the tail of a large

fish. Pepe Garcia, consulted on these indications, explained that it

was in reality the camping-place of some of the savage Siriniris, but

that the narrowness of the hut seemed to indicate that not more than

two of the Indians, probably a man and woman, had resided there during

a short fishing-excursion.

This discovery cast a shade over the countenances of the porters.

After having collected the provisions necessary for a slender supper,

they drew apart, and, while cooking was going on, began to converse

with each other in a low voice. No notice was taken of their behavior,

however, though it would have required little imagination to guess

the subject of their parliament. The tired eyes of the explorers were

already closed, while their ears, more alert, could hear the confused

murmur proceeding from the Indians' quarter, where the disposition

seemed to be to prolong the watch indefinitely.

[Illustration: "NAPOLEON-LIKE, THEY WASHED THEIR DIRTY LINEN IN THE

FAMILY"--P. 135.]

The dark hours filed past, and jocund day, according to Shakespeare

and Romeo, stood tiptoe on the mountain-tops of Camanti and Basiri,

when the travelers were awakened by a fierce and terrible cry. Lifting

their heads in astonishment, they perceived the faithful Pepe Garcia,

his face disfigured with rage, and his fist shaking vigorously in the

direction of the Indians, who sat lowering and sullen in their places.

Aragon and the cascarilleros, collected around the chief interpreter,

far from trying to calm his anger, appeared to feed it by their

suggestions. An explanation of the scene was demanded. Eight of the

bearers, it appeared, had deserted, leaving to their comrades the

pleasure of watching over the packages of cinchona, but assuming for

their part the charge of a good fraction of the provisions, which

they had disappeared with for the relief of their fellow-porters.

This copious bleeding of the larder drew from Colonel Perez a terrible

oath, and occasioned a more vivid sentiment in the entrails of Marcoy

than the defection of the men. If the evil was grand, the remedy was

correspondingly difficult. Indolent or mercurial at pleasure, the

Indians had doubtless threaded the woods with winged feet, and were

now far away. Mr. Marcoy proposed therefore to continue the march

without them, but to set down a heavy account of bastinadoes to their

credit when they should turn up again at Marcapata. This proposition,

as it erred on the side of mercy, was unanimously rejected, and a

scouting-party was ordered in pursuit, consisting of the bark-hunters

and Juan of Aragon, to whom for the occasion Pepe Garcia confided his

remarkable fowling-piece.

[Illustration: "ARAGON AND HIS MEN FELL UPON THE DESERTERS WITHOUT

MERCY."--P. 138.]

In the afternoon the extemporized police reappeared. The fugitives had

been found tranquilly sitting on the banks of the river, distending

their abdomens with the stolen preserves and chocolate. Aragon and his

men fell upon the deserters without mercy. The former, battering away

at them with the stock of his gun, and the latter, exercising upon

their shoulders whatever they possessed in the way of lassoes,

axe-handles and sabre-blades, maintained the argument effectually for

some time in this way, and did not descend to questions until muscular

fatigue caused them to desist. The catechism subsequently put to the

porters elicited the reply, from the spokesman of the recusants,

that they were tired of being afraid of the wild Indians; that they

objected to marching into the dens of tigers; that, perceiving their

rations diminished from day to day, they had imagined the time not far

distant when the same would be withdrawn altogether. It was curious,

as it seemed to Marcoy when the argument was rehearsed to him

presently, that the fellows made no complaint of being footsore,

overcharged with burdens or conducted into paths too difficult for

them. A lurking admiration for the vigor with which, after all, they

played their crushing part of beasts of burden, procured them immunity

from further punishment after their return. Their bivouacs were simply

watched on the succeeding nights by Bolivian sentinels.

After a few minutes allowed the strayed sheep to rub their bruises,

the march was continued. The afternoon afforded a succession of the

same sandy riverbanks, dressed with reeds, false maize, calceolarias

and purple passion-flowers, and yielding for sole booty a brace of

wild black ducks, and an opossum holding in her pouch five saucy and

scolding little ones. The natural civet employed as a cosmetic by this

animal forbade the notion of using it for food, and it was thrown with

its family into the river, after being deprived of its glossy skin.

As evening approached, and as all eyes were exploring the banks for a

suitable camping-ground, a spacious and even beach was fixed upon as

offering all the requisite conveniences. It was agreed to halt there.

Attaining the locality, however, they were amazed to find all the

traces of a previous occupation. Several sheds, formed of bamboo

hurdles set up against the ground with sticks, like traps, were

grouped together. Under each was a hearth, a simple excavation,

two feet across and a few inches deep, and filled with ashes. A few

arrows, feathers and rude pieces of pottery were scattered around.

They greeted these Indian relics as Crusoe did the footprints of the

savages. Nor was it more reassuring to observe, among other callers

like themselves who had left their visiting-cards at the doors since

the departure of the proprietors, the sign-manual of jaguars and

tapirs, whose footprints were plainly visible on the gravel.

A close examination was made of every detail pertaining to the huts

and their accessories, and the interpreters were asked if it would be

prudent to encamp in a spot thus leased in advance. Pepe Garcia and

Aragon were of opinion that it would be better to pass the night

there, assuring their employers that there would be no danger in

sleeping among the teraphim of the savages, provided that nothing was

touched or displaced. Their motion was promptly adopted, to the great

discomfiture of the porters, who were poised on one foot ready for

flight. A salute of five shots was fired, with a vague intention

of giving any listeners the highest possible opinion of the white

explorers as a military power. An enormous fire was kindled, sentinels

were posted, and the party turned in, taking care, however, during the

whole night to close but one eye at a time.

[Illustration: "THEY GREETED THESE INDIAN RELICS AS CRUSOE DID THE

FOOTPRINTS OF THE SAVAGES."--P. 138.]

Day commenced to blush, when all ears were assaulted by a concerted

howl, proceeding from behind a bed of canes on the other side of the

river. "_Alerta! los Chunchos!_" cried the sentinel. The three words

produced a startling effect: the porters sprang up like frightened

deer; Mr. Marcoy grasped a sheaf of pencils and a box of water-colors

with a warlike air, and the colonel's lips were crisped into a

singular smile, indicative of lively emotions. Hardly were the

travelers clothed and armed when the reeds parted with a rattling

noise, and three nude Indians, sepia-colored and crowned with tufts of

hair like horses' tails, leaped out like jacks-in-the-box. At sight of

the party standing to receive them they redoubled their clamor, then,

flourishing their arms and legs and turning continually round, they

gradually revolved into the presence of the explorers. They selected

as chiefs and sachems of the party such as bore weapons, being the

colonel, Marcoy and the two interpreters. These they clasped in a

warm, fulsome embrace: they were smeared from head to foot with rocoa

(crude arnotta), and their passage through the river having dissolved

this pigment, they printed themselves off, in this act of amity, upon

the persons and clothing of their hosts. While the white men, with a

very bad grace, were cleaning off these tokens of natural affection,

the new-comers went on to present their civilities all around. Two of

the porters they recognized at once, with their eagle eyesight, from

having relieved them of their shirts while the latter were working

out some penalty at the governor's farm of Sausipata, and proceeded to

claim a warm acquaintance on that basis; but the bearers, with equally

lively memories of the affront, responded simply with a frown and the

epithet of _Sua-sua_--double thief.

Pepe Garcia undertook a colloquy, and Aragon, not to be behindhand,

flashed a few words across the conversation, right and left as it

were, his expressions appearing to be in a different tongue from those

used by the chief interpreter, and both utterly without perceptible

resemblance to the rolling consonants and gutturals of the savages.

Marcoy imbibed a strong impression that the only terms understood in

common were the words of Spanish with which the palaver was thickly

interlarded. This was the first time the interpreters were put on

their mettle in a strictly professional sense, and the test was not

altogether triumphant. However, by a careful raising of the voice

in all difficult passages, and a wild, expressive pantomime, an

understanding was arrived at.

The visitors belonged to the tribe of Siriniris, inhabiting the space

comprised between the valleys of Ocongate and Ollachea, and extending

eastwardly as far as the twelfth degree. They lived at peace with

their neighbors, the Huat-chipayris and the Pukiris. For several days

the reports of the Christian guns (_tasa-tasa_) had advertised them

of the presence of white men in the valley, and, curious to judge of

their numbers, they had approached. They had formed a cunning escort

to the party, always faithful but never seen, since the encampment

at Maniri: every camping-ground since that particular bivouac they

faithfully described. They were, of course, in particular and direful

need of _sirutas_ and _bambas_ (knives and hatchets), but their fears

of the _tasa-tasa_, or guns, was still stronger than their desires,

and their courage had not, until they saw the strangers domiciled as

guests in their own habitations, attained the firmness and consistency

necessary for a personal approach. The three dancing ambassadors were

ministers plenipotentiary on the part of their tribe, located in a

bamboo metropolis five miles off.

The white men could not well avoid laying down their _tasa-tasa_ and

disbursing _sirutas_ and _bambas_. The savages, after this triumph

of diplomacy, suddenly turned, and, thrusting their fingers in their

mouths, emitted a shrill note, which had the effect of enchanting the

forest of rushes across the river, and causing it to give birth to a

whole ballet of naked coryphei. Nine men, seven women and three dogs

composed the spectacle, of which the masculine part, the human and

the canine, proceeded to swim the stream and fraternize with the

strangers. The women rested on the bank like river-nymphs: their

costume was somewhat less prudish than that of the men, the coat of

rocoa being confined to their faces, which were further decorated with

joints of reed thrust through the nose and ears. A glance of curiosity

darted across the water by the colonel was surprised in its flight by

the ambassadors, who addressed a hasty word or two to their ladies:

the latter, with one quick and cat-like gesture, whipped off each a

branch of the nearest foliage, and were dressed in a single instant.

To reward all these vociferous mendicants with the invaluable cutlery

was hardly prudent. Seeing the hesitation of their visitors, the

savages adopted other tactics. Hurling themselves across the river,

they quickly reappeared, armed with all the temptations they could

think of to induce the strangers to barter. The scene of these savages

coming to market was a picturesque one. Entering the water, provided

with their objects of exchange, which they held high above their

heads, and swimming with the right arm only, they began to cut the

river diagonally. The lifting of the waves and the dash of spray

almost concealed the file of dusky heads. Nothing could be plainly

seen but the left arms, standing out of the water as stiff and

inflexible as so many bars of bronze, relieved against the silvery

brightness of the water. These advancing arms were adorned with the

material of traffic--bird-skins of variegated colors, bows and arrows,

and live tamed parrots standing upon perches of bamboo. The white

spectators could not but admire the native vigor, elegance and

promptitude of their motions as they rose from the water like Tritons,

and, throwing their treasures down in a heap, bounded forward to give

their visitors the conventional signals of friendship. A rapid

bargain was concluded, in which the sylvan booty of the wild men (not

forgetting the prudent exaction of their weapons) was entirely made

over to the custody of the explorers in exchange for a few Birmingham

knives worth fourpence each.

However curious and amicable might be their new relations with the

savages, the party were desirous to put an end to them as soon as

possible. Pepe Garcia announced that the pale chiefs, wishing to

resume their march, were about to separate from them. This decision

appeared to be unpleasant or distressful in their estimation, and

they tried to reverse it by all sorts of arguments. No answer being

volunteered, they shouted to their women to await them, and betook

themselves to walking with the party. One of the three ambassadors, a

graceful rogue of twenty-five, marked all over with rocoa and lote,

so as to earn for himself the nickname of "the Panther," gamboled

and caracoled in front of the procession as if to give it an

entertainment. His two comrades had garroted with their arms the neck

of the chief interpreter: another held Juan of Aragon by the skirt of

his blouse, and regulated his steps by those of the youth. This accord

of barbarism and civilization had in it something decidedly graceful,

and rather pathetic: if ever the language natural to man was found,

the medium in circulation before our sickly machinery of speech came

to be invented, it was in this concert of persuasive action and tender

cooing notes. The main body of the Siriniris marched pellmell along

with the porters, whom this vicinage made exceedingly uncomfortable,

and who were perspiring in great drops.

At the commencement of a wood the whites embraced the occasion to take

formal leave of their new acquaintances. As they endeavored to turn

their backs upon them they were at once surrounded by the whole band,

crying and gesticulating, and opposing their departure with a sort of

determined playfulness.

At the same time a word often repeated, the word _Huatinmio_, began to

enter largely into their conversation, and piqued the curiosity of

the historiographer. Marcoy begged the interpreter to procure him the

explanation of this perpetual shibboleth. Half by signs, half in the

polyglot jargon which he had been employing with the Siriniris, Garcia

managed to understand that the word in question was the name of their

village, situated at a small distance and in a direction which they

indicated. In this retreat, they said, no inhabitants remained but

women, children and old men, the rest of the braves being absent on

a chase. They proposed a visit to their capital, where the strangers,

they said, honored and cherished by the tribe, might pass many

enviable days.

The proposed excursion, which would cause a loss of considerable time

and a deflection from the intended route, was declined in courteous

terms by Marcoy through the interpretation of Pepe Garcia. Among

civilized folk this urbane refusal would have sufficed, but the

savages, taking such a reply as a challenge to verbal warfare,

returned to the charge with increased tenacity. It were hard to say

what natural logic they put in practice or what sylvan persuasions

they wrought by, but their peculiar mode of stroking the white men's

backs with their hands, and the softer and still softer inflections

which they introduced into their voices, would have melted hearts of

marble. In brief, the civilized portion adopted the more weakly part

and allowed themselves to be led by the savage portion.

The colonel and Pepe Garcia were still more easily persuaded than Mr.

Marcoy, and only awaited his adhesion. When it was finally announced

the Siriniris renewed their gambols and uttered shouts of delight.

They then took the head of the excursion. A singularity in their

guides, which quickly attracted the notice of the explorers, was the

perfect indifference with which they took either the clearings or the

thickets in their path. Where the strangers were afraid of tearing

their garments, these unprotected savages had no care whatever for

their skins. It is true that their ingenuity in gliding through the

labyrinth resembled magic. However the forest might bristle with

undergrowth, they never thought of breaking down obstacles or of

cutting them, as the equally practiced Bolivians did, with a knife.

They contented themselves with putting aside with one hand the tufts

of foliage as if they had been curtains or draperies, and that with an

easy decision of gesture and an elegance of attitude which are hardly

found outside of certain natural tribes.

The city of Huatinmio proved to be a group of seven large sheds

perched among plaintains and bananas, divided into stalls, and

affording shelter for a hundred individuals. The most sordid

destitution--if ignorance of comfort can be called

destitution--reigned everywhere around. The women were especially

hideous, and on receipt of presents of small bells and large needles

became additionally disagreeable in their antics of gratitude. The

bells were quickly inserted in their ears, and soon the whole village

was in tintinnabulation.

A night was passed in the hospitality of these barbarians, who vacated

their largest cabin for their guests. A repast was served, consisting

of stewed monkey: no salt was used in the cookery, but on the other

hand a dose of pimento was thrown in, which brought tears to the eyes

of the strangers and made them run to the water-jar as if to save

their lives. The evening was spent in a general conversation with the

Siriniris, who were completely mystified by the form and properties of

a candle which Mr. Marcoy drew from his baggage and ignited. The wild

men passed it from hand to hand, examining it, and singeing themselves

in turn. Still another marvel was the sheet of paper on which the

artist essayed a portrait of one of his hosts. The finished sketch

did not appear to attract them at all, or to raise in their minds

the faintest association with the human form, but the texture and

whiteness of the sheet excited their lively admiration, and they

passed it from one to another with many exclamations of wonder.

Meantime, a number of questions were suggested and proposed through

the interpreter.

The formality of marriage among the Siriniris was found to be quite

unknown; the most rudimentary idea of divine worship could not be

discovered; the treatment of the aged was shown to be contemptuous

and neglectful in the extreme; and the lines of demarcation with the

beasts seemed to be but feebly traced. Finally, Mr. Marcoy begged the

interpreter to propound the delicate inquiry whether, among the viands

with which they nourished or had formerly nourished themselves, human

flesh had found a place. Garcia hesitated, and at first declined

to push the interrogation, but after some persuasion consented. The

Siriniris were not in the least shocked at the question, and answered

that the flesh of man, especially in infancy, was a delicious food,

far better than the monkey, the tapir or the peccary; that their

nation, in the days of its power, frequently used it at the great

feasts; but that the difficulty of procuring such a rarity had

increased until they were now forced to strike it from their bill of

fare.

The night passed without disturbance, and the next day's parting was

accompanied by reiterated requests for a repetition of the visit. The

Panther, who since their arrival had oppressed the travelers with a

multitude of officious attentions, escorted them into the woods, and

there took leave of them with a gesture of his hand, relieving their

eyes of his slippery, snake-like robe of spots. A knife from their

stores, slung round his neck like a locket, smote his breast at each

step as he danced backward, and a couple of large fish-hooks glanced

in his ears.

With a feeling of relief and satisfied curiosity the exploring party

left behind them the traces of these children of Nature, and returned

toward the river. The cascarilleros, all for their business,

had regretted the waste of time, and now betook themselves to an

examination of the woods with all their energy. After several hours

of march their efforts were crowned with success. Eusebio presently

rejoined his employers, showing leaves and berries of the _Cinchona

scrobiculata_ and _pubescens_: the peons, on their side, had

discovered isolated specimens of the _Calisaya_, which, joined with

those found on Mount Camanti, indicated an extended belt of that

precious species. This was not the best. A veritable treasure which

they had unearthed, worth all the others put together, was a line of

those violet cinchonas which the native exporters call _Cascarilla

morada_, and the botanists _Cinchona Boliviana_. The trees of this

kind were grouped in threes and fours, and extended for half a mile.

This repeated proof that the most valuable of all the cinchonas,

together with nearly every one of the others, were to be discovered

in a small radius along the valley of the Cconi, filled the explorers

with triumph, and demonstrated beyond a doubt the sagacity of Don

Santo Domingo in organizing the expedition.

The purpose and intention of the journey was now abundantly fulfilled.

Had the travelers rested satisfied with the liberal indications they

had found, and consented to place themselves between the haunts of

the savages and the abodes of civilization, with a tendency and

determination toward the latter, they might have returned with safety

as with glory. The estimate made by Eusebio, however, of the trend or

direction of the calisaya groves, induced him to forsake the bed of

the Cconi, and strike south-eastwardly, so as to cross the Ollachea

and the Ayapata.

"But the mountains are disappearing," hazarded Mr. Marcoy. "Will not

the cinchonas disappear with them?"

"Oh," answered the majordomo, like a pedagogue to a confident

school-boy, "the señor knows better how to put ink or color on a sheet

of paper than how to judge of these things. The plain, the _campo

llano_, is far enough to the east. Before we should see the

disappearance of the mountains, we should have to cross as many hills

and ravines as we have left behind us."

"What do you think of doing, then?" naturally demanded Marcoy, who had

long since begun to feel that the expedition had but one chief, and

that was the sepia-colored cascarillero from Bolivia,

"Everything and nothing," answered Eusebio.

These enigmas always carry the day. The apparatus of march was

once more set in motion toward the adjacent water-sheds. After a

considerable journey--rewarded, it must be said, with a succession of

cinchona discoveries--they halted near a clearing in the forest, where

large heaps of stones and pebbles, arranged in semicircles, attracted

their attention. The cascarilleros explained this appearance as due

to former arrangements for gold-washing in an old river-bed, the San

Gavan or the Ayapata, that had now changed its locality.

While examining the unusual appearance an abominable clamor burst from

the woods around, and a band of Siriniris appeared, led by a lusty

ruffian crowned with oriole feathers, whom the travelers recognized as

having been among their previous acquaintances.

The encounter was very disagreeable, but the strangers determined to

make the best of it. The manner of this band of Indians was somewhat

different from that of the others. They brought nothing for barter,

and had an indescribably coarse and hardy style of behavior.

The travelers determined to buy a little information, if nothing

better, with their knives and fish-hooks. Garcia was accordingly

instructed to demand the meaning of the heaps and causeways of stones.

The savages laughed at first, but finally informed the visitors that

the constructions which puzzled them so had been made by people of

their own race many years ago, for the purpose of gathering gold from

the river which used to run along there, but which now flowed seven

miles off.

This information was dear to the historic instinct of Marcoy. He

spoke, by his usual proxy, to the Indian of the oriole, commanding him

not to begin every explanation by laughing, as he had been doing, but

to answer intelligently, promising a reward of several knives. The

savage exchanged a rapid glance with his fellows, and then he and they

stood up as stiff and mute as the trees. Marcoy then asked him if he

had never heard his father or his grandfather speak of the great city

of San Gavan, built hereabouts formerly by the Spanish chevaliers, and

which the Caranga and Suchimani Indians from the Inambari River had

destroyed by fire.

The evident recognition of this legend by the savages, and their

rapid exchange among themselves of the words _sacapa huayris Ipaños_,

induced Marcoy to ask if they could guide them to the site of the

former city. They answered that a day's march would be sufficient, and

pointed with their arms in the direction of north-north-west.

The temptation to see the place whose golden renown, after having made

the tour of the American continent, had reached Spain and the world at

large, was too strong to be resisted. Colonel Perez, besides the magic

attraction which the mention of gold had for him, felt his national

pride touched by the idea of a place where his compatriots had added

such magnificence to the Spanish name, and gained so many ingots of

gold by paddling in the streams. The cascarilleros were delighted to

extend their journey, in hopes of yet larger discoveries. As for the

porters, since the manifestations of the savages they clung to the

party with as much anxiety as they had ever shown to escape from it.

In 1767 the city of San Gavan, remaining intact amid the ruin of all

its neighbors, was the sole disburser of the riches of the Caravaya

Valley. The gold-dust, collected throughout the whole territory on a

government monopoly, was brought thither upon the backs of Indians,

melted into ingots, and distributed to Lima and the world at large.

On the night of the 15th and 16th of December in that year the

wealthy city was fired by the Carangas and the Suchimanis, and all the

inhabitants slain with arrows or clubs. The first lords of the soil

had resumed their rights.

When the news of the event was brought to Lima, the viceroy of

the period, Antonio Amat, swore on a piece of the true cross to

exterminate every Indian in Peru. It is to the persuasions of his

favorite, Mariquita Gallegas, that the preservation of the native

tribes from a bloody extirpation is due. This woman, _La Perichola_,

whose caricatured likeness we see in the most agreeable of Offenbach's

operas, and whose deeds of mercy and edifying end in a convent entitle

her to some charitable consideration, persuaded her royal lover to

operate on the natives with missionaries and teachers rather than with

fire and sword. Antonio Amat yielded, and the Indians have survived.

[Illustration: "ANOTHER SAVAGE HAD FOUND A PAIR OF LINEN

PANTALOONS."--P. 146.]

Let no traveler go to South America and cross the Andes with the idea

of unearthing a Nineveh or a Babylon on the site of San Gavan. The

emissaries of Don Santo Domingo were quickly standing, among the

grinning and amused Indians, on the locality of the Golden Depot of

San Gavan. But Nature had thoroughly reclaimed her own, and the place,

indicated again and again by the savages with absolute unanimity,

showed nothing but mounds of fern and moss under canopies of forest

trees.

A day's rest and a sketch or two were consecrated by Marcoy to this

historic spot, the grave of a civilization. It had been well if he

had restrained his feelings of romance, and betaken himself with his

companions to the homeward track.

As the explorers were breakfasting in the morning on a squirrel and

a couple of birds shot among the vanished streets of San Gavan, a

disagreeable incident supervened. The wild Indians had disappeared

over-night. But now, seemingly born instantaneously from the trees, a

throng of Siriniris burst upon the scene, rushing up to the travelers,

straining them repeatedly in a rude embrace, then leaving them, then

assaulting them again, and accompanying every contact with the eternal

cry, _Siruta inta menea_--"Give me a knife." Each member of the troop

had now six savages at his heels, and they were not those of the day

before, but a new and rougher band. The chiefs of the party rushed

together and brandished their muskets. This forced the savages

to retire, but gave to the rencounter that hostile air which, in

consideration of the disparity of numbers, ought at all hazards to

have been avoided. The wild men quickly formed a circle around the

artillery. The latter, fearing for their porters and the precious

baggage, leaped through this circle and joined their servants, making

believe to cock their fire-arms. Upon this the Indians, half afraid of

the guns, vanished into the woods, first picking up whatever clothing

and utensils they could lay their hands on. In an instant they were

showing these trophies to their rightful owners from a safe distance,

laughing as if they would split their sides. One of the naked rascals

had seized a flannel undershirt of the colonel's, which was drying

on a branch. His efforts to introduce his great feet into the

sleeves were excruciating. Another savage had found a pair of linen

pantaloons, which he was endeavoring to put on like a coat, appearing

much embarrassed with the posterior portion, which completely masked

his face. Aragon had seen a young reprobate of his own age make off

with a pair of socks of his property. Detecting the rogue half hidden

by a tree, the mozo made a sortie, seized the Indian, and by a

violent shake brought the property out of his mouth, where it had been

concealed as in a natural pocket.

The travelers immediately threw themselves into marching order and

took up their line of route. The savages followed. At the first

obstacle, a mass of matted trees, they easily rejoined the party of

whites.

Then, for the first time, the idea of their power seemed to strike

them, and they precipitated themselves upon the porters, who took to

flight, rolling from under their packs like animals of burden. In a

moment every article of baggage, every knife and weapon, was seized,

and the red-skins, singing and howling, were making off through the

woods. Among them was now seen the Siriniri with orioles' feathers,

who must have guided them to their prey.

The expedition was pillaged, and pillaged as a joke. The thieves were

heard laughing as they scampered off like deer through the woods.

It was hard to realize at once the gravity of the misfortune. No one

was hurt, no one was insulted. But provisions, clothing, articles of

exchange and weapons were all gone, except such arms and ammunition as

the travelers carried on their persons. A collection of cinchonas was

in possession of one of the Bolivians, though it represented but

a fraction of the species discovered. The besiegers, however, had

disappeared, and a westerly march was taken up. Good time was made

that day, and a heavy night's sleep was the consequence. With the

morning light came the well-remembered and hateful cry, and the little

army found itself surrounded by a throng of merry naked demons, among

whom were some who had not profited by the distribution of the spoils.

At the magic word _siruta_ all these new-comers rushed in a mass upon

the white men. Marcoy managed to slip his fine ivory-handled machete

within his trowser leg, but every other cutting tool disappeared as if

by magic from the possession of the explorers. The shooting-utensils

the savages, believing them haunted, would not touch. Then, half

irritated at the exhaustion of the booty, the amiable children of

Nature burst out into open derision. The artists of the tribe, filling

their palms with rocoa, and moistening the same with saliva, went up

to their late patrons and began to decorate their faces. The latter,

judging patience their best policy, sat in silence while the delicate

fancy of the savages expended itself in arabesques and flourishes.

Perez and Aragon had their eyes surrounded with red spectacles. The

face of Marcoy, covered with a heavy beard, only allowed room for

a "W" on the forehead, and Pepe Garcia was quit for a set of

interfacings like a checkerboard. Having thus signed their marks upon

their visitors, the aborigines retired, catching up here and there

a stray ball of cord or a strip of beef, saluting with the hand, and

vanishing into the woods with the repeated compliment, _Eminiki_--"I

am off."

The victims rested motionless for fifteen minutes: then pellmell,

through the thickest of the brush and down the steepest of the hill,

blotted out under gigantic ferns and covered by umbrageous vines,

stealing along water-courses and skirting the sides of the mountains,

they rushed precipitately westward.

Two months after the priest of Marcapata had dismissed with his

benediction the party of confident and enthusiastic explorers, he

received again his strayed flock, but this time in rags, armed with

ammunitionless guns and one poor knife, wasted by hunger, baked by the

sun, and tattooed like Polynesians by the briers and insects. The

good man could not repress a tear. "Ah, my son," said he as he clasped

Marcoy's hand, "see what it costs to go hunting the cascarilla in the

land of the infidels!"

The explorations started by Don Juan Sanz de Santo Domingo came to

profitable result, but not to his advantage. Three weeks after the

pioneers arrived again in Cuzco, Don Juan started another expedition,

on a much larger scale, to accomplish the working of the cinchona

valleys, under charge of the same Bolivians, who could make like a bee

for every tree they had discovered. A detachment of soldiers was

to protect the party, and the working force was more than double.

Finally, the night before the intended start, the Bolivian

cascarilleros, with their examinador, disappeared together. It is

probable that Don Juan's scheme, nursed, according to custom, with too

much publicity, had attracted the attention of the merchants of Cuzco,

who had found it profitable to buy off the bark-searchers for their

own interest.

The crash of this immense enterprise was too much for Don Juan.

Threatened with creditors, Jews, _escribanos_ and the police, he

retired to a silver-mine he was opening in the province of Abancay.

This mine, in successful operation, he depended on for satisfying his

creditors. He found it choked up, destroyed with a blast of powder by

some enemy. Unable to bear the disappointment, Don Juan blew out his

brains in the office belonging to his mine. A month afterward, Don

Eugenic Mendoza y Jara, the bishop of Cuzco, sent a couple of Indians

for the body, with instructions to throw it into a ditch: the men

attached a rope to the feet and dragged it to a ravine, where dogs and

vultures disposed of the unhallowed remains.

A GLANCE AT THE SITE AND ANTIQUITIES OF ATHENS.

The day is a happy one to the student-traveler from the Western World

in which he first looks upon the lovely plain of Athens. Rounding the

point where Hymettus thrusts his huge length into the sea, the long,

featureless mountain-wall of Southern Attica suddenly breaks down, and

gives place to a broad expanse of fertile, and well-cultivated soil,

sloping gently back with ever-narrowing bounds until it reaches the

foot-hills of lofty Pentelicus. The wooded heights of Parnes enclose

it on the north, while bald Hymettus rears an impassable barrier along

the south. In front of the gently recurved shore stretch the smooth

waters of the Gulf of Salamis, while beyond rises range upon range of

lofty mountain-peaks with strikingly varied outline, terminating on

the one hand in the towering cone of Egina, and on the other in

the pyramidal, fir-clad summit of Cithaeron. Upon the plain, at the

distance of three or four miles from the sea, are several small rocky

hills of picturesque appearance, isolated and seemingly independent,

but really parts of a low range parallel to Hymettus. Upon one of the

most considerable of these, whose precipitous sides make it a natural

fortress, stood the Acropolis, and upon the group of lesser heights

around and in the valleys between clustered the dwellings of ancient

Athens.

[Illustration: VIEW OF THE ACROPOLIS AND THE COLUMNS OF THE TEMPLE OF

JUPITER OLYMPUS.]

It was a fitting site for the capital of a people keenly sensitive to

beauty, and destined to become the leaders of the world in matters

of taste, especially in the important department of the Fine Arts.

Nowhere are there more charming contrasts of mountain, sea and

plain--nowhere a more perfect harmony of picturesque effect. The sea

is not a dreary waste of waters without bounds, but a smiling gulf

mirroring its mountain-walls and winding about embosomed isles, yet

ever broadening as it recedes, and suggesting the mighty flood beyond

from which it springs. The plain is not an illimitable expanse over

which the weary eye ranges in vain in quest of some resting-place, but

is so small as to be embraced in its whole contour in a single view,

while its separate features--the broad, dense belt of olives which

marks the bed of its principal stream, the ancient Cephissus, the

vineyards, the grain-fields and the sunny hillside pastures--are made

to produce their full impression. The mountains are not near enough to

be obtrusive, much less oppressive; neither are they so distant as to

be indistinct or to seem insignificant. Seen through the clear air,

their naked summits are so sharply defined and so individual in

appearance as to seem almost like sculptured forms chiseled out of the

hard rock.

The city which rose upon this favored spot was worthy of its

surroundings. The home of a free and enterprising race endowed with

rare gifts of intellect and sensibility, and ever on the alert for

improvement, it became the nurse of letters and of arts, while the

luxury begotten of prosperity awakened a taste for adornment, and

the wealth acquired by an extended commerce furnished the means of

gratifying it. The age of Pericles was the period of the highest

national development. At that time were reared the celebrated

structures in honor of the virgin-goddess who was the patron of

Athens--the Parthenon, the Propylaea, the Erechtheum--which crowned

the Acropolis, and were the glory of the city as they were the

masterpieces of Grecian architecture. During the preceding half

century many works of utility and of splendor had been constructed,

and the city now became renowned not only in Greece, but throughout

the ancient world, for the magnificence of its public buildings.

Thucydides, writing about this time, says that should Athens be

destroyed, posterity would infer from its ruins that the city had

been twice as populous as it actually was. Demosthenes speaks of

the strangers who came to visit its attractions. But the changes of

twenty-three centuries have passed upon this splendor--a sad story

of violence and neglect--and the queenly city has long been in the

condition of ruin imagined by Thucydides. Still, the spell of her

influence is not broken, and the charm which once drew so many

visitors to her shrines still acts powerfully on the hearts of

scholars in all lands, who, having looked up to her poets, orators

and philosophers as teachers and loved them as friends, long to visit

their haunts, to stand where they stood, to behold the scenes which

they were wont to view, and to gaze upon what may remain of the great

works of art upon which their admiration was bestowed.

So the student-pilgrim from the Western World with native ardor

strains his sight to catch the first glimpse of the Athenian plain and

city. He is fresh from his studies, and familiar with what books teach

of the geography of Greece and the topography of Athens. He needs

not to be informed which mountain-range is Parnes, and which

Pentelicus--which island is Salamis, and which Egina. Yet much of what

he sees is a revelation to him. The mountains are higher, more varied

and more beautiful than he had supposed, Lycabettus and the Acropolis

more imposing, Pentelicus farther away, and the plain larger, the gulf

narrower, and Egina nearer and more mountainous, than he had fancied.

He is astonished at the smallness of the harbor at Peiraeus, having

insensibly formed his conception of its size from the notices of the

mighty fleets which sailed from it in the palmy days when Athens was

mistress of the seas. He is not prepared to see the southern shore

of Salamis so near to the Peiraeus, though it explains the close

connection between that island and Athens, and throws some light upon

the great naval defeat of the Persians. In short, while every object

is recognized as it presents itself, yet a more correct conception is

formed of its relative position and aspect from a single glance of the

eye than had been acquired from books during years of study.

Arrived at the city, his experience is the same. He needs no guide to

conduct him to its antiquities, nor cicerone to explain in bad

French or worse English their names and history. Still, unexpected

appearances present themselves not unfrequently. Hastening toward the

Acropolis, he will first inspect the remains of the great theatre of

Dionysus, so familiar to him as the place where, in the presence

of all the people and many strangers, were acted the plays of his

favorite poets, Eschylus and Sophocles, and where they won many

prizes. Hurrying over the eastern brow of the hill, he comes suddenly

upon the spot, enters at the summit, as many an Athenian did in the

olden time, and is smitten with amazement at the first glance, and led

to question whether this be indeed the site of the ancient theatre. He

finds, it is true, the topmost seats cut in the solid rock, row above

row, stripped now of their marble lining and weather-worn, but yet the

genuine ancient seats of the upper tier. These he expected to find.

But whence are those fresh seats which fill the lower part of the

hollow, arranged as neatly as if intended for immediate use? and

whence the massive stage beyond? He bethinks himself that he has

heard of recent excavations under the patronage of the government, and

closer inspection shows that these are actually the lower seats of the

theatre in the time of the emperor Hadrian, whose favorite residence

was Athens, and who did so much to embellish the city. The front seats

consist of massive stone chairs, each inscribed with the name of its

occupant, generally the priestess of some one of the numerous gods

worshiped by that people so given to idolatry. In the centre of the

second row is an elevated throne inscribed with the name of Hadrian.

The stage is seen to be the ancient Greek stage enlarged to the

Roman size to suit the demands of a later style of theatrical

representation.

[Illustration: THEATRE OF DIONYSUS (BACCHUS).]

After looking in vain for the seat occupied by the priestess of the

Unknown God, our traveler passes on and enters with a beating heart

the charmed precincts of the Acropolis itself. The Propylaea, which he

has been accustomed to regard too exclusively as a mere entrance-gate

to the glories beyond, impresses him with its size and grandeur, and

the little temple of Victory by its side with its elegance.[A] But

the steepness of the ascent perplexes him. It seems impracticable for

horses, yet he knows by unexceptionable testimony that the Athenian

youth prided themselves upon driving their matched steeds in the great

Panathenaic procession which once every four years wound up the hill,

bearing the sacred peplus to the temple of the goddess. A closer

examination reveals the transverse creases of the pavement designed

to give a footing to the beasts, as well as the marks of the

chariot-wheels. Nevertheless, the ascent (and much more the descent)

must have been a perilous undertaking, unless the teams were better

broken than the various accounts of chariot-races furnished by the

poets would indicate. Entering beneath the great gate, a little

distance forward to the left may readily be found the site of the

colossal bronze statue of the warrior-goddess in complete armor,

formed by Phidias out of the spoils taken at Marathon. The square

base, partly sunk in the uneven rock, is as perfect as if just put in

readiness to receive the pedestal of that famous work. A road bending

to the right and slightly hollowed out of the rock leads to the

Parthenon. The outer platform which sustains this celebrated temple

is partly cut from the rock of the hill and partly built up of common

limestone. The inner one of three courses, as well as the whole

superstructure, is formed of Pentelic marble of a compact crystalline

structure and of dazzling whiteness. Long exposure has not availed to

destroy its lustre, but only to soften its tone. The visitor, planting

himself at the western front, is in a position to gain some adequate

idea of the perfection of the noble building. The interior and central

parts suffered the principal injury from the explosion of the Turkish

powder magazine in 1687. The western front remains nearly entire.

It has been despoiled, indeed, of its movable ornaments. The statues

which filled the pediment are gone, with the exception of a fragment

or two. The sculptured slabs have been removed from the spaces between

the triglyphs, and the gilded shields which hung beneath have been

taken down. Of the magnificent frieze, representing the procession

of the great quadrennial festival, only the portion surrounding the

western vestibule is still in place.[B]

[Footnote A: The latter contains, among other relics of a balustrade

which protected and adorned the platform of the temple, the

exquisitely graceful torso of Victory untying her sandals, of which

casts are to be seen in most of the museums of Europe.]

[Footnote B: Among the figures of this bas-relief, twelve are

recognized by their lofty stature and sitting posture as those of

divinities. One group is represented in the engraving.]

[Illustration: VICTORY UNTYING HER SANDALS.]

[Illustration: TEMPLE OF VICTORY]

[Illustration: THE PARTHENON.]

Still, as these were strictly decorations, and wholly subordinate to

the organic parts of the structure, their presence, while it would

doubtless greatly enhance the effect of the whole, is not felt to be

essential to its completeness. The whole Doric columns still bear

the massive entablature sheltered by the covering roof. The simple

greatness of the conception, the just proportion of the several parts,

together with the elaborate finishing of the whole work, invest it

with a charm such as the works of man seldom possess--the pure and

lasting pleasure which flows from apparent perfection Entering the

principal apartment of the building, traces are seen of the stucco and

pictures with which the walls were covered when it was fitted up as

a Christian church in the Byzantine period. Near the centre of the

marble pavement is a rectangular space laid with dark stone from the

Peirseus or from Eleusis. It marks the probable site of the colossal

precious statue of the goddess in gold and ivory--one of the most

celebrated works of Phidias. The smaller apartment beyond, accessible

only from the opposite front of the temple, was used by the state as

a place of deposit and safekeeping for bullion and other valuables in

the care of the state treasurer.

[Illustration: BAS RELIEF OF THE GODS (FRIEZE OF THE PARTHENON).]

Having examined the great temple, and tested the curvature of

its seemingly horizontal lines by sighting along the unencumbered

platform, and having stopped at several points of the grand portico

to admire the fine views of the city and surrounding country, the

traveler picks his way northward, across a thick layer of fragments

of columns, statues and blocks of marble, toward the low-placed,

irregular but elegant Erechtheum, the temple of the most ancient

worship and statue of the patron-goddess of the city. This building

sits close by the northern as the Parthenon does by the southern wall

of the enclosure. It has suffered equally with the other from the

ravages of time, and its ruins, though less grand, are more beautiful.

Most of the graceful Ionic columns are still standing, but large

portions of the roof and entablature have fallen. Fragments of

decorated cornice strew the ground, some of them of considerable

length, and afford a near view of that delicate ornamentation and

exquisite finish so rare outside the limits of Greece. The elevated

porch of the Caryatides, lately restored by the substitution of a

new figure in place of the missing statue now in the British Museum,

attracts attention as a unique specimen of Greek art, and also as

showing how far a skillful treatment will overcome the inherent

difficulties of a subject. The row of fair maidens looking out toward

the Parthenon do not seem much oppressed by the burden which rests

upon them, while their graceful forms lend a pleasing variety to the

scene. Passing out by the northern wing of the Propylaea, a survey is

had of the numerous fragments of sculpture discovered among the ruins

upon the hill, and temporarily placed in the ancient Pinacotheca.

The eye rests upon sweet infant faces and upon rugged manly ones.

Sometimes a single feature only remains, which, touched by the finger

of genius, awakens admiration. A naked arm severed from the trunk, of

feminine cast, but with muscles tightly strained and hand clenched as

in agony, will arrest attention and dwell in the memory.

North-west of the Acropolis, across a narrow chasm, lies the low,

rocky height of the Areopagus, accessible at the southeast angle by

a narrow flight of sixteen rudely-cut steps, which lead to a small

rectangular excavation on the summit, which faces the Acropolis, and

is surrounded upon three sides by a double tier of benches hewn out

of the rock. Here undoubtedly the most venerable court of justice at

Athens had its seat and tried its cases in the open air. Here too,

without doubt, stood the great apostle when, with bold spirit and

weighty words, he declared unto the men of Athens that God of whom

they confessed their ignorance; who was not to be represented by gold

or silver or stone graven by art and man's device; who dwelt not in

temples made with hands, and needed not to be worshiped with men's

hands. In no other place can one feel so sure that he comes upon the

very footsteps of the apostle, and on no other spot can one better

appreciate his high gifts as an orator or the noble devotion of his

whole soul to the work of the Master. How poor in comparison with

his life-work appear the performances of the greatest of the Athenian

thinkers or doers!

A little more than a quarter of a mile west of the Acropolis is

another rocky hill--the Pnyx--celebrated as the place where the

assembly of all the citizens met to transact the business of the

state. A large semicircular area was formed, partly by excavation,

partly by building up from beneath, the bounds of which can be

distinctly traced. Considerable remains of the terrace-wall at the

foot of the slope exist--huge stones twelve or fourteen feet in length

by eight or ten in breadth. The chord of the semicircle is near the

top of the hill, formed by the perpendicular face of the excavated

rock, and is about four hundred feet in length by twenty in depth.

Projecting from it at the centre, and hewn out of the same rock, is

the bema or stone platform from which the great orators from the time

of Themistocles and Aristides, and perhaps of Solon, down to the

age of Demosthenes and the Attic Ten, addressed the mass of their

fellow-citizens. It is a massive cubic block, with a linear edge of

eleven feet, standing upon a graduated base of nearly equal height,

and is mounted on either side by a flight of nine stone steps.

From its connection with the most celebrated efforts of some of

the greatest orators our race has yet seen, it is one of the most

interesting relics in the world, and its solid structure will cause it

to endure as long as the world itself shall stand, unless, as there is

some reason to apprehend will be the case, it is knocked to pieces and

carried off in the carpet-bags of travelers. No traces of the Agora,

which occupied the shallow valley between the Pnyx and the Acropolis,

remain. It was the heart of the city, and was adorned with numerous

public buildings, porticoes, temples and statues. It was often

thronged with citizens gathered for purposes of trade, discussion, or

to hear and tell some new thing.

[Illustration: PORCH OF THE CARYATIDES.]

Half a mile or more to the south-east, on the banks of the Ilissus,

stood a magnificent structure dedicated to Olympian Zeus--one of

the four largest temples of Greece, ranking with that of Demeter at

Eleusis and that of Diana at Ephesus. Its foundations remain, and

sixteen of the huge Corinthian columns belonging to its majestic

triple colonnade. One of these is fallen. Breaking up into the

numerous disks of which it was composed--six and a half feet in

diameter by two or more in thickness--and stretching out to a length

of over sixty feet, it gives an impressive conception of the size of

these columns, said to be the largest standing in Europe. The level

area of the temple is now used as a training-ground for soldiers.

Close by, and almost in the bed of the stream, which is dry the larger

part of the year, issues from beneath a ledge of rock the copious

fountain of sweet waters known to the ancients as Calirrhoe. It

furnished the only good drinking-water of the city, and was used in

all the sacrifices to the gods. A little way above, on the opposite

bank of the Ilissus, is the site of the Panathenaic stadium, whose

shape is perfectly preserved in the smooth grass-grown hollow with

semicircular extremity which here lies at right angles to the stream,

between parallel ridges partly artificial.

Northward from the Acropolis, on a slight elevation, is the

best-preserved and one of the most ancient structures of Athens--the

temple of Theseus, built under the administration of Cimon by the

generation preceding Pericles and the Parthenon. It is of the Doric

order, and shaped like the Parthenon, but considerably inferior to

it in size as well as in execution. It has been roofed with wood in

modern times, and was long used as a church, but is now a place of

deposit for the numerous statues and sculptured stones of various

kinds--mostly sepulchral monuments--which have been recently

discovered in and about the city. They are for the most part

unimportant as works of art, though many are interesting from their

antiquity or historic associations. Among these is the stone which

once crowned the burial-mound on the plain of Marathon. It bears a

single figure, said to represent the messenger who brought the tidings

of victory to his countrymen.

Near the Theseium was the double gate (Dipylum) in the ancient wall

of the city whence issued the Sacred Way leading to Eleusis, and

bordered, like the Appian Way at Rome, with tombs, many of them

cenotaphs of persons who died in the public service and were deemed

worthy of a monument in the public burying-ground. Within a few years

an excavation has been made through an artificial mound of ashes,

pottery and other refuse emptied out of the city, and a section of a

few rods of this celebrated road has been laid bare. The sepulchral

monuments are ranged on one side rather thickly, and crowd somewhat

closely upon the narrow pavement. They are, for the most part, simple,

thick slabs of white marble, with a triangular or pediment-shaped top,

beneath which is sculptured in low relief the closing scene of the

person commemorated, followed by a short inscription. The work is done

in an artistic style worthy of the publicity its location gave it. On

one of these slabs you recognize the familiar full-length figure of

Demosthenes, standing with two companions and clasping in a parting

grasp the hand of a woman, who is reclining upon her deathbed. The

inscription is, _Collyrion, wife of Agathon_. On another stone of

larger size is a more imposing piece of sculpture. A horseman fully

armed is thrusting his spear into the body of his fallen foe--a

hoplite. The inscription relates that the unhappy foot-soldier fell at

Corinth _by reason of those five words of his_!--a record intelligible

enough, doubtless, to his contemporaries, but sufficiently obscure and

provocative of curiosity to later generations.

There are other noted structures at Athens, such as the Choragic

Monument of Lysicrates--the highest type of the Corinthian order of

architecture, as the Erechtheum is of the Ionic and the Parthenon of

the Doric--but want of space forbids any further description of them.

Let the American traveler visit Athens with the expectation of finding

a city occupying the most charming of sites, and containing by far

the most interesting and important monuments of antiquity, in their

original position, to be found in the whole world.

J.L.T. PHILLIPS.

[Illustration: MONUMENT OF LYSICRATES.]

COMMONPLACE.

My little girl is commonplace, you say?

Well, well, I grant it, as you use the phrase

Concede the whole; although there was a day

When I too questioned words, and from a maze

Of hairsplit meanings, cut with close-drawn line,

Sought to draw out a language superfine,

Above the common, scarify with words and scintillate with pen;

But that time's over--now I am content to stand with other men.

It's the best place, fair youth. I see your smile--

The scornful smile of that ambitious age

That thinks it all things knows, and all the while

It nothing knows. And yet those smiles presage

Some future fame, because your aim is high;

As when one tries to shoot into the sky,

If his rash arrow at the moon he aims, a bolder flight we see,

Though vain, than if with level poise it safely reached the nearest tree.

A common proverb that! Does it disjoint

Your graceful terms? One more you'll understand:

Cut down a pencil to too fine a point,

Lo, it breaks off, all useless, in your hand!

The child is fitted for her present sphere:

Let her live out her life, without the fear

That comes when souls, daring the heights of dread infinity, are tost,

Now up, now down, by the great winds, their little home for ever lost.

My little girl seems to you commonplace

Because she loves the daisies, common flowers;

Because she finds in common pictures grace,

And nothing knows of classic music's powers:

She reads her romance, but the mystic's creed

Is something far beyond her simple need.

She goes to church, but the mixed doubts and theories that thinkers find

In all religious truth can never enter her undoubting mind.

A daisy's earth's own blossom--better far

Than city gardener's costly hybrid prize:

When you're found worthy of a higher star,

'Twill then be time earth's daisies to despise;

But not till then. And if the child can sing

Sweet songs like "Robin Gray," why should I fling

A cloud over her music's joy, and set for her the heavy task

Of learning what Bach knew, or finding sense under mad Chopin's mask?

Then as to pictures: if her taste prefers

That common picture of the "Huguenots,"

Where the girl's heart--a tender heart like hers--

Strives to defeat earth's greatest powers' great plots

With her poor little kerchief, shall I change

The print for Turner's riddles wild and strange?

Or take her stories--simple tales which her few leisure hours beguile--

And give her Browning's _Sordello_, a Herbert Spencer, a Carlyle?

Her creed, too, in your eyes is commonplace,

Because she does not doubt the Bible's truth

Because she does not doubt the saving grace

Of fervent prayer, but from her rosy youth,

So full of life, to gray old age's time,

Prays on with faith half ignorant, half sublime.

Yes, commonplace! But if I spoil this common faith, when all is done

Can deist, pantheist or atheist invent a better one?

Climb to the highest mountain's highest verge,

Step off: you've lost the petty height you had;

Up to the highest point poor reason urge,

Step off: the sense is gone, the mind is mad.

"Thus far, and yet no farther, shalt thou go,"

Was said of old, and I have found it so:

This planet's ours, 'tis all we have; here we belong, and those are wise

Who make the best of it, nor vainly try above its plane to rise.

Nay, nay: I know already your reply;

I have been through the whole long years ago;

I have soared up as far as soul can fly,

I have dug down as far as mind can go;

But always found, at certain depth or height,

The bar that separates the infinite

From finite powers, against whose strength immutable we beat in vain,

Or circle round only to find ourselves at starting-point again.

If you must for yourself find out this truth,

I bid you go, proud heart, with blessings free:

'Tis the old fruitless quest of ardent youth,

And soon or late you will come back to me.

You'll learn there's naught so common as the breath

Of life, unless it be the calm of death:

You'll learn that with the Lord Omnipotent there's nothing commonplace,

And with such souls as that poor child's, humbled, abashed, you'll

hide your face.

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

PROBATIONER LEONHARD;

OR, THREE NIGHTS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TEST--WITH MENTAL RESERVATIONS.

Elise went out to gather willow-twigs, as her mother had said when her

father asked for her.

A little later in the afternoon, Mr. Albert Spener walked swiftly down

the street toward the house occupied by the Rev. Mr. Wenck. While

he was yet at a distance Elise saw him approaching, and possibly she

thought, "He has seen me and comes to meet me;" and many a pleasant

stroll on many an afternoon would have justified the thought.

But it was not until he had, as it were, stumbled upon Elise that he

noticed her. He carried in his hand a letter, and when suddenly he

stopped upon the sidewalk and looked at her, the changeful aspects of

his face were marvelous to behold.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I was going home," she answered, not a little surprised by the abrupt

and authoritative manner of his address.

"I want to talk with you," said he. "Is it to-day that I am to begin

to leave off loving you, Elise?"

"That you are--What do you say, Albert?" she asked.

"Have you not seen Brother Wenck's letter to your father, Elise?"

She shook her head.

"The lot--the lot--" he repeated, but his voice refused to help him

tell the tale.

"Albert, may I see the letter?" Father and Mother Loretz might have

rejoiced in their daughter could they have seen and heard her in those

trying moments. Her gentleness and her serene dignity said for her

that she would not be over-thrown by the storm which had burst upon

her in a moment, unlocked for as tempest and whirlwind out of a clear

sky.

Spener thrust into her hands the letter addressed to him that morning

by the minister. It contained an announcement of the decision rendered

by the lot, couched in terms more brief, perhaps, than those which

conveyed the same intelligence to the father of Elise.

She gave it back to him without a word.

"If Brother Wenck is going to stand by it," said he, "there'll be no

room for him in this place. I was just going to his house to tell him

so. Will you go with me? I should like to have a witness. I'll make

short work of it."

"No," said Elise, shrinking back amazed from her companion. "I will

not go with you to insult that good man."

"You will go with me--_not_ to his house, then! Come, Elise, we must

talk about this. You must help me untie this knot. I cannot imagine

how I ever permitted things to take their chance. I have never heard

of a sillier superstition than I seem to have encouraged. Talk about

faith! Let a man act up to light and take the consequences. I can see

clear enough now. _You_ never looked for this to happen, Elise?"

She shook her head. Indeed, she never had--no, not for a moment.

"To think I should have permitted it to go on!"

"But you did let it go on--and I--consented. Do not let me forget

that," she exclaimed. "I will go home, Albert."

"Ha, Elise! I wish I could feel more confidence in your teachers when

you get there."

"I need no one to tell me what my duty is just here," she answered.

"Have you ever loved me, child? _Child_! I am talking to a rock. You

do not yield to this?" He waved the letter aloft, and as if he would

dash it from him. Elise looked at him, and did not speak. "Sister

Benigna will of course feel called upon to bless the Lord," said he.

"But Wenck shall find a way out of this difficulty. Then we will have

done with them both, my own."

"Am I to have no voice in this matter?" she asked. "What if I say--"

Spener grasped her hand so suddenly that, as if in her surprise she

had forgotten what she was about to say, Elise added, "Sister Benigna

is my best friend. She knows nothing about the lot."

"Does not?"

"I told you, Albert, that it was to be so. And--you do not mean to

threaten Mr. Wenck?"

"I mean to have him find a way out of this difficulty. He ought to

have said to your father that this lot business belongs to a period

gone by. He did hint at it. I supposed, of course, that he would see

the thing came out right, since he let it go on."

"Did you then believe it was only a play or a trick?" exclaimed Elise

indignantly.

"Not quite, but I did not suppose that we were a company who would

stand by an adverse decision. You know, if you are the Elise I have

loved so long, that I must love you always--that I am not going to

give you up. Your father was bent on the test, but look at him and

tell me if he expected this turn. He is twenty years older than he

was yesterday. Folks used to resort to the lot in deciding about

marriages, and it was all well enough if they didn't care how it

turned out, or hadn't faith to believe in their own ability to choose.

A pretty way of doing business, though! Suppose I had tried it on this

place! I have always asked for God's blessing, and tried to act so

that I need not blush when I asked it; but a man must know his own

mind, he must act with decision. I say again, I don't like your

teachers, Elise. Between Sister Benigna and Mr. Wenck, now, what would

be my chances if I could submit to such a pair?"

"You and I have no quarrel," said Elise gently. "I suppose that you

acted in good faith. You know how much I care--how humiliated I shall

feel if you attack in any way a man so good as Mr. Wenck. You do not

understand Sister Benigna."

It was well that she had these to speak of, and that she need not

confine herself to the main thought before them, for Albert could do

anything he attempted. Had not her father always said, "Let Spener

alone for getting what he wants: he'll have it, but he's above-board

and honest;" and what hopes, heaven-cleaving, had spread wing the

instant her eyes met his!

"It is easy to say that I do not understand," said he. "One has only

to assume that another is so excellent and virtuous a character as to

be beyond your comprehension, and then your mouth is stopped."

"Ah, how bitter you are!" exclaimed Elise. Her voice was full of pain.

Spener silently reproached himself, and said, with a tenderness that

was irresistible, "You don't know what temptations beset a man in

business and everywhere, Elise. It would be easier far to lie down

and die, I have thought sometimes, than to stand up and meet the enemy

like a man. You will never convince me that my duty is to let you go,

to give you up. I can think of nothing so wicked."

These words, which had a joyful sound to which she could not seal her

ears, made Elise stop suddenly, afraid of Albert, afraid of herself.

"I think," she said after a moment, "we had best not walk together

any longer. There is nothing we can say that will satisfy ourselves or

ought to satisfy each other."

"Do you mean that you accept this decision?" said he.

"I promised, Albert. So did you."

"We will not talk about it. But we can at least walk together, Elise.

You need not speak. What you confessed just now is true--you cannot

say anything to the purpose."

So they walked on together. Silently, past all Spenersberg's

dwelling-places they walked, till they came to the cemetery, and

ascending the hill they strolled about that pleasant place among the

graves, and thought, perhaps, How blessed are the dead! and oh to be

lying there in a dreamless sleep beneath the blooming wild roses, and

where dirges were sounding through the cedars day and night! Elise

might have thought thus, but not her companion. He was the last man

to wish to pass from the scene of his successes merely because a great

failure threatened him. Looking upon the slight young figure beside

him and her grave sweet face, a wrathful contempt was aroused within

him that he should have allowed himself to be placed in a situation so

absurd. As they walked down the hill again, he startled his companion

by a merry outbreak. "Tell me you are not mine!" he said: "there never

was a joke like it!"