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An expedition which should dare to volumes, we cannot help regretting take time, which should venture into once more that the sketches to which deliberate and careful examinations, such frequent reference is made are and wbich was sufficiently strong to not added to the text. Lieut. Van de overawe the lawless lords of the soil, Velde's friend to whom his book is might do much to settle the jars of addressed, seems to have rather an opinion, and reveal to the general unfair advantage over the public in knowledge this terrible country, this respect ; and without detracting scarred and marked for ages by the anything from the value of the penchastising hand of God.

and-ink sketches, which are admirable A minor difficulty in the way of of their kind, it is impossible not to feel reconciling one traveller's experience a degree of injury, or to resist being with another's, is the perpetual varia- provoked and tantalised by such a tion of proper names. Taken down sentence as this — “If my short deas these must be from the guide of scription of the vale of Shechem, with the moment, it is easy to account for its mountains of Blessing and Curse, the orthographical vicissitudes through can in any way elucidate to you the which they pass; but it were surely narratives of Scripture, I shall be very well even to sacrifice a point and take glad. I hope my sketch will come in our predecessor's spelling instead of aid of my pen. our own, rather than throw this mist And why, then, does not the sketch of perplexity over the whole scene. come in aid of the pen ? The worMany a learned puzzle has come out shipful public who read his book claims of this peculiarity in the sacred re- to be the dearest of dear friends to an cords themselves, the shifting of author, and suffers no such successful names, and subtracting of syllables; rivalry of its pretensions. We trust and we are like, as it seems, to find to see M. Van de Velde rectify this the same difficulty continuing with us. mistake in his second edition. A very But it is not necessary, surely, that animated book, full of life and motion, every new traveller should set up an atmosphere and reality, he has added orthography of his own: with sub- to our store-a good book, which the mission, it appears to us that accuracy best of us may read “of Sundays," of place is of much more importance but which the gayest of us will not than originality of name, and that he find too dry for every day; and we is to be the most commended who will be glad to see Lieut. Van de enables you at once, and without per. Velde complete, by the addition of his plexity, to recognise the spot where, sketches, so worthy a contribution to in bis predecessor's company, you have the little library of science, speculabeen before.

tion, and adventure, which treats of In taking leave of these pleasant the Holy Land.




“ "Ος τᾶς ὀφίωδεος υιὸν ποτε Γόργονος
ἦ πολλ ἀμφὶ κρουνδις
Πάγασον ζευξαι πολέων ἔπαθεν

Πρίν γέ οι χρυσάμπυκα κουρα χαλινὸν
Παλλὰς ἤνεγκε.”—PINDAR.

“ Αλλ ὅτε δὴ καὶ κέινος ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσιν

ἤτοι ὁ κὰπ πεδίον τὸ Αλήιον οἶος ἀλᾶτο

ὅν θυμὸν κατέδων πάτον ἀνθρώπων ἀλεείνων." --HowBR.

[The beautiful Corinthian legend of Bellerophon is narrated by Homer in the well-known episode of Glaucus and Diomede, in the sixth book of the Iliad. In that episode the strong-lunged son of Tydeus meets in the fight a face that was new to him, and before engaging in battle desires to know the name of his noble adversary. The courteous request is courteously complied with; and it appears that Glaucus-for such is the champion's name, though now serving in Priam's army as a Lycian auxiliary-was by descent a Grecian, the grandson of the famous Bellerophon of Corinth, between whose family and that of Diomede a sacred bond of hospitality had existed. This discovery leads to an interchange of friendly tokens between the intending combatants; the weapons of war are sheathed, and a bright gleam of human kindness is thrown across the dark tempestuous cloud of international conflict.

The story of Bellerophon, as told in this passage of the most ancient Greek poet, is a remarkable instance of how popular legend, proceeding from the germ of some famous and striking fact, is gradually worked up into a form where the actual is altogether subordinated to the miraculous. In Homer there is not a single word said of the winged horse, which is the constant companion of Bellerophon's exploits, in the current form of the legend afterwards revived, and which appears regularly on the coins of Corinth. The reason, also, of the hero's fall, from the loftiest prosperity to the saddest humiliation, is only dimly indicated by the poet, when he says that Bellerophon, towards the close of his life, "was hated by all the gods," and, "avoiding the path of men, ate his own heart" (öv Ivμòv katédwv); but whether it was that Homer, knowing the sin of Bellerophon, with a delicate sense of propriety, refused to set it forth distinctly in the mouth of his grandson, or whether the simplicity of the oldest form of the legend knew nothing more than what Homer tells, certain it is that the ever-active Greek imagination could not content itself with the obscurity of the Homeric indication, and the moral that "pride must have a fall" was distinctly brought out in the later form of the myth. For the rest, the writer has taken the topographical notices in the following verses, not from his own conceit, but from the authority of Pausanias in his Corinthian antiquities.

It needs scarcely be added that the legend of Bellerophon-in ancient times equally the property of Corinth in Europe, and Lycia in Asia-has now become in a peculiar manner the possession of Great Britain by the labours of Sir Charles Fellowes, and the Xanthian Chamber of the British Museum.]


THE sun shines bright on Ephyré's height,*

And right and left with billowy might

Poseidon rules the sea;

*The old name for Corinth. The famous rock of the Acropolis is 1800 feet high, and is a most prominent object from Athens, and all the open country to the east.

But not the sun that rules above,
Nor strong Poseidon, nor great Jove,
Can look with looks of favouring love,
Bellerophon, on thee.

There's blood upon thy hands; the hounds
Of hell pursue thy path;

Nor they within rich Corinth's bounds
Shall slack their vengeful wrath.
Black broods the sky above thy head,
The Earth breeds serpents at thy tread,
The Furies' foot hath found thee;
A baleful pest their presence brings,
A curse to peasants and to kings;
The horrid shadow of their wings

Turns day to darkness round thee.
Flee o'er the Argive hills, and there,
With suppliant branch and pious prayer,
Thou shalt not crave in vain
Some prince whose hands not worthless hold
The sceptre of Phoroneus old,
To wash thee clean, and make thee bold
To look on men again.


Darkly the Nemean forests frown,
Where Apesantian Jove
From his broad altar-seat looks down
On the Ogygian grove.*
Fierce roars the lion from his den
In Tretus' long and narrow glen;
And many a lawless man
Here by the stony water-bed
Lists the lone traveller's errant tread,
And wakes the plundering clan.
Here be thy flight, Bellerophon,

But danger fear thou none;
For she, the warlike and the wise,
Jove's blue-eyed daughter from surprise
Secure shall lead thee on.

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The landscape here described is well known to travellers, being on the road between Corinth and Mycena. The Apesantian mount, with its broad, flat, tabular summit, overhangs Nemea, where three magnificent Corinthian pillars are all that remain to proclaim, amid the solitude, the once splendid worship of Nemean Jove. The defile of Tretus is described by Pausanias (ii. 15), and by Colonel Mure in his Travels. The temple of Juno, near Mycena, of which the remains have lately been disThe well-known ruins of Tiryns, at the head of the Argolic gulf, between Nau


Here Protus reigns; and here at length
The suppliant throws his jaded strength

Before a friendly door;
And now from hot pursuit secure,
And from blood-guiltiness made pure,

His heart shall fear no more.


The princely Protus opes his gate,
And on the fugitive's dark fate

Smiles gracious; him from fear,
And terror of the scourge divine,
He purifies with blood of swine

And sprinkled water clear.
O blessed was the calm that now
Lulled his racked brain, and smoothed his brow!

Nor wildly now did roll
His sleepless eyes; from gracious Jove
Came down the gentle dew of love

That soothed his wounded soul.
And grateful was blithe face of man
To heart now free from Furies' ban,

And sweet the festive lyre.
Fair was each sight that gorgeous day,
Spread forth in beautiful array

To move the heart's desire.
Each manly sport and social game
Thrilled with new joy his re-strung frame,

And waked the living fire.
Antéa saw him poise the dart,
In the fleet race the foremost start,
And lawless Venus smote her heart-

She loved her lord no more :
As no chaste woman sues she sued,
Her guest the partial hostess wooed,

And lavished beauty's store
Of looks and smiles, and pleading tears,
And silvery words; but he reveres
The rights of hospitable Jove,
Chastely repels her perilous love,

Nor hears her parley more.


Who slights a woman's love cuts deep,
And wakes a brood of snakes that sleep

Beneath a bed of roses.
The lustful wife of Protus now
To earthly Venus vows a vow,

And in her heart proposes
A fiendish thing. She, with the pin
That bound her peplos, pierced the skin

Of her smooth-rounded arm ;
And when the crimson stream began
To trickle down, she instant ran,

And with a feigned alarm

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plia and Argos. The “ galleries” make a fine figure in illustrated tours ; but Tiryns, situated on a low elliptical hillock, will disappoint the traveller. Not so Mycence, of which the remains are truly sublime, and well worthy to be associated for ever with the memory of the “ king of men."

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Roused all her maids, and in the ear
Of the fond Prœtus, quick to hear,
She poured the piteous lie,

That the false guest had sought to move
Her loyal-mated heart with love,
And with rude hands had dared assail
Her virtue, cased in surer mail
Than Dian's panoply :

Then, more to stir his wrathful mood,

She bared her arm that streamed with blood,
And scared his jealous eye.
Hot boiled his Argive heart; his eyes
Flash vengeance; but himself denies
The reins to his own spleen.
His public face in smiles is dressed,
He joins the banquet with the rest,
And tells the tale, and plies the jest
With easy social mien;

And to his high Corinthian guest
Lets not a thought be seen.
"Take here," quoth he, "thou high-souled knight,
To Iobates the Lycian wight,

The brother of my queen,
These tablets; he will honour thee

Even more than I; and thou shalt see
A famous and a fruitful land,
With all Apollo's beauty bland,
And various verdure green."
Uprose the knight with willing feet,
His heart was light, his pace was fleet;
Girt for the road and venture bold
He left the strong Tirynhian hold,
And gaily wends his way
O'er steep Arachne's ridge, till he
Passed Esculapius' sacred fane,
That sendeth health, and healeth pain,
And reached, with foot untired, the sea
That beats with billows bounding free
The Epidaurian bay.

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Thoughtful a moment here he stood
And watched the never-sleeping flood,
The ever-changing wave;
He knew no danger, feared no foes,
But from his heart a prayer uprose
To her that guards the brave.
Wise prayer; for scarce the words are gone
From thy free mouth, Bellerophon,
When, struck with holy awe,
Even at thy side in light arrayed,
Serene with placid power displayed,
The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid
Thy wondering vision saw;

And in her hand-O strangest sight!—
A winged steed she led,

That bent the knee before the knight

And bowed its lofty head.
"Fear not, thou son of Æolus' race,
Dear to the gods art thou;


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