some afternoon climb over a rough mountain-path worn in the rocks, which is a portion of the old road from Cirrha to Delphi, by a sudden turn of the road we came in sight of Delphi, or where Delphi once was. The spot probably made the oracle; nor could the religion of Nature have found a more fit and grander temple.

A vast amphitheatre, as it were, seems to be sunken in the bosom of the mountain, so that the rocks rise upon the back of it to a great height in an almost perpendicular wall. This is, in fact, a lower ridge of Mt. Parnassus. Nearly in the centre, this semicircular wall is cloven into two lofty crags, and at the foot of the ravine which is made by this separation, or deep cleft, flows the Castalian fount. The ground then descends rapidly on either side of the narrow ravine made by the stream of the Castalian spring, to the still profounder abyss of the river Pleistus. Every thing is on the grandest scale; and on this narrow area, crowding up into the heart of the mountains, and under these vast overhanging precipices, the sacred city and temple of Delphi stood. In the little village of Kastri, just under the rocks on the slope of the hill, I put up at the house of a poor Turkish woman who had become a Christian. I went at once to visit the Castalian spring, the fount of inspiration to the ancient world. It still runs pure and sparkling. A barefooted girl from the village was filling her water-pot, which she bore away on her head, looking at me with some surprise-for a European or American was then rare at Delphi-and thinking, doubtless, that the water she drew morning and evening was only pure water; and so it was. Pure water is the symbol of life and inspiration; and it is so in holier oracles than those of Delphi. The oldest religion, the divinest poetry, took water for its fount of inspiration, and not wine. Water is the emblem of truth; and poetry proceeds from the bosom of truth; it was originally but the simple flowing forth of truth, natural and pure, and the poet was a truth-scer, a prophet. The stimu

lating and highly exciting quality of poetry which is now supposed to be essential to it, is not found in Homer, nor in the poetical books of the Bible; but in these its flow is limpid, cooling, and rest-producing, like a clear, refreshing stream.

There is a cistern or reservoir for bathing purposes cut in the rock at the head of the Castalian fount, doubtless the one frequently mentioned by Greek authors as that in which pilgrims to the shrine bathed themselves before entering the temple. The mouth of the ravine which splits the rocky wall' of the mountain forms a sombre and cavernous recess. I clambered up into it some way with difficulty, for the rocks here are worn smooth as polished alabaster. How to get down was the question, as it has been with many before who have sought the Castalian spring: there was, indeed, no way but by making a grand slide, more rapid than safe; and I was right glad to get out of the predicament with no broken bones.

These crags were once famous for the numbers of birds and eagles that haunted their inaccessible precipices, doubtless adding to the resources and value of the oracle by their prophetic movements and flights. I saw two large eagles sailing slowly around the top of the eastern cliff, the Cliff of Judgment, down which those who blasphemed the oracle were hurled, among whom Æsop is reputed to have been numbered.

The terrace-like, semicircular steps cut in the solid rock where the "Stadium" stood are still to be seen; and there are also some marked and extensive remains of the marble platform or area occupied by the four temples at the very commencement of the "Schisté" road running from Delphi westward into Boeotia-the same road upon which Edipus, at the "Divided Way," met and slew his father Laius.

There are also considerable indications of the site of the chief temple of the oracle of Delphi; and a heap of confused walls, as if a tower had once stood there, gave the name to the mod

ern town of Castri; but the hearth where burned the perpetual flame, the Pythian tripod, the sacred olive-grove, the architraves adorned with the golden bucklers from Marathon hung up by the Athenians, the image of Homer, the altar at which the son of Achilles was slain, the portico inscribed with the maxims of the Grecian sages, the innumerable bronze statues of the victors in the public games, and the accumulated treasures of ages which at length inflamed the cupidity of a later more corrupt and unbelieving ancient world, kindling the flames of war and causing the destruction of the temple itself— these are no more. The legend of Agamedes and Trophonius, who built the temple of Delphi, is not without its significance even now. They demanded wages of the god for their labor. He promised to pay them on the seventh day, and in the meanwhile they were to enjoy themselves and be merry as they might. They did as they were told, and the seventh day they lay down to sleep, and died. This looks as if a faint gleam of immortality had shot across the dark sky of the old false religion of Delphi.

In the monastery which stands upon the site of the ancient "gymnasium," I saw some interesting marbles and basrelievos found upon the spot; but the most beautiful remains of Grecian art that I noticed at Delphi-in the cemetery of the convent, if I remember rightly was a sarcophagus lying neglected amid weeds and dirt, broken in two, and half of it gone, but revealing enough to fill one with wonder at the exquisite workmanship. The figure of one man in the procession which is carved upon the side that is uppermost, is still perfect, and also the heads of two eagles, or griffins. The top of the tomb consists of a female figure reclining upon a cushion, as natural as life itself. How long had she thus been sleeping, and who was the real sleeper, that, centuries ago, vanished beneath the marble lid?

"The oracles are dumb."

mountain-side, to see a small ruined temple, whose name I did not then, nor do I now, know. It is no matter; I found it, like the Temple of Fame which some toil so hard to reach, to be but a ruined heap of stones.

In the evening I was visited by an old Epirote soldier, with sun-burnt face and a long sabre-cut on the left temple, huge silver-mounted pistols and daggers thrust in his girdle, a little blue jacket slung over one shoulder, snowy "fustanelle," blue leggins fitting close to the leg and spreading a little over the foot, which was clothed in a sort of leathern laced sandal. He also would dissuade me from going up Mt. Parnassus on the morrow, on account of a band of robbers, or insurrectionists, who had just been defeated by the royal troops at Lepanto, and were probably by this time in the immediate neighborhood of Parnassus, passing over the mountains on their way to the Turkish dominions. I concluded, however, to go, taking three armed men and the veteran to command the expedition. The agreement was concluded after a great deal of talk. We started at four o'clock the next morning, my escort, with their long carbines and savage looks, being not unlike brigands; but no questions were asked. Our road led past the ancient Stadium, and then by a steep, zigzag mountain-path directly up as by a ladder to the high table-land spreading with diversified surface nearly to the foot of Parnassus. It was bright starlight when we started, but we had hardly got among the mountains when we were overtaken by a thunder-storm, which was accompanied by pitch darkness, our way only revealed to us by the flashes of lightning.

The rain fell in torrents; but we slowly struggled on until we reached some stone hovels, where, lighting a fire and drying our clothes, we took breakfast. Around the blazing knotfire in the low apartment, with darkness and storm without, our company crouched-a Salvator-Rosa group-the red light of the flame playing on the

arms of our escort. There is an untamed fierceness in the mountain Greek which rarely softens-an almost wildanimal savageness in the expression of the face, and especially of the glittering eyes, although often the features are handsome and regular. After an hour or so it cleared up, and came out one of the most crystalline days I ever remember-just the day to go up a mountain and get a noble view.

After riding more than an hour, we dismounted, and clambered up a rough hillside, until we came to the mouth of the Corycian Cave, the ancient grotto of Pan, and noted afterwards as being the resort of "the robbers of Parnassus," as they were called. This cavern was lost sight of for a long time, and even Mr. Hobhouse, in his day, says, "The great Corycian Cave, which evaded the scent of the famous English traveller, has not, that I know of, been ever discovered." *

Its entrance is imposing — far more so than the entrance of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, though it is nothing in size, being but a few hundred feet deep. Looking under and into the broad-browed archway, one sees heavy stalagmites, their white relieved against the interior blackness, and resembling grotesque and time-battered statues of old gods made by rude pagan handsa fit home for Pan, the earth-divinity, half malicious and half beneficent, half human and half brute. The old Epirote fired his carbine into the cavern, whose report rung and rolled like a peal of thunder.

Having explored this lonely grot consecrated to Pan and the Nymphs, and that once played a conspicuous part in the wild Dionysiac rites that were held upon these heights, we remounted and spurred on for the object of our expedition. We rode through a long, smiling, and somewhat cultivated plain, then over another low mountain, then through another plain, the valleys being somewhat cultivated, and still quite valuable for agricultural purposes,

Hobhouse's "Travels," vol. i. p. 252.

as they were in the ancient days, when they belonged to the temple of Delphi —as did, in fact, all this Parnassian circle of mountains and valleys; for this formed the holy land of Greece, the common shrine of the old religion of Nature, which makes its home in the mountains, and seeks in the strange and sublime phenomena of mountain scenery its chief power and inspiration. As we galloped along, we had Mt. Parnassus continually in full sight before us, a white, shining limestone mountain, about eight thousand feet high, with a long, straight back, and then a hollow like that of a Turkish saddle, and then another peak, the highest, making the familiar biformed appearance with which it is characterized by the old poets.

We at length reached the base of the mountain, and there leaving our horses and the rest of the company, my guide included, the old militaire and myself began the ascent on foot. We might have ridden much farther than we did, but at such times one is at the mercy of his attendants, both as regards his weakness and his ignorance. We first passed through a gently ascending grove of venerable becch and pine trees -a fine place for Pan's bees and flocks, with much fresh pasturage broken up by huge limestone rocks, forming picturesque Arcadian scenery, where sheep and long-haired goats were feeding; and had we seen prick-eared Pan with his cloven feet and pipe, sitting on a rock, it would have seemed all right just there; I should have tried to muster up Greek enough to say, "Goodmorning, Pan!" But this pleasing Arcadian landscape soon gave way to a more barren and desolate scenery, where dead trees cropped by the avalanche stood haggard and bleaching, enormous masses of rock fallen from the mountain lay scattered around, and deep gorges sprinkled with fir-trees opened beneath us in wild, broken confusion, until at length we emerged upon the bare neck of the mountain above all the lower living world, and where we were exposed to an intensely hot sun, while we

picked our way painfully among sharpedged, loose stones, until the face of my guide grew black with the heat. He had used great precautions all the way up, stopping and listening, motioning this way and that, as if in fear of some invisible enemy; and whether it was all pantomime, or really genuine, I never knew, for the foe did not make himself visible. When we reached the summit, the scenery became suddenly magnificent. We looked, as it were, directly off the back of Parnassus, by one tremendous precipice, to the diminished plain beneath, quite different from the more easily sloping southwestern side of the mountain that we had ascended; and I should think the mountain seen from that side would be a very grand object. The highest summit of Parnassus, the sharp peak of Lycoreia, now called Lykeri, rose a little above us to the east.

The view from Mt. Parnassus is the finest in Greece, because it is the highest central point in the land. In every direction rise the dark summits, or bumps, of the mountains of the Parnassian and Pindus ranges. The whole of Greece proper is, in fact, nothing but a conglomeration of mountains, crossing and interlocking, and thus forming high walls around territories, making those haughty little states of old, and as effectually separating them as if seas rolled between. A second almost equally marked impression of the land, as seen from such a commanding point, is the irregular ocean-coast, its singular deep indentations where the sea lies in the very arms of the land, thus opening a vast surface of coast for so small a country. Toward the north, clearly discerned in the brilliant atmosphere, lay the far-off mountains of Thessaly, and where was Thermopyla; on the northwest, the Alps of Epirus; on the northeast, the dimly-seen island of Eubœa, and the strip-like silver of the intervening sea; on the south, the rugged, ocean-like mountains of Peloponnesus; the blue Gulf of Corinth glittered immediately below; and the dark masses of Mt. Helicon and Mt. Citharon were

also seemingly near at hand. Such, at least, is my best remembrance of the panorama from Mt. Parnassus.

When we descended, we found the rest of the party gathered in a pine grove, and engaged in roasting a sheep spitted upon a pole. They made a bed with carpets spread upon boughs of trees, and I slept off my fatigue until the cry awoke me that the feast was ready. Four or five daggers, whipped out from the belts of the soldier-guides, soon made mince-meat of the animal; the best cut was presented smoking to me on a pine bough-a good substitute for crockery. Never did mutton taste so good; for, in addition to a keen appetite, Parnassian mutton is renowned for its flavor.

We set out in the afternoon for Kastri, in fine spirits, quite inspired by our success or by Parnassus air, I know not which. But I must not forget an incident which occurred to me before leaving our camp. While strolling off at some distance, I was set upon by two large and ferocious wolf-dogs belonging to shepherds; and I mention the circumstance because, though I did not use the same cunning defence that Ulysses did, namely, "a masterly inactivity," yet the sequel was something the same. I kept off the savage beasts by plying stones; but it would undoubtedly have gone hard with me, had not two shepherds, attracted by the uproar, rushed to my rescue, and beaten off the dogs with their long staffs. That the traveller may know what he may possibly, at this day, have to encounter in Greece from these savage shepherd-dogs, I transcribe the whole passage from the Fourteenth Book of the "Odyssey:"

Εξαπίνης δ' Οδυσήα ἴδον κύνες ὑλακόμωροι· οἱ μὲν κεκλήγοντες ἐπέδραμον· αὐτὰρ Οδυσσεύς ἕζετο κερδοσύνη, σκήπτρον δέ οἱ έκπεσε χειρός. ἔνθα κεν ᾧ πὰρ σθαθμῶ ἀεικέλιον πάθεν ἄλγος · ἀλλὰ συβώτης ὦκα ποσὶ κραιπνοῖσι μετασπών ἔσσυτ ̓ ἀνὰ πρόθυρον, σκύτος δέ οἱ έκπεσε χειρός. τοὺς μὲν ὁμοκλήσας σενεν κύνας ἄλλυδις άλλη πυκνῆσιν λιθάδεσσιν· ὁ δὲ προσέειπεν ἄνακτα· Ω γέρον, ἡ ὀλίγου σε κύνες διεδηλήσαντο ἐξαπίνης· καί κέν μοι ἐλεγχείην κατέχευας.

If, indeed, the ruse of Ulysses, in sitting down, was to feign that he was

going to pick up a stone, always a good method under such circumstances, then the cases were quite similar as far as the dogs, stones, and herdsmen were concerned.

As we went briskly on our way back to Kastri, the day was still beautifully clear, and there was a slight cooling breeze. The old Epirote took the lead, riding sideways, then myself, then the Patras guide, then the soldiers striding beside us, who looked as if they could use their arms if needed; fine figures, with heads carried high and proud, well-cut features, with the black hair curling down a little way over their foreheads under the red fez, and falling long and streaming over the shoulders behind, as the old Greeks used to wear their hair. They had shaggy sheep-skin capotes or coats, with short sleeves and flying capes, making their backs look broad and their waists slim. The last part of the journey down the mountain to Delphi was very fatiguing, as it was done mostly at night; and when, at length, we came to Kastri, all the watch-dogs, and as to that all the donkeys, gave tongue, and it seemed as if the whole sleeping village was fairly roused.

Returning to Scala, my guide and myself reembarked upon the sloop we had hired at Vostizza, and we sailed with a fine stiff breeze and rough sea, but all running in our favor, up the Gulf of Corinth, arriving at evening at Kalamaki, the present port of Corinth, where I slept that night in the open air on the sea-shore, wrapped in my cloak, lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of the waves.

During our sail up the Gulf, two young Grecks whom we had taken on board furnished us from time to time with music of a wild, yet not entirely inharmonious sort, being mostly battlesongs, like the ancient Orthian hymns, accompanying their voices with lutes played with a steel plectrum. All the music which I heard in Greece was of this wild and almost barbarian character, being pitched upon a high shrill key, sinking suddenly into low mur

murs, and then breaking forth again into startling loudness and vehemence, every period in the recitative having a prolonged, quavering, and almost melancholy close. There is nothing like softness, sprightly melody, or even simple solemnity, in their vocal or instrumental music. Love, mirthfulness, or devotion, do not form the subjects of song, but exhortations to battle, to revenge, recitations of the warlike deeds of their fathers, and of their own fierce mountain-soldiery, curses against the Turks, and rebellious rhymes upon their present government; these are the themes for the rude and untutored lyre of the modern Greek.

The immense rock of the Acrocorinthus, rising sheer from the plain two thousand feet, is a majestic object, and must have been doubly so when crowned with its ancient temples and citadel, looking down in its rugged simplicity upon the luxurious city at its foot. The view from the Acrocorinthus, though less extensive than that from Parnassus, is no less beautiful; one traveller of the last century enthusiastically says, "It is the finest view in the universe." To the north and west, the sombre ridge of Citharon and the peak of Helicon, and of a clear day the peaks of Parnassus, are discernible; the stern mountains of the Peloponnesus lie on the south and west; just below, the strip of the isthmus, called by Pindar "the bridge of the sea," so narrow is it, is a fine object; and to crown all, on the extreme eastern horizon one may see the mountains which surround Athens, the plain of Attica, and, like a mole-hill in the midst, the Athenian Acropolis. The island of Ægina, the Gulf of Salamis, and the sites of Eleusis and Megara, are in plainer view. The crest of the rock is now covered with Venetian fortifications, and the interior of the fort is filled with rubbish, left so from the times of the Turks; but Time and Turk cannot quite destroy the magnificence of Nature. I drank of the true "Peirene," and drank "deep," too, for I was terribly thirsty from the hot ride up. Sep