money; and he so far exercises an independent right of property in the animals which are under his care as to kill and dress them-two at a time, such is the lavish hospitality of the age-to feast the stranger-guest who has now come to him. It may be straining a point to see in him, as one of the most genial of Homeric critics does, "a genuine country gentleman of the age of Homer;" but his position, so far as it is possible to compare it with anything at all in modern social life, appears something like that of the agricultural steward of a large landed proprietor, with whom his relations, though strictly subordinate, are of a highly confidential and friendly character. The charge of the swine would be a much more important office in an age when, as is plain from many passages both in the Iliad and the Odyssey, the flesh of those animals held a place of honour at the banquets of chiefs and kings: and as we find that even the sons of a royal household did not think the keeping of sheep beneath their dignity, so the care of other animals would by no means imply a menial position. Eumæus, indeed, turns out to be himself of princely birth-stolen in his childhood by a treacherous nurse from the island where his father was king, sold by Phoenician merchants to Laertes in Ithaca, and brought up in his household almost as a son, and regarding the lost Ulysses "as an elder brother." Very loyal is he to the house of his benefactors; prefacing his meal by a prayer that his lord may yet return in safety, and grieving specially that the lady' Penelope, in her present troubles, has seldom the opportunity to see or speak with him in the kindly inter

course of old. The cordial and simple relations between master and servant-even though the servant was commonly nothing more or less than a purchased slaveare a striking feature, very pleasant to dwell upon, in these Homeric poems. They remind us, as Homer does so often, of similar pictures in the sacred narrative of the gentler affections which redeemed so often the curse of slavery-of the little captive Israelite maiden whose concern for her Syrian master led to his cure, and of the faithful steward, "born in the house" of Abraham, whom the childless patriarch once thought to make his heir.

Eumæus entertains the stranger right hospitablywarning him, at the same time, not to pretend, as others have often done in the hope of reward, to bring tidings of the lost Ulysses. His guest's own story he will be glad to hear. The hero is always ready at narrative, whether the tale is to be fact or fiction. At present he chooses fiction; he gives his listener an imaginary history of his past life, as a Cretan chief who had seen much good service in many lands, especially under King Idomeneus at Troy, but who had met with a succession of disasters since. Of course he had seen and known Ulysses; had heard of him since the fall of Troy; and he offers his host a wager that he will yet return. Eumæus will hear nothing of such flattering hopes; by this time his men are coming in from the field, and when the swine are safely housed, supper and bedtime follow. But the night is bitter cold, and Ulysses has nothing but his beggar's rags. He indirectly begs a covering from his host by an ingenious

story, very characteristic of the style of the lighter episodes of the Odyssey. He relates an adventure of his own while lying in ambush, one winter night, under the walls of Troy. Dr Maginn's translation of this passage, in the old English ballad style, though somewhat free, preserves fairly the spirit and humour of the original :

"Oh! were I as young and as fresh and as strong

As when under Troy, brother soldiers among,

In ambush as captains were chosen to lie
Odysseus and King Menelaus and I!

"They called me as third, and I came at the word,
And reached the high walls that the citadel gird;
When under the town we in armour lay down
By a brake in the marshes with weeds overgrown.
The night came on sharp, bleak the north wind did blow,
And frostily cold fell a thick shower of snow.

"Soon with icicles hoar every shield was frozen o'er;
But they who their cloaks and their body-clothes wore
The night lightly passed, secure from the blast,
Asleep with their shields o'er their broad shoulders cast;
But I, like a fool, had my cloak left behind,

Not expecting to shake in so piercing a wind.

'My buckler and zone-nothing more—had I on ;
But when the third part of the night-watch was gone,
And the stars left the sky, with my elbow then I
Touched Odysseus, and spoke to him, lying close by-
'Noble son of Laertes, Odysseus the wise,

I fear that alive I shall never arise.

"In this night so severe but one doublet I wear-
Deceived by a god-and my cloak is not here,
And no way I see from destruction to flee.'
But soon to relieve me a project had he.
In combat or council still prompt was his head,
And into my ear thus low whisp'ring he said :-

"Let none of the band this your need understand;
Keep silent.' Then, resting his head on his hand,-
'Friends and comrades of mine,' he exclaimed, as a sign,
While I slept has come o'er me a dream all divine.
It has warned me how far from the vessels we lie,
And that some one should go for fresh force to apply;

"And his footsteps should lead, disclosing our need,
To King Agamemnon, our chieftain, with speed.'
Thoas rose as he spoke, flung off his red cloak,
And running, his way with the message he took;
While, wrapt in his garment, I pleasantly lay
Till the rise of the golden-throned queen of the day.

"If I now were as young, and as fresh, and as strong,
Perhaps here in the stables you swine-herds among
Some a mantle would lend, as the act of a friend,
Or from the respect that on worth should attend;
But small is the honour, I find, that is paid
To one who, like me, is so meanly arrayed.""

-(Maginn's 'Homeric Ballads.")

The self-laudation which the hero, speaking in another person, takes the opportunity to introduce, is in perfect keeping with his character throughout.

The hint so broadly given is quite successful, and Eumæus provides his guest with some warm coverings and a place near the fire; but he himself will not sleep so far from his charge. Wrapped in a mighty windproof cloak, he takes up his quarters for the night under the shelter of a rock, hard by the lair of his swine.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS FROM SPARTA.

THE story returns to Telemachus, whom we left at Sparta. His stay at that court has been prolonged a whole month, for which the excuse, we must suppose, is to be found in the hospitalities of Menelaus and the fascinations of Helen. No wonder that his guardian goddess admonishes him in a dream that, under his present circumstances, such delays are dangerous. Penelope has a hard time of it in his absence, even her father pressing her to marry some one of her suitors. Nay, Minerva more than hints-though we beg our readers not to accept such an insinuation against Penelope, even on the authority of a goddess-that Eurymachus, one of the richest of the rivals, is beginning to find favour in her eyes. Telemachus is roused once more to action: awakening his young friend Pisistratus,

he

proposes that they should set out on their return at once before the day breaks. The son of the old ✔ "Horse-tamer" sensibly reminds him that driving in the dark is very undesirable, and it is agreed to wait for the morning. Menelaus, with genuine courtesy,