the island, it would have been absurd that they should wait for him on the western side. We seem thus driven to place it on the western side; and there is no port for it on that side, except the ports of Polis and Aeto. Aeto lies at the narrow neck of Ithaca. But there is no islet at all in the Samian strait near, or to the south of Aeto; and consequently that site is wholly incompatible with the ambush of the suitors. Other discrepancies, as we shall see, confirm this exclusion of Aeto from the question. Fourthly, we have found that the town of Ithaca was under Neïon. This is true of the spot which I call Polis; but not of Aeto, which is under the rival hill called Merovugli or Stefano. Fifthly, the harbour named Reithron was (1) far from the city, (2) by the agros or rural district, (3) also under Neïon. If the capital were at Aeto, there is no harbour which answers these conditions. The great Port Molo might be said to be under Neïon; but it is shut in by the hills, not upon an open district; nor is it far from the city, but close to it, as the isthmus is only half a mile across. On the other hand, these conditions are all satisfied in the case of Polis. At Phrikès,1 in the north-east corner of the island, is a harbour, which is under Neïon, is far (about three miles) from the city, and is upon an open cultivated district, namely, the triangular plain of Leake, who observes that there are but two fertile valleys in the island: 2 at Vathi in the south, and under Oxoi in the north. This latter is the triangular space. Sixthly, when Philoitios, the cowherd, appears before the palace in Od. xx. 185, with a cow and goats, we are told that the ferrymen had brought him over the strait, and there is no 1 Leake's map places Reithron in the harbour of Afales near Phrikès. But this would take Mentor much farther off his course; and would be much less in accordance with the expression "under Neïon." 2 Leake, vol. iii. p. 33. sign of his having traversed any distance after landing. Again we are driven to placing the capital on the east side; but it might, so far as this head is concerned, be either at Polis or at Aeto. Seventhly, the capital, doubtless for security, was on an eminence; for the party descend, when they set out from it to visit the Orchard of Laertes. But that spot is not distant; for they arrive at it rapidly (ráxa, xxiv. 205). It was rich (kaλós) and carefully inclosed (TETUYμéros), and looked after. This would naturally imply that the spot was in the undulating valley near the city, probably on somewhat higher ground (Od. xi. 187). But this again is fatal to the site of Aeto; for it is removed by some six or eight miles from the fertile vale. It appears then that these seven marks, like so many witnesses, render an united testimony to the effect that the capital was on some knoll or hillock looking down upon the northern valley of Ithaca, on the slopes of the mountain now called Anoi, and having Port Polis for its harbour. The errors which we need impute to Homer then are not, after all, many, nor serious. 1. He is perhaps hardly warranted in treating Neritos as the one great and conspicuous eminence of the island; for it has an elevation of 2,135 feet, only slightly in excess of Neïon, which has 2,066. 2. He is wrong, as we have seen, to some extent in describing the position of the islands relatively to the points of the compass as he understood them. 3. He is wrong in the unimportant description of Asteris as the island in the strait towards Samè: for the only island in that strait is Dhascalio, a small rock wholly unsuited to an ambush. 4. His idea of the limits of Doulichion is rather vague and indeterminate, than erroneous. We cannot say confidently whether it included the eastern coast of Cefalonia north of 428 The Dominions of Odysseus, and the Island Group of the Odyssey. Samos. Whether it did or not, he naturally speaks of the strait itself in connection with the latter name, because the bay of Samos gives the most convenient and usual access to the island. It is quite unnecessary to seek positive identifications for the swinesteading (so to call it) of Eumaïos, or the orchard of Laertes. It might suffice to say that no question of difficulty arises in connection with them. But it is well to make one remark on the first-named of the two. Nowhere in the poem does it at all appear that Eumaïos dwells at a distance from the Polis. But the passage which describes the walk of Odysseus to his dwelling from the port where he had been landed is so expressed as to give the impression that he had to traverse rugged ground, over a succession of high points. Athenè instructed him about the route: and he mounted the rough path along a wooded tract, over eminences (Od. xiii. 1-3). It will be observed how fully this agrees with our general results, which place Polis in the north of the island, as we now find the abode of Eumaïos was at a distance from the south. Again, all this is in harmony with the directions of Athene to Telemachos for his return. He is ordered to sail by night, and to keep away from the islands (xv. 33, 4); that is, instead of following the east coast of Zante, southern Cefalonia and Ithaca, as he would naturally have done, to hug the mainland, and then strike across to the north end of Ithaca; on nearing it, not to go himself to the city, but to send his vessel there, and himself to repair to the dwelling of Eumaïos. Thus we have further proof that the capital was on the west: while he lands at the first point he touches (xv. 36): Ἐπὴν πρώτην ἀκτὴν Ἰθάκης ἀφίκηαι, and has no great distance to travel in order to re ch Eumaïos. When he lands (xv. 103) he tells his crew he will go by the cultivated district and the abode of the herdsmen, and afterwards "come down" to the city. The two mountains were covered with forest. Elato still retains a name taken from the firs, although they have disappeared. It was (einosiphullon) leaf-waving (ix. 22), and clothed with wood (xiii, 351); and in like manner Neïon was (huleën) woody or sylvan (i. 186, iii. 81), and in the woods the swine found the acorns and mast on which they fed (xiii. 409). Naturally, then, their breeding place would be upon the hill, from which a sharp (xvii. 204), but seemingly therefore not long, descent led to the town. The olive-tree (Od. xiii. 102) we shall hardly expect after 3,000 years to find though I have seen, near Argostoli, the shell of an olive-tree, thirty-six feet in circumference, which may have been of any imaginable age. Of the grotto near the harbour of Phorcūs, I have never known a satis factory identification; and this is really the principal hiatus in the comparison between the poems and the facts. For as to the fountains, it must be borne in mind that the disappearance of the woods, in which the swine of Eumaïos fed, must have greatly impoverished the springs and streams of the island. At Athens, exhausted from the same cause, the classic Ilissos may be seen in winter-time, as I can myself testify, with scarcely water enough to furnish a ditch two feet wide. I offer this paper as my contribution towards solving a vexed question of Homeric geography. In offering it, I express the hope, that some worshipper of the Poet may yet be induced to undertake on the spot, with the whole evidence of the text fresh in his mind, a closer and more comprehensive examination, than has yet been made, of the topography of Ithaca in all its material points. W. E. GLADSTONE. PART X. CHAPTER XXIX. NELLO'S JOURNEY. YOUNG MUSGRAVE. RANDOLPH MUSGRAVE drove from the door of his father's house with a sigh of relief, yet of anxiety. He had not done what he meant to do, and affairs were more critical than when he went to Penninghame a few weeks before; but it was something at least to be out of the troubled atmosphere, and he had arranged in his own mind what he should do, which was in its way a gain, as soon as the breath was out of the old man's body-but when would that be? It was not to be desired, Randolph said to himself piously, that his father should linger long; his life was neither of use nor comfort to any one, and no pleasure, no advantage to himself. To lie there speechless, motionless, as much shut out of all human intercourse as if he were already in his coffin-what could any one desire but that, as soon as might be, it should come to an end? He did not pay very much attention to his small companion. For the moment, Nello, having been thus secured and brought within his power, had no further importance, and Randolph sat with knitted brows pondering all he was to do, without any particular reference to the child. Nello had left the Castle easily enough; he had parted from Mary and from Lilias without any lingering of emotion, getting over it as quickly as possible. When it came to that he was eager to be off, to set out into the world. The little fellow's veins were full of excitement; he expected to see he did not know what wonderful things, what objects of entrancing interest, as soon as he got outside the little region where everything was known to him. Good-bye, Mary-good-bye, Lily," he said, waving his hand. He had his own little portmanteau with his name on it, a new little silver watch in his pocket--what could child want more? Lily, though she was his sister, was not a sensation like that watch. He took it out, and turned it round and round, and opened the case, and wound it up (he had wound it up twice this morning already, so that one turn of the key was all that was practicable). Nothing at the Castle, nothing in the society of Lily, was equal to this. He compared his watch with the clock in the druggist's in the village and found it fast; he compared it with the clock at the station and found that slow. He did not take any notice of his uncle, nor his uncle of him; each of them was indifferent, though partly hostile, to the other. Randolph was at his ease because he had this child, this troublesome atom, who might do harm though he could do no good, in his power; but Nello was at his ease, through pure indifference. He was not at the moment frightened of his uncle, and no other sentiment in regard to him had been developed in his mind. As calm as if Randolph had been a cabbage, Nello sat by his side and looked at his watch. The watch excited him, but his uncle · Thus they went on, an unsympathetic pair. Nello stood about on the platform and looked at everything, while Randolph took the tickets. He was slightly hurt to hear that a half-ticket was still enough for himself, and moved away at once to the other side of the station, where the locomotive enthralled him. He stood and gazed at it with transport. What he would have given to have travelled there with the man who drove it, and leave Uncle Randolph behind! But still Nello took his place in the train with much indifference to Uncle Randolph. He was wholly occupied with what was going on before and about him: the rush across country, trees and fields flying by, and the stations where there was always something new, the groups of people standing about, the rush of some for the train, the late arrival just as the doors were shut of those who were too late. These last made Nello laugh, their blank looks were so funny--and yet he was sorry for them; for what a thing it must be, he thought, to see other people go rushing out over the world to see everything, while you yourself were left dull at home! He remembered once himself being left with Martuccia in the still, deserted house when all the others had gone to the festa; how he thought the day would never end-and Martuccia thought so too. This made him sorry, very sorry, for the people who had lost their train. It did not occur to Nello that it might be no festa he was going to, or they were going to. What could any one want more than the journey itself? If you wearied of seeing the trains rush past, and counting the houses, now on one side, now on another, there was the endless pleasure of dashing up to one station after another, when Nello could look down with fine superiority on the people who were not going, on the children above all, who looked up envious, and envied him, he felt sure. By and by, however, though he would not confess it to himself, the delights of the journey began to pall: his little eyes grew fatigued with looking, and his little mind with the continuous spectacle of those long, flying breadths of country; and even the stations lost their charm. would have liked to have somebody to talk to, and cast one or two wistful glances to see whether Uncle Randolph was practicable, but found no encouragement in that countenance, preoccupied, and somewhat lowering by He nature, which appeared now and then in the wavering of the train, over the newspaper his uncle was reading. What a long time it took to read that paper! How it crackled when it was opened out! How tired Nello grew of seeing it opposite to him! And he began to grow cramped with sitting: his limbs wanted stretching, his mind wanted change; and he began to be hungry. Randolph, who scorned the poor refreshments of the railway, and thought it better to wait for his meal till he reached home, did not think of the difference between himself and the child. They travelled on and on through the dulness of the afternoon. Nello, who had been so cheerful, felt disposed to sleep, but was too proud to yield to it; and then he began to think of his sister and the home he had left. It is natural, it is selfish, to remember home when we miss its comforts; but if that is not of the higher nature of love, it is yet the religion of the weak, and not despised by the great Succourer who bids men call upon Him in time of trouble. Nello's heart, when he began to feel tired and famished, recurred with a pathetic trust in the tenderness and in the certainty of the well-being that abode there, to his home. When they stopped at a lively, bustling junction to change their direction, things mended a little. Nello ventured to buy himself a cake, his uncle not interfering, as they waited. "You will spoil your stomach with that sweet stuff, Randolph said, but he allowed the child to munch. And they had half-an-hour to wait, which of itself was something. Nello walked about, imitating Randolph's longer stride, though he did not accompany his uncle; and though he felt forlorn and very small among the crowd, marched about and looked at everything as the gentlemen did, recovering his spirits a little. And suddenly, with a great glow of pleasure all over him, Nello spied among the strangers who were hurrying to and fro a face he had seen before; it is true it was "A little," said Nello; "but that's no matter. What have you in your basket? is it another rabbit? I gave mine to Lily. They would not let me bring it though I wanted to bring it. School you know," said the boy, seriously, "is not like home. You have to be just like as if you were grown up there. Little-you cannot help being little; but you have to be like as if you were grown up there." Ay, ay, that's the way to take it," said the countryman, looking down with a twinkle in his eye, half smiling, half sad, at the small creature beside him. "The thing is to be a man, and to mind that you must stand up a man, whatever happens. If one hits you, you must hit him again, and be sure not to cry." like "Hit me," said Nello-"cry? Ah, you do not know the kind of school I am going to-for you are not a gentleman," he added, looking with selfish condescension at his adviser. "I like you just the same," said Nello, "but you are not a gentleman, are you? and how can you know?" "The Lord forbid!" said Bampfylde," one's enough in a family. It would be ill for us, and maybe for you too, if I were a gentleman. Look you here, my little man. Look at the bonnie bird in this basket-it's better than your rabbit. A rabbit, though it's one o' God's harmless creatures, has little sense, and cannot learn; but this bonnie thing is of use to God and man, as at him! what a bonnie head he has, and an eye as meaning as your own." "A pigeon!" said Nello, with a cry of delight. "Oh, I wish I might have him! Do you think I might have him? I could put him under the seat, and nobody would see the basket; and then when we got there 'Ay, that's the question-when you got there." "I would say it was my-fishing basket," said Nello. "He said they went fishing; and nobody would know. I would say Mary had-put things in it nobody would ever find out, and I would keep it in my room, and buy seed for it and give it water, and it would live quite comfortable. And it would soon come to know me, wouldn't it and hop about and sit on my shoulder. Oh, let me have it; won't you let me have it? Look here, I have a great deal of money," cried Nello, turning out his pocket; "five shillings to spend, and a sovereign Mary gave me. I will give you money for it, as much money as ever you please "Whisht, my little lad; put back your money and keep it safe, for you'll have need of it. I brought the bird to give you. If they're kind folks they'll let you keep him. You must keep him safe, and take care he has his meat every day; and if they're unkind to you or treat you bad, put you his basket in the window and open the lid, and puff! he'll flee away and let your friends know." "But I should not like him to flee away. I would like him to stay with me always, and sit on my shoulder, and eat out of my hand." 66 If 'My little gentleman," said Bampfylde, "I'm afraid your uncle will hear us. Try to understand. you're ill-used, if they're unkind, let. the bird fly, and he'll come and tell us. Mind now, what I'm saying. He'll come and tell us. Did you never read in your story-books-' "Then it is an enchanted bird," said Nello, looking down, very gravely, into the basket. Lily had read to him of |