and appropriate, and who now fixed upon him a gaze so full and probing, was, in truth, an obstacle raised to the tumultous course of his passions and a calm witness on behalf of reason and wisdom. In the present state of his mind, his one wish was to be allowed to rush headlong onwards in the career which he had that morning entered upon, and regardless of consequences to pursue it to the uttermost, and he felt proportionately angry at being compelled in any way to think calmly, or to sit in judgment on his own conduct. It was, therefore, in a tone of considerable asperity that, after recovering from his first surprise, he answered the stranger :

"The son of Crantor has not yet learned to give an account of his conduct to one who appears to make it his business to overhear words uttered unawares, and concerning no one but the speaker."

"You are angry, young man, but you have no cause," said the stranger, "your words were borne to my ears as I came out from the shade of the trees, and I involuntarily overheard your speech before I saw your person. It was with feelings of friendship and interest in your welfare that I ventured to address you."

The manner of the stranger was so free from all embarrassment, and his tone so courteous and yet dignified, that Philokalos felt that he had no longer any cause for maintaining or exhibiting the feelings of petulant anger which, however, still remained in his breast. He began to feel a strong curiosity to know who this man could be, as well as how much of his secret he had either learned from his soliloquy or fathomed by his own penetration. He therefore replied

"I would fain know whence and who you are, who appear or assume to be so well acquainted with my person, my objects, and my pursuits.” "Who or whence I am is of little consequence," replied the stranger, "the past may be left to the dominion of memory alone, under whose power the future is also hastening. Let it suffice that I know many who know not me, and much which has never been told me. I am one whose mission it is to wait, to watch, to warn."

These words were uttered with an earnestness and appearance of sincerity which seemed utterly at variance with any suspicions of the low craft of the impostor, who aims at power by feigning mystery. Philokalos could not help feeling also that they seemed to be addressed to his own peculiar circumstances, with an accuracy and force which seemed to imply either considerable knowledge or extraordinary penetration. Yet the feeling of irritation which had arisen in his mind on the first address of the stranger was still so strong, that he was ready to seize any excuse for giving a hostile character to their conversation, even though he knew that the attack which he was making was unjust and ungenerous.

"I have lived long enough to learn," said he, "that good purposes are generally sought by openness and candour, and that the language of mystery and darkness is employed to conceal objects which are unfit for the light of truth."

The stranger looked at him for a moment with an expression whose calmness was unaltered, and then made answer—

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"I have lived far too long to be in the least disturbed by an accusation which is known to be false at the moment that it is made. Youth goaded by passion may be driven for a moment from its native goodness and generosity, but when we meet again, young man, you will perhaps do me justice. For the present, farewell."

He turned to go, but Philokalos, somewhat awed by the dignity of his demeanour, and partly ashamed of his own injurious words, exclaimed

"Stay; if I have done you an injustice I willingly ask your pardon, but I confess I felt annoyed by your assumption of so much knowledge concerning me and my affairs, and your careful concealment at the same time of everything that relates to yourself. If, indeed, you have anything to say to me, whether it be of the nature of information, or counsel, or warning, I pray you to say it in plain words, so that I may understand your meaning, and be able to judge of its importance."

"The information, the counsel, the warning, which I would give," replied the stranger, "are too likely, if my supposition is true, to pass unheeded. You would know what acquaintance I can have with your history, your pursuits, your motives? My sources of information are simple. I could not be wrong in supposing that the son of one of the companions of Jason must have been brought up in the love and admiration of noble deeds, and with the desire to imitate and rival them. I could not be wrong in thinking that his attention must often have been directed to the plains of Troy, the scene of the grandest struggle which has yet been achieved or sung. But when I chanced to overhear him addressing his impassioned soliloquy to some fair unknown, who was to be the arbitress of his destinies, and at whose word he was willing to give up all his dreams of glory for rustic seclusion and inglorious ease, then I might well think that the son of Crantor stood in need of counsel; and lastly, when I remembered who and what was the being who, in all the radiance of her fascinating and fatal beauty, had only a few short moments previously passed me beneath the shadow of those trees

"What?" broke in Philokalos impetuously, "you have seen her, and I have delayed so long in talking! Tell me," but recollecting himself, and stung with the thought of his unguarded folly in thus precipitately revealing all that he would most studiously have kept concealed, and particularly from the scrutiny of this calm and mysterious counsellor, he hesitated, blushed, and became embarrassed and confused.

"If indeed you are in pursuit of Ægle," resumed the stranger, without any alteration of voice or manner, "you stand in need of all the counsel which wisdom can furnish, and of all the heroic resolution which your own mind can supply. Young man, if your strength and your virtue are not more than human, I say to you, fly! Seek death under the walls of Troy, and escape the death of honour, and virtue, and heroism, which awaits you in this island."

Philokalos had now recovered himself, and just in proportion as he felt the truth and force of the words which were addressed to him, did his anger burn against the person who forced these considerations upon him as a bar to the gratification of his blind and reckless passion. He answered

"I have betrayed my secret, and this is the reason why I consented to listen so long to one who thinks to frighten me with the tales and superstitions of the ignorant. I have yet to learn that the admiration of transcendant beauty is dishonourable or unworthy of a hero."

"I scarcely expected," replied the stranger, "that aught that I could say would have much present effect, or be able to save you from the fate which awaits you; yet I cannot think that the gods will abandon you,

and some day you will remember the words which I now speak. The popular superstition has hardly exaggerated the truth in respect of the being whose image you are now worshipping in your inmost soul. Better that you were sunk in the depths of the sea than continue your pursuit. She will lead you on step by step until you become her slave, until all the nobility, and virtue, and resolution of your soul are sapped and destroyed, and then she will mock you with scorn and contempt, and leave you to remorse and despair. May the gods preserve you from this destiny, for I know of no other help."

And so saying, he turned and vanished among the trees as noiselessly as he had first appeared.

Philokalos remained for some time standing upon the same spot and in the same position as that in which the stranger had left him. The words which he had heard sounded in his ears and sunk into his heart like a knell. He felt that the present moment was to decide his future career, and that the scales of his destiny were trembling upon the balance and ready to dip up on one side or the other. And what were the alternatives? Upon the one hand, the noble dreams and hopes of his youth, the path of renown and glory, the honour of his father's house, the deathless song or legend which should enshrine his own name and heroic deeds; upon the other hand, the pursuit of a brilliant apparition, scarcely seen ere it vanished, an intoxication, a delirium, and the grave face of the stranger, with its calm expression and words of deep warning. Yet it was not in doubt as to which alternative he should adopt that Philokalos now paused in meditation; it was rather to collect his thoughts, to shake off the influence which had been exercised upon him by the ominous meeting which he had just gone through, and to exert his own ingenuity in finding plausible reasons on behalf of the course which he was already determined to take. It was with full deliberation and clearness of sight that he resolved to continue the pursuit of the beautiful enchantress. He saw without difficulty all the arguments which could be adduced upon the subject by the coolest reason, yet they had no weight with him. He mechanically reviewed in his mind his own history, his past life, and its early associations. He recollected the sage lessons of the old steward, and the stirring songs of Theon, his own ardent and ambitious dreams, his sister's tender and noble sympathy, his father's sword, and the words and manner of Eunus as he had taken it from the wall and presented it to him on the preceding day. Then he recalled his interview with his sister, and the lofty enthusiasm with which she had suppressed her own feelings, and counselled him to take the path of honour and virtue. He recalled his own overwrought feelings as he had left the house, his ramble through the woods, his waking and his sleeping dreams, and then there came back to his mind the awakening of that morning and the vision which had attended it. He felt that this was the point which separated his past life from his present and future. He felt that he was not the same as on the day before. The Philokalos of yesterday was the son of Crantor, the hope of a noble house, earnest, chivalrous, devoted. The Philokalos of to-day was a wild enthusiast, standing on the brink of a precipice, and insanely bent on plunging into the darkness below in the hope that, instead of rugged crags and dashing billows, he might find awaiting him a bed of roses and fragrant herbage.

As he mused Philokalos had resumed his walk up the valley and

along the course of the stream. His pace was still slow and uncertain, for the object of his pursuit having escaped him for the present, haste was just as likely to thwart his wishes as to forward their completion. From the train of thought which he had been pursuing, his mind reverted to the mysterious stranger from whom he had so lately parted. He felt much curiosity to know who this person could be, and wondered that he had never seen or heard of him before. His rustic garb so plain and homely, his bearing and appearance so noble and stately, the melancholy of his countenance, his penetrating glance, his impressive speech, were all vividly stamped upon the young man's memory; and yet, though he could not conceal from himself the consciousness of the truth and real friendliness of the stranger's warning, he still looked upon him as an enemy, as one who had stepped between him and the realisation of his wishes, and had forced upon him the consideration of stern and unpalatable truths. Then his busy ingenuity began to find reasons and arguments for his neglect of the stranger's admonitions.

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Why," said he "am I to be deterred from pursuing the course which Fortune herself has pointed out to me on account of the words of this dreamer, this mysterious intruder, who comes none knows whence, and vanishes none knows whither? And wherein consists the wisdom of the counsels which he delivers with such oracular certainty? Is it a crime or a folly to admire and love the most exquisite beauty that the imagination can conceive, or do the gods sport with us by presenting such forms to our eyes only for the purpose of leading us into hopeless misery and ruin? And what are the evils which are so sure to attend this pursuit? Why should I suppose that she will endeavour to lead me from the path of duty and of honour? Are beauty and virtue incompatible? She will make me a slave and reward me with scorn and disdain! Ah! what slavery so sweet as the service of such loveliness? What spell so tolerable as the enchantment of such fascinations? And if my devotion should prove vain, and contempt and scorn be the only return for my admiration and love, then what fate so desirable as a grave on some well fought battle-field? But never will I be turned from the pursuit of such a prize by mysterious warnings and chimerical fears."

His musings were interrupted by the discovery that he was ascending a hill, and turning his attention to the objects around him he found that it had become necessary to decide whither and with what purpose he was going. At the point at which he had now arrived, the valley had become considerably narrower, and its wooded sides much more steep and precipitous. Philokalos saw that he was approaching the head of the valley where the spring arose from which the stream was supplied, along whose margin he had wandered. It was obvious that from where he now was there was no egress, except by either retracing his steps or climbing the hill by which the valley's head was shut in. Here, therefore, Philokalos paused, and began to consider what course he should take. He felt that the idea of retracing his steps was repugnant to his present state of mind, and a vague notion that his day's adventures were as yet only begun, induced him to find his way out of the valley by ascending the hill before him. He was not long in arriving at the top, and when there, he found that the country which lay before him was of a different kind from that which he had hitherto been traversing. Instead of being fertile and thickly wooded, it was now more barren and rocky. The trees were smaller, and grew only in scattered and isolated

spots, and the vegetation generally was more scanty and stunted. These characters increased towards the sea shore, which appeared to be not far distant. The distant sea-view was visible from the spot where Philokalos now stood, but intervening cliffs shut out from his sight all the nearer portions. Philokalos now felt somewhat embarrassed, for having eaten nothing that morning the prospect before him appeared rather barren and unpromising. He saw nowhere any trace of a human habitation, and he began to think, that after all, it would become necessary for him to return upon his footsteps, by doing which he would be sure at all events of meeting with the same sort of refreshment which had served him on the preceding night. Before adopting this course, however, he turned his steps towards a small eminence near him, from which he thought he might obtain a slightly more extensive view. He ascended it and began to look round, but in the act of turning, his eyes fell upon an object which instantly arrested him in an attitude as fixed and motionless as stone.

Upon the eminence which he had just ascended and within a few yards of the spot where he was standing, there stood the very figure which he had that morning followed, and the sight of which had caused such commotion and conflict in his breast. There she stood in all the brilliance of her superb beauty, the dark folds of her magnificent hair hanging around her shoulders, from which her scarf floated its graceful drapery. She was leaning against a tree, and upon the scanty grass rested that small white foot, whose size and form Philokalos had so well studied by means of the impression it had left upon the margin of the stream. She appeared to be occupied in gazing down the valley from which he had just ascended, and to be totally unconscious of the presence of any one near her. And now that Philokalos found himself in the presence of the object of his earnest pursuit, now that his eyes rested upon the form which appeared to him to be the sole object in nature worth gazing upon, now that the interview for which he would have defied a thousand dangers, was within his power, he felt unable to move, to speak, almost to think, but remained as fixed as marble, all his powers apparently engaged in the occupation of gazing at the beautiful vision before him. At length she suddenly turned her head and saw him. Instantly, as some beautiful, wild animal which has been suddenly disturbed by the unheeded approach of a strange footstep, she started, and with head thrown back, and dilated nostril, and flashing eye, she seemed about to fly; but in a moment she appeared to have altered her intention, and whether discerning that no violence was to be apprehended from one who seemed himself so overcome with wonder and admiration, or confident in her own address and swiftness, she stood still and watched the intruder with her keen and lustrous black eyes.

It was only by a strong effort that Philokalos was able to shake off the strange feeling of fear which hindered him from addressing the wild and mysterious being who stood before him, but having succeeded in rousing himself from his state of embarrassment and surprise, he approached the maiden, and with something of the grace and dignity in his manner which were natural to him, said

"Will the fairest of all maidens who have ever trod the soil of earth pardon the intrusion of one who deems that a life of toil and hardships might be well rewarded and overpaid by the sight of so much beauty?"

She made no reply for a moment, but continued gazing upon him,