er, apparently, to exhibit these
treasures while the school exercises were going on, and as soon as they
were ended--instantly, that very minute--he intended to eat his dinner,
and nothing could alter this determination; his face grew ferocious at
the mere suggestion. So we were obliged to depart without seeing the
souvenirs of Lord Guildford's enthusiasm; and owing to the glamour which
always hangs over the place one has failed to see, I have been sure ever
since that we should have found them the most fascinating objects in
Corfu.

At the present school the teaching is done, no doubt, in a tongue which
would have made the old university shudder. In a letter written by Sir
George Bowen in 1856, from one of the Ionian Islands, there is the
following anecdote: "Bishop Wilberforce told me that he recently had, as
a candidate at one of his ordinations, Mr. M., the son of an English
merchant settled in Greece. 'I examined him myself,' said the bishop,
'when he gave what was to me an unknown pronunciation.' 'Oh, Mr. M.,' I
said, 'where _did_ you learn Greek?' 'In Athens, my lord,' replied the
trembling man." Classical scholars who visit Greece to-day are not able
to ask the simplest questions; or, rather, they may ask, but no one will
understand them. Several of these gentlemen have announced to the world
that the modern speech of Athens is a barbarous decadence. It is not for
an American, I suppose, to pass judgment upon matters of this sort. But
when these authorities continue as follows: "And even in pronunciation
modern Greek is hopelessly fallen; the ancients never pronounced in this
way," may we not ask how they can be so sure? They are not, I take it,
inspired, and the phonograph is a modern invention. The voice of Robert
Browning is stored for coming generations; the people A.D. 3000 may hear
him recite "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix." Possibly
the tones of Lord Salisbury and of Mr. Balfour are already garnered and
arranged in cylinders for the future orators of the South Seas. But we
cannot know how Pindar spoke any more than we can know the song the
Sirens sang; the most learned scholar cannot, alas! summon from the past
the articulation of Plato.

[Illustration: SMALL TEMPLE, MEMORIAL TO SIR THOMAS MAITLAND]

In the esplanade the period of English rule is further kept in mind by
monuments to the memory of three of the Lords High--a statue, an
obelisk, and (of all things in the world) an imitat