y time when the poet wrote to whom
we owe all the tale of the wanderings of AEneas, namely, Virgil, who
wrote the "AEneid," whence all these stories are taken. He further tells
us that AEneas landed in Italy, just as his old nurse Caieta died, at the
place which still is called Gaeta. After they had buried her they found
a grove, where they sat down on the grass to eat, using large round
cakes or biscuits to put their meat on. Presently they came to eating up
the cakes. Little Ascanius cried out, "We are eating our very tables,"
and AEneas, remembering the harpy's words, knew that his wanderings were
over.

Virgil goes on to tell at much length how the king of the country,
Latinus, at first made friends with AEneas, and promised him his daughter
Lavinia in marriage; but Turnus, an Italian chief who had before been a
suitor to Lavinia, stirred up a great war, and was only conquered and
killed after much hard fighting. However, the white sow was found in the
right place with all her little pigs, and on the spot was founded the
city of Alba Longa, where AEneas and Lavinia reigned until he died, and
his descendants, through his two sons, Ascanius or Iulus, and AEneas
Silvius, reigned after him for fifteen generations.

XENOPHON[2]

[Footnote 2: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

By PROFESSOR J. PENTLAND MAHAFFY

(445-354 B.C.)

[Illustration: Xenophon.]

There is no figure in Greek history more familiar to us than this famous
Athenian. There are passages in his life known to every schoolboy; we
possess all the books he ever wrote; we know therefore his opinions upon
all the important questions of life, religion, ethics, politics,
manners, education, as well as upon finance and military tactics, not to
speak of social intercourse and sport. And yet his early youth and late
age are hidden from us. Like the models of Greek eloquence, which begin
with tame obviousness, rise into dignity, fire, pathos, and then close
softly, without sounding peroration, so Xenophon comes upon us, an
educated young man, looking out for something to do; we lose him in the
autumn of his life, when he was driven from the fair retreat which the
old man had hoped would be his final resting-place. During seven years
of his early manhood we find him in the middle of all the most stirring
events in the Greek world. For thirty years later (394-62 B.C.), we hear
him from his retired country-seat recording contemporary history,
tel