ears were to pass ere it was to revive again, as by a miracle. I
travelled. Awakening at dawn, I saw, framed in a port-hole, rose-red
Seriphos set in a living blue that paled the sapphire; the seas Ulysses
had sailed, and the company of the Argonauts. My soul was steeped in
unimagined colour, and in the memory of one rapturous instant is gathered
what I was soon to see of Greece, is focussed the meaning of history,
poetry and art. I was to stand one evening in spring on the mound where
heroes sleep and gaze upon the plain of Marathon between darkening
mountains and the blue thread of the strait peaceful now, flushed with
pink and white blossoms of fruit and almond trees; to sit on the
cliff-throne whence a Persian King had looked down upon a Salamis fought
and lost.... In that port-hole glimpse a Themistocles was revealed, a
Socrates, a Homer and a Phidias, an AEschylus, and a Pericles; yes, and a
John brooding Revelations on his sea-girt rock as twilight falls over the
waters....

I saw the Roman Empire, that Scarlet Woman whose sands were dyed crimson
with blood to appease her harlotry, whose ships were laden with treasures
from the immutable East, grain from the valley of the Nile, spices from
Arabia, precious purple stuffs from Tyre, tribute and spoil, slaves and
jewels from conquered nations she absorbed; and yet whose very emperors
were the unconscious instruments of a Progress they wot not of, preserved
to the West by Marathon and Salamis. With Caesar's legions its message
went forth across Hispania to the cliffs of the wild western ocean,
through Hercynian forests to tribes that dwelt where great rivers roll up
their bars by misty, northern seas, and even to Celtic fastnesses beyond
the Wall....

IV.

In and out of my early memories like a dancing ray of sunlight flits the
spirit of Nancy. I was always fond of her, but in extreme youth I
accepted her incense with masculine complacency and took her allegiance
for granted, never seeking to fathom the nature of the spell I exercised
over her. Naturally other children teased me about her; but what was
worse, with that charming lack of self-consciousness and consideration
for what in after life are called the finer feelings, they teased her
about me before me, my presence deterring them not at all. I can see them
hopping around her in the Peters yard crying out:--"Nancy's in love with
Hugh! Nancy's in love with Hugh!"

A sufficiently thrilling pastime, this