the visit of the Philellenists, and in addition to the richly-ornamented costume which he now wore, he was enveloped in the large brown capote, used by the Greeks only while travelling; he was also completely armed (an infringement of the Turkish laws); and in short, it was evident that he had made every preparation for an immediate journey. He approached and looked upon his wife, that wife who for forty long years had encompassed him about with a love, unspeakable and unremitting, tender and pure, changeless in absence, brightest in adversity, strongest in privation and trial, growing and deepening ever through the various stages of their long career, since that one unforgotten hour, long since departed, when in her youth and exceeding beauty she delivered up to him her untried and unstained heart. Other affections had risen up for her, binding down her tenderness with the strong ties of nature, but from these she had only drawn the greater strength wherewith to cherish him, loving her children because they were his, and her country because it was dear to him! That very morning, when her first-born was laid a murdered corpse at her feet, had she not turned on him the eyes that never had strayed to look on fairer faces, and murmured, even from the extremity of her agony, "Husband, thou art with me still!" And this was the wife he was about to abandon! now in the chill dark evenings of their lives, when she had borne with him the toil and burden of the day, he was about to leave her there deserted! The gates of the tomb were opening wide before them both; and she who had so brightened his mortal existence might surely have claimed the loving right to pass through them together; but he was calmly turning from her now; and she must walk on towards them all alone, with the image of her murdered sons on the right hand and on the left!

Petros G——, half maddened by the ardour of a patriotism, whose flame was fanned to an unquenchable fire by his revengeful hatred, had determined when he saw that Greece in her extremity was to receive from him no other succour than that which his young son could give, himself to hurry to her blood-stained shores

there, despite of age and infirmity, to strike one last blow with his failing hands; but he was necessarily obliged to put his plan in execution privately, knowing that not only the Turks would oppose his departure, but the Philellenists themselves might probably be little disposed to receive one more likely to prove an incumbrance than an auxiliary. And now he came, in one long farewell look to seal up for ever their forty years' companionship and faithfulness; but he felt no remorse--what was his affection for her to that he bore his country; and she might have asked what was her patriotism compared to the wife's deep tenderness; for when she bore unshrinking the sharp torture, and the solitary gloom of her dungeon cell, she had borne it truly not for Greece, but for his sake who now deserted her; but he felt no remorse, yet as he stood there gazing on her, like the drowning man, who they say is constrained to pass in review every action of his departing life, Petros G seemed involuntarily to retrace the history of that noble wife's most faithful love, dwelling with a strange pleasure on every word, and look, and smile which had cast a sunray over the rough path of his pilgrimage. He remembered how her thoughts had never swerved from the one object of her life, the increase of his happiness-how pain and suffering were dear to her when borne for him-how in the days of his persecution she measured her devotion by the extent of his humiliation, and grew more humble and tender for every proof which others gave him of scorn and contempt. He remembered in his suffering the watchful days and nights she passed, sleepless, bending over him how often irritated by his accumulated ills he spurned the gentle hand that would have smoothed his pillow; and still when the pangs returned he found her ready there, with her soft forgiving smile, to wipe the dews of anguish from his brow; and when the old man had thought over all these things, he stooped and pressed his withered lips to the aged woman's pale and wrinkled forehead, and with that parting went his way, flinging aside for ever the sacred ties which had made his life so blessed.

It is said that when the unhappy princess woke, and found that if the death

of her sons had been like the fadings of her life's fairest stars, this was assuredly the setting of its sun; when she found, in short, that her husband was gone, and with him her last joy, her reason left her altogether. But even in her madness she was strangely faithful, for her mania was to think that he was seated by her side, mourning for his sons and she watched, she tended him, she comforted him, night and day! But her life was feeding on itself, for she took no food or rest, and it was in vain that others strove to remove her, or to minister

to her wants. She appeared unconscious of the existence of any living being whilst so firmly persuaded of the reality of this phantom of her love. At last one day her attendants found her in an attitude as though supporting in her arms this visionary form, and she signed to them to leave her, because he slept. When they returned, a few hours later, they found that she had sunk down on the spot where she believed him to recline, and when they raised her discovered that she herself had attained a peaceful

rest.

Ir was no small relief to Lester, after having been called on to witness so many painful events during his short stay in Asia Minor, to find himself, at dawn next day, sailing rapidly over the bright blue waters of the port of Smyrna, in the corvette of the Philellenists. All things around him, the sea, the sky, the very air, seemed radiant with the freshness and beauty of the early morning; but nothing of all the brightness in nature was equal to the joyousness that beamed in the fair face of the young Cyllene, as she sat on the deck, and watched, with infinite delight, the solemn gambols of the famous white cat, as Manouk displayed his acquirements for her amusement. There is often a strange mixture of great childishness, along with the deepest and most passionate feelings, belonging only to riper years, to be found among the Greek women. This is chiefly owing to their early maturity, which causes them to retain the reckless innocence of their first youth, long after their mind has ripened to a full capacity for suffering or for happiness. There is also no doubt that they feel on all points far more intensely, and less reasonably perhaps, than in our colder climates, and both these peculiarities were strong in Cyllene, for even whilst she laughed in careless merriment, when the dignified cat attempted any sportiveness, her eyes never turned even casually on him, to whom she owed at once her life and liberty, without filling suddenly with the bright tears which her impassioned gratitude called forth, whilst her countenance assumed a sad and thoughtful

VOL. XXXII-NO. CXCII.

expression whenever she observed the calm and settled gloom that shaded his. For Lester, indeed, not only the sweet face of Cyllene, but all the loveliness this earth would show, was utterly in vain; even when it met his eyes, he saw it not, for by his side for ever, let him wander where he would, there walked one from the dead-visionary, beautiful as a pale star, shrouded in mist, and his gaze so vacant seemingly was upon that form night and day. Nor had Cyllene been with him many days, before, with a woman's quick instinct, she had learnt that his thoughts were always far away, haunting one lonely distant grave, and that for him life was a penance, and death a hope; yet not the less her pity and her gratitude made her cling to him with an earnest friendship, of which it was decreed she should live to give abundant proof. Lester and Cyllene were not, however, the only occupants of the deck that morning. Vasili stood on the poop, gazing, with his keen, eager glance, over the far blue hills towards that Greece which he purposed to make the stage of his ambitious career; and at a little distance, the young Floros sat with his head bent down over his folded hands.

Suddenly an exclamation from Manouk startled them all. Vasili turned quickly round. Floros raised his languid head, and advancing slowly towards them from the spot where he had been all night concealed, they perceived the dumb Rayah Petros GAs he approached, every gaze met him, full of astonishment and inquiry, 2 z

and answering at once to them all, he drew his sword, and pointed with it to the Hellenic flag, which had just been unfurled.

"It is well," said Vasili, who understood his meaning, "since you are thus devoted to our country's cause, we accept your services, Rayah Petros, and you shall share our doubtful fate !"

But as he spoke, an ironical smile passed over his lips, as he thought how easily the last spark of life would be extinguished in that aged breast. Floros, meanwhile, who had looked almost in terror on the feeble, infirm old man, self-doomed to speedy destruction from that hour, now murmured, as he yielded to his embrace— "My mother-my poor, forsaken mother!"

There was a mild reproach in these words, which seemed to sink deep into the heart of the zealous patriot, for he bent down before his son almost in an attitude of humility, unfitting in a father. Floros, who, brave and ardent as he was, had as gentle a spirit as ever was called on to struggle through this rough world, at once forbore to utter another word which might pain him, but he mournfully exclaimed—

"And you, too-oh! my father, must this be? Have we not been feeding death with all our best and dearest? Must I now see you, too, come to be his voluntary prey?—must you, in your last declining years, reap only strife and torture from all the seeds you have sown in toil and labour through your life? Let me, indeed, go forth to combat and to die; but surely rest and peace are your just portion now ?"

The feeble old man would only answer by raising his head, and looking on him with a firm and resolute countenance, which spoke of the most stern determination. Floros sighed deeply, but attempted no further opposition. He stretched out his hand over his father's bent and palsied frame

"I take heaven to witness," he said, looking up, "that the life which you have given me I now restore; till mine is spent, no violence shall extinguish yours; the youth and strength which time has stolen from you, shall be replaced by mine. I gave myself to Greece, but a higher and holier claim is before me now; yet will I

perform both those blessed tasks, so help me, Heaven! And I will live for you till you no longer shall require my life, and then will I die for my dear

country."

And faithfully did Floros keep his solemn resolution from that hour; no lover, watching in the midst of peril over his new-made bride, could have rivalled him in the unremitting care and tenderness with which he ministered to that old man, and all the ardour at once of his youth and patriotism seemed to have subsided into the calm, holy obedience with which he performed the task he had appointed to himself.

It had been arranged, as it was now absolutely necessary that the Philel lenists should hurry on to Messalonghi without delay, that they should merely land Lester and Cyllene at Argos, and then proceed onwards; while the Englishman proposed to deliver up his young charge to her mother, and then follow them in the first Greek vessel which should leave Nauplia.

The Englishman found, to his great regret, on disembarking at this place with the young slave, that he must separate from Manouk, whom Vasili still considered as his prisoner, and would not consent to lose sight of. He had no reason, however, to think that he should require his services. The aged mother of Cyllene had told him that she would now take up her abode as near as possible to the chapel of St. Sophia, on Mount Chaon, in order that, night and day, she might supplicate before its altar for the success of his enterprise. The distance from Nauplia to this spot is by no means great, and it was soon performed at the steady, rapid pace of the camel, which was the usual mode of convey ance in those days, and the sun had not yet set when Lester and Cyllene reached the church.

This little chapel is one of the most interesting in Greece. It is placed at a considerable height on the mountain side, and built in the interior of a cavern, which formerly was dedicated to Bacchus, so that in the ancient niches, where the votive offerings to the Heathen deity were placed, the sacred symbols of the Christian faith are now displayed.

The Englishman left the young Greek kneeling on the altar steps, in

the act of uttering a fervent thanksgiving for her deliverance, while he hastened himself towards a few hovels he perceived at some distance, in order to obtain some tidings of the old woman, whom he had confidently expect ed to find at her devotions. He had no difficulty in gaining intelligence of her at the first hut where he inquired; but his consternation may be imagined when he was informed that the poor mother, worn out with her fasts and constant vigils, as much as by anxiety and grief, had been found dead on the stone-floor of the church a few days previously.

Lester felt as though he were destined to have death tracking his steps go where he would, but his distress and perplexity were extreme, as he began to retrace his steps along the mountain path. It seemed as though he had but rescued the poor young orphan from her hated slavery, to see her cast adrift upon a world she was all too sensitive and pure to combat with. He knew well that she had not a friend on this earth but himself, and yet, willing as he would have been to care for, and protect her, it seemed impossible that he should do

so.

Had he been less wedded in heart and soul to the cherished dead, he might have cast aside all other considerations to offer her a home with him; but the very idea was revolting to him now, and as he slowly entered the church, he could but hope that the young girl might herself suggest some place for her future residence.

The quick-eyed Greek gave but one glance to the sad countenance of the Englishman, and springing forward, with her hands clasped wildly, and her whole frame trembling, she exclaimed

"My mother is dead! I know it! I know it! I read it in your eyes."

Lester could only acknowledge the truth, and then, unacustomed as he was to the Greek character, he stood perfectly terrified at the storm of passionate lamentation to which the young girl gave way at once. There is, for the children of this burning clime, no medium between sorrow and despair, nor is there any demonstration of grief too vehement for their uncontrollable feelings; and Cyllene lay writhing on the ground before him, with a violence which made him trem

Suddenly, as Lester stood gazing mournfully at her, the door of the partition which concealed that more sacred portion of the church, which is entered by priests alone, was thrown open, and a tall, stately-looking monk passed from the sanctuary, and stood before them. He was a man, no longer young-his dark, stern countenance nearly hid in his veil; but Lester thought he had never looked on a more noble or commanding figure. Extending his hand. over the prostrate mourner, he said, in a voice so severe and sonorous that it seemed to roll through the silent church

"Who is this, that dares to weep the human dead, when our own most holy faith is dying in the hearts of Greeks-and who shall dare to mourn over a mortal grave, when the cross, the sacred cross itself, lies buried now beneath the tyrant's throne?"

Nothing can exceed the reverence which the Hellenic people at all times pay to their priests, and this stern rebuke mastered even the agony of the young Cyllene. Lifting up her head from the ground, she remained kneeling, and clasping the monk's robe in her trembling hands, she murmured in a broken voice

"Me sin chorite patera" (forgive me father).

The monk raised her, and asked in a gentle tone, what was the cause of her frantic sorrow. Cyllene trembled too much to answer, and would have fallen, if the monk had not placed her on a stone seat in the outer porch-whilst Lester, too glad to have found one likely to be so able and suitable an adviser, drew him aside, and explained to him all that had occurred, not excepting even the individual feelings, which rendered it so impossible for him to give her the best claim to his protection. Although the impassive face of the monk had been tutored to exhibit not a trace of the dark world of thought within, yet it was evident by his manner that he was greatly interested in the history of the young slave, as well as pleased with the frankness and sincerity of her English

friend

the circumstances of his own life, of which a record has been elsewhere given, rendered him keenly alive to the bitterness which there was for Lester in the thought of any unfaithfulness to the dead; and after silently considering for a few minutes the difficulties of his position, he at last proposed an expedient, which was, in fact, the best that could be adopted under the circumstances.

To leave the gentle Cyllene alone at Argos or Nauplia, he said, was not to be thought of, as she could only there have the protection of persons to whom she was bound by no tie, and whose interests in her must be altogether subservient to their cupidity her fate might thus be tenfold worse than that from which the Englishman had rescued her-that she should become the wife of Lester, was equally impossible; but she might according to a very prevalent custom in Greece become his sister, in the sight of heaven as well as in the eyes of men, by one of the most sacred rites of the Greek church. Lester was well aware of the existence of this ancient and singular law, still in full force in the East, which constitutes two persons, by a solemn religious ceremony, brother and sister, or brothers as the case may be, and binds them legally to one another by this fraternal tie, in so distinct and positive a manner, that even their children cannot intermarry, as, being considered first cousins, they are within the forbidden degree of relationship.

So

sacred and binding is this strange union considered in those countries, that it has never been known to have been violated in any way; and although Lester could not doubt that such a project would have seemed very wild and romantic in his own country, yet as he knew that here it did actually give him a due and legal right to offer a home to this poor orphan, and retain her under his own protection, he at once acceded to the proposal, and begged the monk to allow him, without delay, to take advantage of his presence in order to pronounce the irrevocable vows which constitute this indissoluble bond.

They found Cyllene more composed, and she heard with rapture of the plan they had arranged for her, as no small amount of bitterness had been added to her natural grief, by the conviction that she was now utterly desolate.

They returned into the church, where one faintly-glimmering lamp alone lit up this singular scene, as the stern monk dictated to the strangely assorted companions kneeling before him, the solemn oath by which they swore to be to one another from that hour to their life's end, brother and sister in very deed and truth, nothing more and nothing less; and vowing, as they hoped for the favour of heaven, to perform to each other all the duties which would have been incumbent on them, had they indeed been born of the same parents. When the ceremony was over, and the monk had pronounced over them the blessing of the Holy Church, he directed them where to find shelter for the night, and then took his leave, promising to meet them again at Messalonghi, whither all were now hastening to be present at the final and swift-approaching struggle. The very next day Lester succeeded in obtaining a passage thither in a Greek brig, from whose crew he learned that the Ottoman forces were rapidly advancing on the town, and that every preparation was making for a siege, likely to terminate, one way or another, this long protracted and eventful war. Cyllene of course accompanied her newly-found brother, for it was better for her to be with him among the terrors of the strife, than exposed to the chances of a recapture at Argos.

Scarcely had the brig, after a prosperous voyage, stood in towards the town of Messalonghi, when a boat put off from the shore, in which Lester at once descried his faithful Manouk hastening to ascertain whether he were on board. Their meeting was quite that of old and tried friends, and it was not until Manouk had repeated again and again that he was willing to bestow upon his dear Ghiaour-whom in spite of himself he loved his eyes or the last hour of his