The final fall of Troy through the trick of the wooden horse is given in Homer's second poem, "The Odyssey." It tells how the heroes returned home after the war, and especially relates the adventures of Ulysses, the wisest of the Greeks, who was driven about for ten years from land. to land over many seas before he reached his home.

The story of Eneas, a Trojan prince who would have been made king after the death of Priam and Hector if Troy had not fallen, is told by a Roman poet, Virgil, in the "Æneid." It was Æneas who, after many journeys, landed with his little company of survivors in Italy, and laid the foundation of a town and a nation which were afterward called Rome and became the mightiest in the world.

Until very lately it was thought that Homer's poem was altogether fiction, and that either Troy never existed or that it was never destroyed in the way described by Homer. But a few years ago a German explorer, Dr. Heinrich Schliemann (1822-1890), became convinced that Homer's story was in the main true; that Troy had been a powerful city, and that an army of Greeks, perhaps three thousand or more years ago, had crossed the seas, and, after laying siege to it, finally conquered and destroyed it.

So sure was he of this that, after the most strenuous efforts, he finally obtained permission of the Turkish government to search, and secured money enough from the people of Europe to meet his expenses. Where he supposed that the city of Troy had stood was nothing but mounds of earth of various sizes; but he went to work with a small army of laborers, digging into these mounds, and not only did he prove that there had been a great city on this site, but he found proofs of seven of them, one below another -seven great cities that had grown up and flourished, and been destroyed and buried, until each was so completely lost that others had been built on top of them.

In each of these he found relics of buildings, utensils, ornaments in gold and other metals, that had been used by the people, and that showed how they had lived and how highly civilized they were; and in the last one of these cities were found many things, bracelets, rings, cups, and dishes, made of various metals, just such as are described in Homer's poems. Dr. Schliemann even thought that he could trace the outlines of King Priam's palace, and the temples and other public buildings which Homer has described.

So now we may believe that Homer, the old blind poet, who wandered about the Grecian cities and recited his wonderful poem, did not invent his tale, but had received it from tradition, handed down from father to son, from these very warriors, perhaps, who had spent ten years away from their homes beyond a stormy sea, to regain Queen Helen for King Menelaos.

XXVI. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

BY JOHN KEATS. (1795-1821.)

UCH have I traveled in the realms of gold,

MUCH

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ;

Round many western islands have I been

Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold :
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies.
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific -- and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

XXVII. PICKWICK'S DRIVE TO MANOR FARM.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHARLES DICKENS was one of the greatest of English novelists. The stories that he wrote were mostly of poor and humble people, such as are often overlooked by writers. But Dickens's sympathies were broad. No one was so poor or so much of an outcast that he did not recognize in him a human brother, and all who read this author's writings are sure to have more sympathy for the poor and oppressed after reading. The following selection is from one of Dickens's earliest and most famous books, called "Pickwick Papers." The

whole book is very amusing, and every boy and girl should read it.

RIGHT and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and

BRIGHT

beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind than that to which it was presented.

On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the pointed and jagged stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its tower roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could reach, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the thin and halfformed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound, as the heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.

Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a touch on his shoulder. He turned round: and

the dismal man was at his side.

"Contemplating the scene?" inquired the dismal man. "I was," said Mr. Pickwick.

“And congratulating yourself on being up so soon ? Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.

"Ah! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all his splendor, for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The morning of day and the morning of life are but too much alike."