It is evening, and two persons recline in the cool shade on the summit of Mount Anchesmus, near the temple of Jupiter. A child sports round them occasionally, withdrawing their attention from the contemplation of the red-tinged top of the _Acropolis_, the silver stream of the Ilissus, the murmuring Cephissus and the maritime port of Piræus, where the waves of the Ægean mingle their solemn roar with the hymns of the sailors, the buzz of the populous city, and the strains of the tortoise-formed lyre. The sun is slowly sinking in the west, with the clear radiance peculiar to happy Greece, but, as it seems to the mother, with less majesty than when it dipped its burning orb, as into Lethe’s wave, in the lotus-filled waters of the Ganges. Solemnly they converse of their happy youth when all things to come wore ever brightening hues, when future deeds surrounded them like the stars now emerging countless from the night. And now the _aulic_ tones whisper softly in the ether around them, filling all things with sweet melody, and catching the ear of the listening child; recalling to Demetros the period of infancy, when in like manner at eventide he had raised his head from the lap of his mother; to Ganga the time when, in the protecting arms of Nikaiyah, she had hearkened to the notes of the Indian nightingales. Sadly Ganga speaks of them as those she shall never behold. Hopefully the Eleusinian priest unfolds his faith in immortality—pure and sweet fell his words on her mind, when divested of Brahmin superstition, as the placid moonbeams now silvering his golden locks and kissing the brow of the sleeping infant. Here was no hideous transmigration to pass through atoning, but all was clear and blessed as the innocent period of childhood—there, where the starry points showed glimpses of the radiant heaven, they would rejoin, in the happy company of the gods, their friends now made immortal. There, as true Olympians, enjoy the happiness of the blessed. Their prophetic eyes seem to behold in the misty future the deified reclining, on the golden-clouds which cap the hill of Musaeus. Silently descend the shades of evening on the city of Athens, and on the pair as they muse on the mount by the temple of Jupiter. * * * * * Centuries have passed since the times of Elephantum and Eleusis. The “eye of Greece” now desolate, still courts the shade of Hymethus—the suns rise and set no more on the home of the Arts and the Muses—no longer gild the morning rays a glittering _Acropolis_—no longer chime the _aulic_ notes with the song of the Chian-Homer. Still wanders the Brahmin, no longer at Elephantum, in India’s groves alone, unchanged amid the changing scenes around him. Still flows the Ganges, the mightiest of eastern waters. * * * * * =MEMORY’S CONSOLATION.= =BY W. W. HARNEY.=