“I believe in the Spartan training to a great extent, but I do not think the body should be trained exclusively and the mind neglected; therefore I have the tragedies performed which were unknown to Sparta. The Spartans were a fine nation of materialists.” “You are right!” said Maurice earnestly; “one should never let the material nature overpower the spiritual.” “You speak warmly.” “As I was taught. My mother was a religious woman, and trained me carefully. One cannot rid one’s self of youthful teachings; we may forget them for a time, but they always force themselves before the mind sooner or later.” “Not always. I also was taught as you, but forty years of solitude—comparative solitude—and pondering have turned me into what I am—an agnostic. So your mother was a good woman? is she alive?” “No; she died many years ago.” “And your father?” “Is also dead. I am an orphan. No relations in the world—at least, none I care about.” Justinian gazed at the young man as if he would read his very soul, then, turning away with a half-suppressed sigh, entered the theatre. It was modelled on that of Athens,—a large semicircle hewn out of the volcanic rock, with seats of the red limestone so frequent in Melnos. The stage faced the mountain, and had an altar beautifully sculptured in front of it, and life-sized statues of Dionysius and Phœbus on either side. “This is our Temple of Thespis,” said Justinian, as they stood in the centre of the semicircle, which was at a moderate distance from the stage. “You see it is not very large, and suitable to the size of the island and the number of population; so, as the actors can easily be seen, we need neither cothurnus nor mask. Our plays, I am afraid, are not so gigantic as those of ancient Hellas; but there is one advantage, the face is seen, and the Greeks are wonderfully expressive in revealing their feelings by the countenance.” “All Melnos seems to be built of this red stone.” “Yes; I get it from the cliffs of the island. The tint is pleasing, and warms up the landscape. I am sorry we cannot see the ocean from the theatre, as I am very fond of the sea; but, shut in by this circle of mountains, of course that is impossible. Now we must go and see the silk factory.” After they had gone through this thoroughly,—for Justinian insisted upon Maurice taking notice of every detail,—the King showed him some hot springs just outside the village, which bubbled up from the earth, amid rugged blocks of black lava, streaked fantastically with sulphur. “These springs are full of medicinal properties, which are useful for the cure of many diseases,” he said, as they watched the light clouds of steam rising; “but we of Melnos are so healthy, that we rarely use them. Plenty of work, plenty of physical exercise, careful attention to births, and fresh air and water in abundance, keep the whole population in splendid health. It is a case of quality, not quantity.” “Have you any poets, painters, sculptors?”