unfavorable circumstances shows the entire feasibility of long-distance signaling by sunlight, and may lead to valuable practical results.

On the next day the party of which we were members climbed to the summit; and the day after that still another party succeeded. In all, about forty of the eighty-three there succeeded in this great test of strength and pluck. But the pall of smoke still hung over all, and, therefore, to give any clear description of the scene from the peak we shall have to draw upon previous climbs under fairer skies. And, first, let us hang in the air a moment before we start, and outline for you the zones which compose the long ascent of one of our great Western mountains.

Mount Adams may be said to begin at the crossing of the White Salmon, half a mile beyond Trout Lake, at an elevation above sea-level of eighteen hundred feet. The entire distance from here to the summit is about twentytwo miles. The first ten miles has a very gradual grade of about two hundred and fifty feet to the mile-the natural slope of the slowly stiffening lava, whose outflow originally created the mountain. This first zone has a north temperate climate; for prevailing vegetation, the giant pine, the pinegrass, the wild strawberry, the tiger-lily, and the wild cherry; while for travel it is the ideal region for the saddlehorse, and even in most parts a carriage could be driven right through the fragrant pine-woods. It takes us to a little over four thousand feet above sea-level. Then comes the zone of the larch and balsam fir and quaking aspen, the huckleberry and fragrant laurel and scarlet mimulus, phloxes of many colors, and "squaw-grass," with its snowy tufts. Here, too, is the rhododendron with its masses of rich red, lately adopted as the State flower of Washington. In this zone the snow falls in October and lies till May. It is the zone also of the summer sheep-range, and, as a natural consequence, of the prowling cougar or more dreaded puma. Here formerly ranged the deer and elk, in spite of their predatory foes, but they are no longer able to withstand the competition of the sheep. This is the zone of alpine glades and natural lawns and crystal streams and foaming cataracts and lakelets, all forming a combination so entrancing that one thinks it to have been made as a pleasure-ground of the gods. It rises just into the edge of the frigid climate, at a grade of four or five hundred feet to the mile, to an elevation of about six thousand feet. At the upper margin are the favorite summer camping-places. The horse can still be used here, though one's feet are often more speedy and convenient.

The slope of the mountain is growing continually steeper, in true volcanic type, and we enter more quickly upon the third zone, one of a different character-the zone of the avalanche and the glacial moraine. All softer vegetation has vanished. The beautiful sub-alpine fir and the twisted mountain pine are the only trees left to defy the eternal frost above. But in the sheltered nooks the blue bunchgrass grows rank, and alpine flowers of many hues warm the dark crags. In this zone the snowbanks linger all summer in the cañons, and the furious gusts which even in July sweep down from the perpetual winter above powder its exposed points with snow. On the polished ledges of rock are innumerable glacial grooves and scratches, telling of the epoch when glaciers completely enswathed the peak and descended far into the valleys. Hands and feet are the only means of transportation in this zone. The only denizens are wild goats and mountain sheep and the beautiful white-and-black ptarmigans, with an occasional eagle or hawk.

The climber through the ever-steepening ascent of this belt goes four or five miles further to the dizzy height of nine thousand feet. But he is yet a long way and many a hard gasp and leg-strain from the solemn white dome. For now begins a last zone, one of perpetual snow, the climate of the North Pole. Vegetation has ceased entirely. Animal life has vanished, except, strange to say, grasshoppers and butterflies, which hop and fly, higher and higher, till they die. They can be seen by hundreds lying dead almost on the summit. Up this two miles of arctic zone the traveler climbs, hands and feet, pike and rope, at a grade of two thousand feet to the mile, panting with the

thin air, sickened by the sulphurous smell, almost blown from his footing by the fierce wind which usually blows, with face and neck slowly scorching in the glaring sun which can burn but not heat.

But now for our climb. Somebody is stirring at three o'clock-in fact, has been awake most of the night. Shouts echo through the pine grove, lights twinkle, camp-fires blaze, coffee and ham are hastily swallowed, we shiver a moment in the cold air, and then are off, just as the streaks of sunrise strike the cold white dome into life. Distances are very deceptive here. We say, "Oh, it looks easy! Just reach the little bluff yonder and we are on the first summit, and it is only a little way further." But somehow that little bluff keeps getting further and further. Long ridges. and unseen "saddles and slippery snow-fields intervene. Hour succeeds hour, morning grows into noon, and still that imperturbable bluff looks down upon us. We stop to rest and lunch. The chunk of ham and camp-bread, washed down with ice-water from a snow-well, are wondrously refreshing; but it will not do to stop long. We would grow stiff and cold as icicles. Momentum is everything in mountain-climbing. Frequent resting blunts. the ambition and the moral purpose. Up the gigantic rock-stairway which ends in the first summit, and at last, seven hours from camp, we draw ourselves up a huge wedge of phonolite and stand panting on that "little bluff" which had looked so near-the first peak!

But now, vast and steep, muffled in white silence, rises. the great central dome, majestic to the eye but discouraging to tired legs and lungs. A few straining steps at a time, with frequent pauses, the stronger helping the weaker with ropes, and the crusted and hummocky snow of the last and hardest tug is traversed, and at about two o'clock we see nothing above us but the sky.

The next step is not a step at all, but a lying flat on the snow, with eyes skyward, breathing only. Ten minutes' rest suffices, and then look! First down. We crawl cau-tiously to the very verge of the great eastern wall above the Klickitat Glacier, held by ropes behind, and peep over.. But how convey to one never having experienced it any conception of the sensation of looking down almost a mile of nearly perpendicular distance! Imagine that you are looking down a dozen Trinity Church spires, set each to each, or seven or eight Washington Monuments, or four or five Eiffel Towers. A pavement of ice lies at the bottom.. Juts of dusky crag stand out and eye us darkly. A faint murmur rises from a white thread moving off amid the rocky desolation. It is the Klickitat River. That is almost the only noise. Sound seems lost. Even the rocks which we start from a wind-swept point give only one reluctant. clank as they grind the edge of the precipice, and then they vanish, soundless, into the abyss.

Having looked down, let us look around. North, east,. south, west--everything is below our level, except the triple-crowned majesty of Mount Tacoma, eighty miles. northward. A domain for an empire, a circle whose diameter is five hundred miles! Shuksan and Baker on the northern rim, Diamond and the Three Sisters on the southern, Puget Sound and the Lower Columbia with the blue forests of the Coast Range on the western, and the limned purple of the Coeur d'Alênes and Blue Mountains on the east; a maze of mountains and yellow plains and threading streams and sunken lakes! Human habitations are too remote and inconspicuous to be seen, unless that little whitish blur 'way to the southwesterly be Portland.

But now the westering sun and the chill north wind, suddenly rising to whirl the dry snow in our faces, warn us that it is time to descend. Mount Adams is a magnificent coasting-ground. Long snow-fields, mainly ending in easy grades where we can stop without danger, entice even the timid to lean back on their pikestaffs and let go. How we whiz down the steep roof of snow, with alpenstock for rudder and brake, and how the thin wind cuts past us! Only one serious accident has ever happened on this mountain. For pure exhilaration coasting has no equal. In an hour and a half we descend what took eight hours to ascend. And, to crown all, the rest and feast after the toil and triumph!

STATUE OF AVÉROFF, THE GREEK BANKER OF ALEXANDRIA, WHO GAVE THE MONEY FOR THE RESTORATION OF THE STADION Unveiled April 5, 1896, by the Crown Prince Konstantine of Greece

"O King!" said the Crown Prince Konstantine, in his address the opening day of the Festival in Athens, "the International Convention, held in Paris, decided that the Olympic Games should first be celebrated in the land in which they originated and in which they reached such excellence "—therein is contained the history of the Premiers Jeux Olympiques Internationaux. To To bring together the strong, the active, the skilled men of all nations, upon the common ground of physical perfection,

and to have the first of the friendly contests take place in the chief city of the country from which the ideal, of that perfection was derived, was the aim of Coubertin and Bikélas. Through labor and discouragement, led by their President, the Crown Prince Konstantine, the Committee has reached its goal, and may con

gratulate itself upon a great success.

Well might the London "Times," in a leader some time before the Olympic Festival, say: "We are sorry that in this revival England, and especially Oxford and Cambridge, will not be well represented. For most of the contests we could send competitors whom we could trust, and in some of them, as in cricket and boating, we might fairly expect to hold our own against the world. Possibly on the next occasion, in 1900, when the Games are held at Paris, we shall make a better show, but it will poorly compensate us for having missed the first chance. Olympic games at Paris will have a local color of their own, but it will not be that of Olympic games in Greece, and, as Bacon says, the first precedent, if good, is seldom attained by imitation."

The quiet of Holy Week, preceding the seventy-fifth anniversary of the expulsion of the Turk from Greece, intensified the joy natural to the national celebration. The streets of the city on Good Friday night were densely crowded with the processions of the different parishes, and, unless one had come within doors before nine o'clock, it was impossible to walk from square to square. Squads of boys and men preceded the four, sometimes six and eight, priests who held extended above their heads a rectangular V-shaped cloth of silk, upon which the figure of the Saviour, done in embossed work, lay. Each priest carried a large altar-taper, and the men, women, and little children who followed, candles. The figure thus carried, typifying the bier of the Lord, and the funeral marches played by the bands, with the hymns and cries of "Kyrie eleison ! Kyrie eleison !" in a weird, half-chanting tone, presented an extraordinary scene. As every such bier passed, the people on the pavements crossed themselves in the waving manner evidently customary here, unlike the fashion of the Roman Catholics, and rather grand than otherwise. Portions of regiments with reversed arms (as for funerals), schools, and choirs passed in endless numbers, and not until two o'clock was Athens quiet. As one looked over the balcony of the Hotel Angleterre, a diplomat pointed out her Majesty Queen Olga, clad in black, walking incognito and in the very closest crush of the untidy but quietly devout throng, leaning upon the arm of her relative, the Grand Duke Georgius of Russia, betrothed of the Princess Marie. The perfect simplicity and evident unconsciousness of the act quite won one's heart.

Saturday the church bells were tolling, at intervals, all day, and the shops were closed. But the streets seemed to grow fuller and fuller. Easter is, in the Greek Church, rather more than in the Roman, a time of especial demonstrations of joy, and the week ushered in by it this year, having the gayeties of the Independence Day and the open

ing of the Stadion added to it, was exceptionally full of excitement. At twelve o'clock Saturday night the fast of the forty days-no mere form in this country-was over, and in every true Athenian house a meal was prepared upon the return from the services. Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, but, with a rapidity not equaled even by the changes of the New England coast, clouds had gathered by ten o'clock, and it became evident that the ceremony of the unveiling of the statue of Avéroff would have to take place in the rain. But it was nevertheless an interesting event, the effect of which was singularly heightened by the fact that the man whom the Athenian sculptor Brutos had molded is still living, at the age of eighty-two, and had intended to be present. His great age, and the strain of emotion unavoidable upon such an occasion, however, induced him to follow the advice of his physicians and remain in Alexandria. The address of Mons. Philemon, General Secretary of the Olympian Games and a former Mayor of Athens, reviewed the benefactions of the patriotic banker, and formally presented the statue to Athens. It was received by the Crown Prince in a few dignified words, in which he laid stress upon the latest gift of Avéroff-the restoration of the Stadion. Monday morning was beautiful, and the Te Deum in the metropolis, in commemoration of the deliverance from the Turkish invaders, drew great masses of people about the doors and the streets leading to the church. The fine voices of ten men and boys rang out from the choir, without accompaniment, as the royal family entered, the body of the church being filled with a mass of officers, guards, ladies, and servants, men and small children of every class, all standing-Greek churches affording no seats. The chanting of the Chief Priest in this, as in the

would arrive, the magnificent Stadion be opened and the Games begin. In the chief hotels and cafés people scrambled for places, and in a large number of private houses breakfasts were being given and parties arranged to go to the great horseshoe-shaped inclosure.

Only the carriages of the Ministers, Committee, and the officers of state are admitted over the line drawn by the police, and the occupants even of these are obliged to alight before the gate is reached. M. Mataxas, the architect chosen by Avéroff to make the restoration, is, as is fitting, also a Greek by birth. He has spent infinite care and thought and research upon his work, and the result is superb. The sweep of the semicircle, the tiers upon tiers of seats, the double-faced statues, found while

SPYROS LOUIIS

Winner of the Marathon Race

the work was going on, the marble chairs for the King and Queen, in the ancient shape, the hills rising up either side, and now COVered with peoplemake a picture beyond the fancy of the foreigner. Seats are found with little difficulty, those provided for foreign correspondents and the honorary members of the Committee being generously chosen, from among the best. The Royal Family enter, the "Olympiode Ymnoe begins, the composer Samaras directing; the Crown Prince formally presents the Stadion to the King, and requests: him to declare it opened. The King replies: "I proclaim the opening of the First International Olympic Games in Athens. Long live the nation! Long live the Greek people!" and the Games begin. Across the field, in answer to the Herald's trumpet, come two Hungarians, a Chilian, a Frenchman, a German, an Englishman, and an American, to run the 100-meters race. Lane, of the United States, must have felt a sense of responsibility as he took his place, and, if silent sympathy is conveyed in the air, he must also have been impelled by the hopes of his countrymen, who believed in him-and not in vain, for it is the American who arrives first! Cheer upon cheer resounds, in which the Greeks join heartily, for our nation is popular here, thanks to its genial representative at the Court. The starter's shot is fired for the second heat; again it is an American, Curtis, of the Boston Athletic Association, who outdistances a Greek, an Englishman, two Frenchmen, a Dane, and a Hungarian. The third heat, and Burke, of the same Association, wins over a Swede, two Greeks, and three Germans. His time is 114 seconds; Lane's, 12; Curtis's, 12. The first event is over, and the victory in each heat belongs to the United States. The time is posted and the flag unfurled, and Americans examine their list of the day's sports eagerly. The hop, skip, and jump, contested by two Frenchmen, four Germans, one Greek, and by Connolly, of the Boston Athletic Association, is won by Connolly, who makes a distance of 13 meters and 71 centimeters, leaving behind all his fellow-competitors, in amazement, and filling the hearts of his compatriots with joy. He leaves the field amidst a storm of applause, and a little son of an American

professor residing in Athens is unable to repress his delight, and hurrahs in his young voice again and again. In the 800-meter run, next announced, a most beautiful stride is exhibited by the Australian Flack, who wins in 2 minutes 10 seconds in the first heat, and Lermusiaux, of the Paris Racing Club, called a famous runner in France, takes the second, in 2 minutes 163 seconds. No Americans appear in this event. Then comes the throwing of the disk, in which Grisel, of France; Paraskeropulos and Verses, of Greece; Robertson, of England, the well-known thrower of the hammer; Jensen, of Denmark, Sjoeberg, of Sweden, and Garrett, of the United States, are entered. As Garrett arrived in Athens only the night before, and the two Greeks are popular heroes in this national sport, Americans tremble for their country. But unnecessarily. The accustomed cunning of the skillful shot-putter does not forsake him. His second throw rectifies the swerve of his first, and with his last he leaps past the marks of the Greeks and is the winner. Frantic though the enthusiasm of the Princeton and Boston athletes is, proud as are the old and young Harvard men who rush down to the "cave" to greet Garrett, every foreigner feels with the Greeks, who cannot but be keenly disappointed. There is, for a moment, an uncomfortable silence, and then, with their accustomed politeness and never-failing kindliness, they join in the cheers. Let every nation represented at this first international contest in 1896 remember this lesson in courtesy taught them by the Greeks.

"I couldn't have congratulated my opponent if he had beaten me on my own ground, as a Greek fellow down in the cave did me," said an American athlete a few days afterward"and it was a mighty fine thing to do." It was indeed.

Jamison, of Princeton, and Burke again, add to the list of victories and complete the events of the day. Great excitement prevails in the streets all the evening, and timid attempts at an imitation of the college rahrah-rah are made by the Athenian youths. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning are occupied by shooting and fencing contests, the former being opened by the Queen, who fired the first shot. Tuesday afternoon at the Stadion included a hurdle race, run in two heats, won respectively by Grantley Goulding, of England, and Curtis, of the United States, the deciding heat for the prize to be run on Friday. Clark, of the Boston Athletic Association, won the long jump in a distance of 6 meters 35 centimeters, his Greek fellow-competitors showing great possibilities, which all athletes agree will make them formidable in 1900. Putting the shot was Garrett's second victory, his distance being 11 meters 22 centimeters; Gouskos, a superb Greek thrower, being second. The double-hand dumbbell lifting

PRINCESS MARIE OF GREECE

Her betrothal to the Grand Duke Georgius of Russia was announced to the Army by the King on the opening day of the Olympian Games

was won by Jensen, the Dane, who put up 1111⁄2 kilograms; and the single-hand by Elliot, of London, who put up 71 kilograms.

Then came the first and only American loss, their man Blake, the well-known long-distance runner, being second to Flack, the Australian, who did the 1,500-meter race in 4 minutes 33 seconds. Flack's rhythmic swing of arms and feet was a pleasant sight, and his stride, the American athletes say, is like Kilpatrick's, the New York winner.

The day closed with America the victor in four out of seven events. On Wednesday morning the contest with foils was won by Gravelotte, a Frenchman, and in the afternoon, at the Velodrome, at Phaleron, a Frenchman also came first in the bicycle race. The ride, a distance of 100 kilogrammes, was done in 3 hours 8 minutes 19 seconds, by Flameng, who was pluckily followed by two Greeks, one of whom, Kolettes, persisted to the end, though his bicycle broke twice during the course.

Thursday was occupied with swimming matches, in which many fine exhibitions were made, especially by the Greek sailors and the Hungarians; by exhibitions on parallel bars, with rings, etc., at the Stadion, and by a concert in the evening. On Friday, the day of the Marathon race, the crowds from all the provinces increased, and the struggle for food in the hotels and cafés became so uncomfortable that for an hour the doors of the most popular ones near the palace were locked, that those already within might be served. The final course in the hurdlejumping, the first of the events of the afternoon, was won by Curtis, of Boston, over Goulding, of England; leaping with a pole, by Tyler, of Princeton, over Hoyt, of Bostonthe other competitors, Greeks and Germans, retiring before them; the. wrestling by Schumann, of Germany. The runners from Marathon were to leave that place, twenty-four and three-quarter miles away, at exactly two o'clock, and by half-past four the strain of curiosity as to the man first on the road was raised to an unbearable pitch by the rushing of an orderly along the path to tell the King who was first. "Is it a Greek?" the crowd began to shout, and a representative of the chief Athens morning paper left his seat, determined to find out. He returned in about five minutes, his brown eyes dancing, and said, "A Greek, a Greek!" and then arose a tremendous sound. Not even the runner of old who fell dead at

the feet of the King was awaited with keener interest; and as he came up to the gates, a brown-faced, white and blue clad figure, making the countryman's sign of greeting to his Princes, the whole sixty thousand people within and the forty thousand without the gates joined in a loud cry. Either side of him, as he approached the seat of the King, ran the handsome Princes, and as he made his obeisance each flung an arm about him. Greece had indeed won, and every stranger rejoiced with her. There will not soon be a scene like that again. An officer of the war-ship San Francisco, familiar with many lands and who has seen many strange sights, was heard to say that he knew nothing comparable with it. Long may the spontaneous, courteous country live, and long the noble, generous, manly family at its head! May its political life be unified, its resources be developed, its incomparable art treasures be preserved! May it come more closely into touch with the nations of western Europe and America, yet retain untouched its own peculiar character!

And now, what have American athletes learned from this first International Olympic contest? Much. They return undoubtedly the first among the twelve nations represented. They have done their work well and have received the unaffected admiration of their fellow-competitors. They have been charmingly entertained by the Athenians, and more than graciously received by the heads of the Conmittee, the Crown Prince Konstantine, and Prince George, whose unflagging attention to their duties might serve as a model of faithfulness. And from this success, attention, and graciousness they will, as observing Americans, learn two things: one, that as athletes they must look to their laurels in long-distance running; and the other, as men, that they must remember in 1900 and 1904 the pattern of generosity in defeat set them by the Athenians in 1896.

The prizes, diplomas, olive branches, and special vases, cups, etc., were distributed to-day by the King. An ode, in ancient Greek, upon the Olympic Revival was read by Robertson, of Oxford, and several wreaths of laurel were presented by Germans, Hungarians, and Danes to the Crown Prince as President of the International Committee. This evening a soirée is held in the Hotel Grand Bretagne, in honor of the athletes and foreign correspondents and the great festival of joy will be over.

Athens, April 15.

I

F you would know Broadway as it really is, and as it has been for hundreds of summers and winters, rid yourself at once of every association connected with the name, forget utterly every sort of noisy car and truck, sky-scraping building and hurrying crowd, and instead of all these let your mind's eye rest upon the green slopes of the Cotswold Hills, and stretching over them from the westward "the broad and high way for the shepherd's cottes on the mounted wolds, down to the most fruitful vale of Evesham."

The name of this old "bradweia" is now attached to that particular part of it, dipping from the heights upon a wide table-land, whereon clusters the quaintest and most charming of tiny English villages-a genuine bit of Shakespeare's England that has survived precisely as the eyes of the poet may have looked upon it, just by virtue of its own sweet unobtrusiveness. Some of our own artists and great folks have found it out, to be sure, but they share it only with their own elect. The Tourist positively knows it not.

The railway is six good miles behind you when you enter Broadway at the village green, and the wide, smooth trackway stretches up and across the hills before you, whose connection with

the life of the people is more vital than the evident one of forming the prettiest possible background for the gray old houses. The limestone for the buildings came from their own quarries, and enters as well into some of the finest abbeys and cathedrals for miles around; and the water of their clear eternal springs is led into hydrants on the village streets, so numerous as to be within the reach of every inhabitant.

Little remains to tell of the days when it all belonged to the demesne of the Mercian kings, but up on those heights you may find the ruins of more than one British camp, and, climbing to the feudal-looking tower which marks the highest point of the Broadway Beacon, it is easy to picture the scene when bonfires flashed from every peak, one military post taking up the signal from another, and passing it on to the next till

Twelve fair counties saw the blaze

From Malvern's lonely height.

from the year 1200, and now saved from destruction by Mr. Frank Millet, who has annexed it to his garden and taken a part of the building for a studio. It is an odd trick of time to have turned the little oak-paneled oratory, with its traceried window still holding bits of the original painted glass, into this modern workshop, where a scroll of music, a lute, and a broidered gown flung over an ancient carved chair are materials which it would seem an easy thing for any of us to turn into a pretty picture, if, as Gail Hamilton observes, we had only been brought up to it, and had the proper tools! Next to this is the Abbot's private room, the wall of which still retains his "squint," a slit in the stone widening towards the room, through which one may completely overlook the great refectory below. Little by little Mr. Millet is restoring the whole building to its original condition, tearing down false partitions erected in these latter days, scraping whitewash from the oaken timbers, renewing weakened points, and thereby doing good and real service.

More charming than all is the garden outside, in which the priory forms a pretty incident. In that day when my wishes all come true I shall have a garden just like Mrs. Millet's, where every pretty, old-fashioned flower runs riot, tall poppies nod along the paths by hundreds as you pass them by, roses bloom sixty dozen at a time, and, poet or not, you could not but be glad in such a jocund company. One creamy rose has climbed up to peep in at the Abbot's window, but the great company of them are in the more private and secluded precincts of the high-walled garden that surrounds Russell House-the artist's home. Here came Mr. Abbey to end his quest for the Holy Grail; and here Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Sir Henry Irving, and men and women whose names are conjured by, gather together for what looks to be a charmed existence. The

cricket-field is a few paces distant; the tennis-court a little further away, near the kennels of the Broadway hounds; the golf links are easily reached; the lower roads invite to bicycling, and lead to various points of interest, from the ancient tomb of the Washingtons, six miles away, to the healing waters of the Hermit's Spring, and every rod of ground teems with subjects for the painter.

There are perhaps half a score of old Tudor mansions in the village, in the style of Russell House, built of gray limestone, with broad, mullioned windows, pointed gables topped with great balls or carved ornaments of stone, and label moldings and door-heads of true Elizabethan fashion. One of these is the Lygon Arms, an inn since the time of