TRANSLATIONS OF THE PHÆSTOS DISK Two translations of the PhÆstos disk have been put forward. The first is by Professor George Hempl, of Stanford University, U.S.A., and appeared in Harper's Magazine for January, 1911, under the title, 'The Solving of an Ancient Riddle.' The second, by Miss F. Melian Stawell, of Newnham College, appeared in the Burlington Magazine of April, 1911, under the title, 'An Interpretation of the Phaistos Disk.' Both are characterized by considerable ingenuity; but the trouble is that they do not agree in the very least. Professor Hempl maintains that the disk is the record of a dedication of oxen at a shrine in PhÆstos, in atonement of a robbery perpetrated by Cretan sea-rovers on some shrine of the great goddess in Asia Minor. Miss Stawell, on the other hand, believes that the disk is the matrix for casting a pair of cymbals, and that the inscription is the invocation which the worshippers had to chant to the goddess. A comparison of portions of the two renderings will at least show that certainty can scarcely be said to have been reached. Professor Hempl thus renders the opening lines of Face A: 'Lo, Xipho the prophetess dedicates spoils from a spoiler of the prophetess. Zeus, guard us. In silence put aside the most dainty portions of the still unroasted animal. Athene Minerva, be gracious. Silence! The victims have been put to death. Silence!' Compare Miss Stawell's translation of the same lines: 'Lady, 0 hearken! Cunning one! Ah, Queen! I will sing, Lady, oh, thou must deliver! Divine One, mighty Queen! Divine One, Giver of Rain! Lady, Mistress, Come! Lady, be gracious! Goddess, be merciful! Behold, Lady, I call on thee with the clash! Athena, behold, Warrior! Help! Lady, come! Lady—keep silence, I sacrifice—Lady, come!' sant. The interior and west of the country were connected"Bold Neville, Nowadays we have changed all that, and Neville and his skill are as little remembered in Ireland as the military-road cutter in Scotland, of whom, to show that "If you had seen those roads before they W. R. Corridor Train. G. S. & W. R. Corridor Train. A poor Italian boy—Charles Bianconi—who tramped through the country as a print-seller, was the first, in the days of Waterloo, in the south of Ireland, to begin really that healthy competition with the mail-coaches which made straight the way for the Iron Horse. The Great Southern and Western Railway was incorporated in 1845. Mr. Under-Secretary Drummond, the English statesman who got closest to the Irish heart, was identified with the construction of the line. Year after year the Company prospered and increased, gradually absorbing the smaller lines adjoining it until the year 1901, when it amalgamated the only two other systems of broad gauge lines in their district which had remained independent. Practically the two provinces of Munster and Connaught are now knit together by the great network of railway lines which comprise the Great Southern and Western System. The total length is about 1,100 miles. The main line stretches from Dublin, through Cork, to Queenstown, forming the route for the American Mails and the great transatlantic passenger traffic. Branches extend to Waterford, Limerick, Killarney, and Kerry, and every place of importance in the South of Ireland, while in the west the line extends from Tralee, through Limerick, W. R. Dining Carriage. Interior of G. S. & W. R. Dining Carriage. The scenery of Ireland surpasses the most roseate expectations. Within a comparatively small compass her scenic beauties include mountains, lakes, and seas, and it is the good fortune of the Great Southern and Western Company to have within its borders the finest scenery in the country. The "Skies of Erin" have been paid tribute to by artists again and again. Turner said the sun never seemed to set so beautifully anywhere as in Ireland, and Lady Butler, the well-known painter, has expressed the opinion that nowhere, except in the valley of the Nile, does the firmament put forth such varied changes of beauty as in Ireland. To the Gulf Stream, which strikes the south-western coast, scientists attribute the mildness of the climate. From Queenstown to Leenane the coast-line contains countless health resorts, where invalids may be recommended winter quarters as salubrious as many of the continental districts. The sportsman has always found himself at home here. The fine hunting counties of Kildare, Tipperary, Kilkenny, and Waterford are familiar to every son of Nimrod. Shooting and fishing, although the preserves are not so many or so well kept as in Scotland, may be called the staple sports of Ireland. Golf has come to stay, and within recent years links have been laid in the vicinity of most of the tourist districts. One word for Irish industries will not be out of place. Ireland has no industries in the sense in which England has. With the exception of Belfast, there is no place in the country which approaches to a factory town in the sense in which that phrase is understood across the channel. Agriculture, of course, is the backbone of Ireland, and in connection with it the creamery system of the south may be mentioned. Anyone anxious to find a line of industry in Ireland which has beaten the Dane in his own market should visit Cleeves' famous factory at Limerick. The woollen industry in the country has withstood destructive legislature, and a typical example of modern success is the great tweed factory of Morroghs, at Douglas, County Cork. The Blarney tweeds have become a household word, but Douglas is shouldering them in the keen competition for public recognition. The great bacon-curing houses of Denny, at Waterford, are well worth seeing, as is also the thriving wholesome Co-operative Factory at Tralee. In Dublin the mammoth brewery of Guinness and Sons can be viewed under the conductorship of a servant of the firm employed for the sole purpose of showing visitors through the great concern. But it is the lesser industries in Ireland which are really attractive. The law of the survival of the fittest stands to these—the homespuns woven in the cottages, the beautiful Dublin poplin, the delicate lace of Youghal and Limerick, the exquisite pottery of Belleek, these good things are beyond compare. Sackville-street Photo—Lawrence, Dublin. 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