Some two thousand years age Alexander the Great, having conquered a substantial portion of the world, became big with pride and longed to be delivered of one of his ambitions. He was master of Egypt, and after the fashion of kings, he formed a design to leave behind him a monument forever fixed with his name. Alexander's fancy was of an extremely practical sort, and his project was to found a great city, to bear his name, to keep fresh his memory through the ages, and to pay tribute. The monarch summoned the best architects available, chose a site, subdivided and staked it in the fashion of real-estate visionaries throughout the ages. Had this been the conclusion of the tale Alexander the Great would have taken his place beside Nephew Napoleon and the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers as judge of the value of terra firma.

But a kindly god intervened. As the Emperor slept a gray-bearded ancient appeared to him in a vision. The apparition stood beside the sleeper and spoke these lines:-

An island lies, where loud the billows roar,

Pharos, they call it, on the Egyptian shore.

To Alexander the import of the message was unmistakable, and he insisted on examining Pharos. He found the situation most favorable, and to the infinite exasperation of his architects and engineers, he commanded that the original plans be abandoned, that new be drawn and executed for the island. "Homer," remarked the Emperor Alexander smugly, was a "very good architect, besides his other excellencies." There is more to the story, very dryly told by Plutarch. This morning at eleven Professor Jackson will lecture on Homer from a point of view somewhat more aesthetic than that of the militarist, Alexander.

TODAY

11 O'Clock

"Homer," Professor Jackson, Sever 26.