I have entitled this work “The Unpublished Legends of Virgil,” which may be called a contradiction in terms, since it is now given in type. But it is the only succinct title of which I can think which expresses its real nature, and separates it from the earlier collections of such tales, the latest of which was issued by Mr. D. Nutt.

And, finally, I would remark with some hesitation in advancing so strange an idea, that in all the legends which I have gathered, I find persistence in a very rude and earlier faith, which the Græco-Roman religion and Christianity itself, instead of destroying, seem to have simply strengthened. Indeed, there are remote villages in Italy in which Catholicism in sober truth has come down to sorcery, or gradually conformed to it, not only in form, but in spirit; from which I conclude that, till science pur et simple shall be all-prevalent, the oldest and lowest cults will exist among those whose minds are adapted to them. And as Edward Clodd, the President of the Folklore Society, has clearly shown, [0d] there are thousands, even among the highly-educated in Europe, who really belong to these old believers.

There will come a day, and that not very far off, when the last traces of these strange semi-spiritual-romantic or classic traditions will have vanished from the people, and then what has been recorded will be sought for and studied with keenest interest, and conclusions drawn from it of which we have no conception. To some of us they are even now only as

“Departing sunbeams, loth to stop,
Still smiling on the mountain-top.”

To the vast majority even of the somewhat educated world, collecting such lore is like sending frigates to watch eclipses and North Pole explorations, and the digging up old skulls in Neanderthals—that is, a mere fond waste of money and study to no really useful purpose. There is a law of evolution which is so strictly and persistently carried out, that it would seem as if the mocking devil, who, according to the Buddhists, is the real head of the Universe, had it in his mind to jeer mankind thereby—and it is that the work of man in the past shall perish rapidly, and those who seek vestigia rerum shall have as little material as possible, even as dreams flit. So the strife goes ever on, chiefly aided by the ignorant, who “take no interest” in the past; and so it will be for some time to come. I have often observed that in Italy, as in all countries, children and peasants take pleasure in destroying old vases and the like, even when they could sell them at a profit; and there is something of the same spirit among all people regarding things which they do not understand. Blessed are they who do something in their generation to teach to the many the true value of all which conduces to culture or science! Blessed be they who save up anything for the future, “and they shall be blest” by wiser men to come! The primeval savages who heaped up vast koken middens, or thousands of tons of oyster-shells and bones, did not know that they were writing history; but they did it. Perhaps the wisest of us will be as savages to those who are to come, as they in turn will be to later men.

THE STORY OF ROMOLO AND REMOLO.

“In quei buon tempi, ne i primi principii del Mondo, dicon li Poeti che gli uomini e le Bestie facevano tutti una medesima vita. . . . E che sia il vero ch’ eglino s’ impastassino del feroce, como loro, e s’ incorporassino, leggete di Romolo e Remulo i quali si pascevon di latte di lupa. Ecco già che divennero in opera lupi ingordissimi, e voraci.”—La Zucca del Doni Fiorentino, 1607.

There was of old a King who had a beautiful wife, and also two children, twins, who were exactly alike. This King was named Romo and his wife Roma, and the children were called Romolo and Remolo.

Now, it came to pass that the Queen and her twins, both as yet sucklings (ancora poppanti), were besieged in a castle when the King was far away. The enemy had sworn to kill the whole royal family and to extirpate the kingly race.

Now, when the Queen was in sore distress, seeing death close upon her, there came to her a wizard, who said: