H E A T H E N

M Y T H O L O G Y :

I L L U S T R A T E D

BY EXTRACTS FROM THE MOST CELEBRATED WRITERS, BOTH ANCIENT
AND MODERN, ON THE
GODS OF GREECE, ROME, INDIA, SCANDINAVIA, ETC. ETC.

AND EMBELLISHED WITH

NEARLY TWO HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS.

AFTER DESIGNS BY M. BARON.

L O N D O N :
W I L L O U G H B Y & C O. , 2 2 , W A R W I C K L A N E ;
AND 26, SMITHFIELD.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLOUGHBY & CO., 26, SMITHFIELD.

P R E F A C E.

———

Upon a subject which has occupied the thoughts, and employed the pens of our most profound thinkers, and our ablest writers, it is perhaps difficult to say much that is likely to interest the reader, without the chance of being irksome from its proving a thrice told tale: and yet the subject is in itself so interesting, and so intimately connected with all that is most fascinating to our remembrances, and so blended with all that reminds us of departed greatness, that it is scarcely possible to pass it coldly by, or to speak in the language of others those ideas which excite our own imaginations.

There was something very pleasing and very poetical in the thought, that each river had its nymph, and every wood its god: that a visible power watched over even the domestic duties of the people, ready to punish or reward; and that, too in a manner so strange and immediate, that it must have greatly affected their minds in stimulating to good, or deterring from evil. They were, indeed, the days of "visible poetry;" the "young hunter," in the pursuit of his favourite sport, might image to his mind the form and figure of Diana, accompanying him in the chase, not perhaps without a holy fear lest she should become visible to him, and the fate of Acteon should prove to be his.

The lover, as he sought the presence of his mistress, might, in his enamoured idea of her beauty, fancy that his idolatry was a real one, and that he wooed Venus in the form of a mortal: or, in the tremor which then as now pervaded the lover's bosom, he might fear that Jove himself would prove a rival, and, swan-like, or in some other as picturesque a form, win her he sought for his own: and thus, every class of society, from the patrician to the peasant, must have been imbued with feelings which, while they believed them to be religious, we regard but as poetical.

Leigh Hunt, who has said many things upon Mythology, quite as beautiful as his subject, remarks:—

"From having a different creed of our own, and always encountering the Heathen Mythology in a poetical and fabulous shape, we are apt to have a false idea of the religious feeling of the ancients. We are in the habit of supposing, that they regarded their fables in the same poetical light as ourselves; that they could not possibly put faith in Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto; in the sacrifice of innocent turtle doves, the libation of wine, and the notions about Tartarus and Ixion.

"The greatest pleasure arising to a modern imagination from the ancient Mythology, is in a mingled sense of the old popular belief, and of the philosophical refinements upon it. We take Apollo, and Mercury and Venus, as shapes that existed in popular credulity, as the greater fairies of the ancient world: and we regard them, at the same time, as personifications of all that is beautiful and genial in the forms and tendencies of creation. But the result, coming, as it does too, through avenues of beautiful poetry, both ancient and modern, is so entirely cheerful, that we are apt to think it must have wanted gravity to more believing eyes. Every forest, to the mind's eye of a Greek, was haunted with superior intelligences. Every stream had its presiding nymph, who was thanked for her draught of water. Every house had its protecting gods which had blessed the inmate's ancestors; and which would bless him

also, if he cultivated the social affections: for the same word which expressed piety towards the Gods, expressed love towards relations and friends. If in all this there was nothing but the worship of a more graceful humanity, there may be worships much worse as well as better.

"Imagine the feelings with which an ancient believer must have gone by the oracular oaks of Dodona, or the calm groves of the Eumenides, or the fountain where Proserpine vanished under ground with Pluto; or the laurelled mountain Parnassus, on the side of which was the temple of Delphi, where Apollo was supposed to be present in person. Imagine Plutarch, a devout and yet a liberal believer, when he went to study theology and philosophy at Delphi: with what feelings must he not have passed along the woody paths of the hill, approaching nearer every instant to the presence of the divinity, and not sure that a glance of light through the trees was not the lustre of the god himself going by. This is mere poetry to us, and very fine it is; but to him it was poetry, and religion, and beauty, and gravity and hushing awe, and a path as from one world to another."

G. Moir Bussey has also observed, with much elegance and feeling:—"The Mythology of the Ancients is one long romance in itself, full of poetry and passion—a mysterious compound of supernatural wonders and of human thoughts and feelings. It entrances us by its marvels in childhood; and in manhood we ponder over it, if not with the same rapturous delight as formerly, yet at least with such a sense of pleasure as that inspired by the perusal of a magnificent poem—the product of immortal mind—refreshing, invigorating, exalting. Beauty and strength—the might of man, and the majesty and sublimity of the misunderstood intelligences of the godhead, not only constituted the worship of the Greeks of old, but governed their lives, their actions, their laws, and the very aspirations of their hearts. They aimed at excellence in the highest, in order that their statues might be installed in their national temples as

those of demi-gods, and the struggle brought them sufficient knowledge and energy to win deathless renown among men. All that they achieved, all that they meditated, bespeaks the soaring of a race bent upon conquering every obstacle—natural or artificial—which stood between them and absolute perfection, whether in legislation, in philosophy, in art, in science, in literature, in poetry, in war, or in dominion."

The reality of an every day world has now set its seal upon all that delighted the days of our youth, and would even arouse us from our reveries on this most charming of subjects: we will conclude with the words of Barry Cornwall—

"Oh! ye delicious fables, where the wave,

And wood, were peopled; and the air, with things

So lovely—why, ah! why has science grave

Scattered afar your secret imaginings?

Why seared the delicate flowers that genius gave,

And dash the diamond drops from fancy's wings.

Alas! the spirit languishes and lies

At mercy of life's dull realities.

"No more by well or bubbling fountain clear

The Naiad dries her tresses in the sun,

Nor longer may we in the branches hear

The Dryad talk, nor see the Oread run

Along the mountains, nor the Nereid steer

Her way among the waves when day is done.

Shadows nor shape remain—"

H E A T H E N M Y T H O L O G Y.

I N T R O D U C T I O N.

In the earlier part of the history of nations, Mythology has always been found to exist; imaginary beings have been adored, and a system of worship established, which, though imperfect in itself, was satisfactory to those, who, looking beyond the abstract circumstance of its idolatry, discovered the grand truth, that however rude, and however barbarous the people, there was a principle evidently acknowledged in their actions, of the necessity of a supreme being; and a feeling, of which they could not dispossess themselves, that a divine being watched over, and was the rewarder of their good, or the punisher of their evil deeds.

The priests of Phœnicia and Egypt were the origin of the elements of this profane faith, and through their means, its transmission may be traced to the Greeks, who, after adopting, purified, or at least assisted in greatly refining it, before its reception by the Romans who multiplied their Gods in about the same degree that their vices increased; while their armies, which overran the

world, doubtless gave to the Scandanavians and the Gauls their ideas of the faith of Odin; and the fables of the Hindoos, and those of the American people, must be ascribed to the same source.

It has been with many an endeavour to trace, in the mythologies of various nations, a resemblance to the more holy histories of our own faith; and they assert that, in many of the fables with which we are familiar, are to be traced the types or symbols of part of that revelation which is the ground-work of our own belief. But this is, at best, so vague and shadowy, that its inculcators get lost in their own inventions, and their followers scarcely comprehend the assertions they are called on implicitly to believe. With this we have nothing to do; the object of the present work being the endeavour to offer a brief and succinct history of those Gods whose adventures have created most interest, and by means of them to give an additional zest to the perusal of the great poets and writers of antiquity, whose works are either founded on these actual adventures, or abound with allusions to them, and without the knowledge of which, it may be asserted, that the mind is scarcely able to do justice to them any more than to modern writers, since the works of the latter teem with images drawn from classical subjects. Nor indeed is this to be wondered at, when we consider the various subjects connected with fable; and in this view of our subject we are borne out by a distinguished writer in the following elegant remarks:

"Men of a phlegmatic disposition," observes Dr. Turner, "or of a censorious temper, never cease to rail against the delightful fictions with which Homer and Hesiod, and their poetical imitators, have enriched and embellished their works; but although these fictions did not contain many useful instructions, and important truths, would there be any reason to attack and destroy a system, which peoples and animates nature, and which makes a solemn temple of the vast universe? These flowers, whose varied and shining beauty you so much admire, are the tears of Aurora. It is the breath of Zephyrus which gently agitates the leaves. The soft murmurings of the waters are the sighs of the Naiades. A god impels the wind; a god pours out the rivers; grapes are the gift of Bacchus; Ceres presides over the harvest; orchards are the care of Pomona. Does a shepherd sound his reed on the summit of a mountain, it is Pan, who with his pastoral pipe returns the amorous lay.

"When the sportsman's horn rouses the attentive ear, it is Diana, armed with her bow and quiver, and more nimble than the stag that she pursues, who takes the diversion of the chase. The sun is a god, who, riding in a car of fire, diffuses his light through the world; the stars are so many divinities, who measure with their golden beams the regular progress of time; the moon presides over the silence of night, and consoles the world for the absence of her brother. Neptune reigns in the sea, surrounded by the Naiades, who dance to the joyous shells of the Tritons. In the highest heaven is seated Jupiter, master and father of men and gods. Under his feet roll the thunders, in the caverns of Etna, forged by the Cyclops; his smile rejoices nature; and his nods shakes the foundation of Olympus. Surrounding the throne of their sovereign, the other divinities quaff nectar, from a cup presented them by the young and beautiful Hebe. In the middle of the great circle shines, with distinguished lustre, the unrivalled beauty of Venus, alone adorned with a splendid girdle in which the Graces for ever play, and in her hand is a smiling boy whose power is universally acknowledged by heaven and earth. Sweet illusions of the fancy! pleasing errors of the mind! what objects of pity are those cold and insensible hearts who have never felt your charms! and what objects of pity and indignation those fierce and savage spirits, who would destroy a world that has so long been the treasury of the arts! a world, imaginary indeed, but delightful, and whose ideal pleasures are so well fitted to compensate for the real troubles and miseries of the world in which we live."

If we turn to a still higher authority (and we acknowledge that the subject has been treated of so often and in so masterly a style by men of whom the world was scarcely worthy, that we are willing rather to present their mature opinions, than to obtrude our own) we shall find that Lord Bacon treats upon the subject in a manner which maintains his high character as a profound thinker. "I am not ignorant," he says, "how uncertain fiction is, and how liable to be wrested to this or that sense, nor how prevalent wit and discourse are, so as ingeniously to apply such meanings as were not thought of originally; but let not the follies and license of a few lessen the esteem due to parables; for that would be profane and bold, since religion delights in such veils and shadows: but, reflecting on human wisdom, I ingenuously confess my real opinion is, that

mystery and allegory were from the original intended in many fables of the ancient poets, this appears apt and conspicuous to me; whether ravished with a veneration for antiquity, or because I find such coherence in the similitude with the things signified, in the very texture of the fable, and in the propriety of the names which are given to the persons or actors in the fables; and no man can positively deny that this was the sense proposed from the beginning, and industriously veiled in this manner.... No one should be moved, if he sometimes finds any addition for the sake of history, or by way of embellishment; or if chronology should happen to be confounded, or if part of one fable should be transferred to another, and a new allegory introduced: for these were all necessary, and to be expected, seeing they are the inventions of men of different ages, and who writ to different ends; some with a view to the nature of things and others to civil affairs. We have another sign, and that no small one, of this hidden sense which we have been speaking of, which is that some of these fables are in the narration so foolish and absurd, that they seem to claim a parable at a distance. Such as are probable may be feigned for amusement, and in imitation of history; but where no such designs appear, but they seem to be what none would imagine or relate, they must be calculated for other uses. What has a great weight with me is, that many of these fables seem not to be invented by those who have related them, Homer, Hesiod, and other writers; for were they the fictions of that age and of those who delivered them down to us, nothing great and exalted, according to my opinion, could be expected from such an origin; but if any one will deliberate on this subject attentively, these will appear to be delivered and related as what were before believed and received, and not as tales then first invented and communicated; besides, as they are told in different manners, by authors of almost the same times, they are easily perceived to be common, and derived from old tradition, and are various only from the additional embellishments diverse writers have bestowed on them.... The wisdom of the ancients was either great or happy, great if these figures were the fruits of their industry; and happy if they looked no further, that they have afforded matter and occasion so worthy of contemplation."

T H E D I V I N I T I E S O F F A B L E.

———

The stars were the first recipients of the homage of mankind; and thus Heaven is the most ancient of the Gods. As the world increased they deified heroes.

The Gods of the ancients were divided into many classes. The principal, or Gods of the first order, amounted to twenty, viz:—Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, Ceres, Mercury, Minerva, Vesta, Apollo, Diana, Venus, Mars, Vulcan, Destiny, Saturn, Genius, Pluto, Bacchus, Love, Cybele, and Proserpine. Besides these more important ones, they had others, such as Chaos; which did not belong to any particular class, and which were not the object of any faith.

"Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball,

And Heaven's high canopy, that covers all,

One was the face of nature—if a face;

Rather a rude and indigested mass;

A lifeless lump, unfashioned and unframed,

Of jarring seeds; and justly Chaos named.

No sun was lighted up, the world to view;

No moon did yet her blunted horns renew;

Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky;

Nor poised, did on her own foundations lie;

Nor seas about their shores the arms had thrown;

But earth, and air, and water were in one.

Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable,

And waters dark abyss unnavigable.

No certain form on any was imprest;

All were confused, and each disturbed the rest.

For hot and cold were in one body fix'd;

And soft with hard, and light with heavy mix'd.

But God, or Nature, while they thus contend,

To these intestine discords put an end:

Then earth from air, and seas from earth were driven,

And grosser air sunk from ethereal Heaven.

The force of fire ascended first on high,

And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky:

Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire;

Whose atoms from unactive earth retire.

Earth sinks beneath, and draws a numerous throng

Of ponderous, thick, unwieldy seeds along.

About her coasts unruly waters roar,

And, rising on a ridge, insult the shore.

Thus when the God, whatever God was he,

Had formed the whole, and made the parts agree,

That no unequal portions might be found,

He moulded earth into a spacious round:

Then, with a breath, he gave the winds to blew;

And bade the congregated waters flow:

He adds the running springs, and standing lakes,

And bounding banks for winding rivers makes.

Some part in earth are swallowed up; the most

In ample oceans disembogued, are lost:

He shades the woods, the valleys he restrains

With rocky mountains, and extends the plains.

And as five zones the ethereal regions bind,

Five, correspondent, are to earth assigned:

The sun with rays, directly darting down,

Fires all beneath, and fries the middle zone:

The two beneath the distant poles, complain

Of endless winter, and perpetual rain."

Ovid.

Chaos is often mentioned in the history of the Gods, but seems only to have had a momentary reign. He is the most ancient of all, for he presided over the elements that composed the universe. He is usually represented at the moment that he assigned to each element its place. To create the light of day, he repelled all the dark and thick clouds, and then formed the zodiac, glittering with stars above his head.

The poetic idea of Chaos is found in sacred history, in the creation, as well as in all mythology, where we see the names of Bramah, Vishnu, and Siva.

U R A N U S , O R H E A V E N.

———

Uranus, or Heaven, was the Day. Espousing his sister Titæa, from their union sprang the Titans, those giants of antiquity who occupy so important a position in the annals of Fable. Of these children of the earth the principal were Titan, Saturn, and Hyperion, of the males; whilst among the females were comprised Thea, Rhea, Themis, and Mnemosyne. After this Titæa bore the Cyclops, three of whom became servants to Vulcan, forging, under his direction, the thunderbolts of the great Jove; while the remainder wandered around the coast, leading the lives of shepherds.

"Three sons are sprung from Heaven and Earth's embrace,

The Cyclops bold, in heart a haughty race,

Brontes and Steropes, and Arges brave,

Who to the hands of Jove the thunder gave;

They for almighty power did lightning frame,

All equal to the gods themselves in fame;

One eye was placed (a large round orb, and bright)

Amidst their forehead to receive the light;

Hence were they Cyclops called."

Hesiod.

Uranus, however, as time passed, began to fear lest the offspring, which rose to such gigantic strength, should dethrone him; and by his power he threw them down an abyss, into which the light of day could never penetrate. This tyranny, however, only ripened the spirit of rebellion which he feared, and their frightful confinement but urged them to greater efforts to escape. They all arose against him, but were compelled to yield after a desperate struggle

for supremacy; while rebellion brought its accustomed curse in heavier chains and more rigorous captivity, to all save Saturn, who, led by ambition and vengeance, and assisted by his mother in his schemes, dethroned his sire, usurped his empire, and delivered his brethren.

The defeated monarch fell beneath his son's parricidal hand; and from the blood thus shed sprang the Giants and the Furies, rendering fruitful also the foam of the sea, of which was born Venus Aphrodite.

S A T U R N.

———

By right of succession the sceptre of Uranus belonged to Titan, the eldest of the sons of the murdered monarch.

—— "Titan, heaven's first born,

With his enormous brood, and birthright seized

By younger Saturn; he from mightier Jove

His own and Rhea's son like measure found

* * * * * *

—— Or who with Saturn old

Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields,

And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles."

Milton.

Compelled to renounce his claim in favour of Saturn, who delivered them all from their confinement; but with the condition that whatever children might be born to him, should be destroyed. Saturn, faithful to his promise, swallowed, at their birth, all the male children brought to him by his wife Cybele. But a mother's yearning for her offspring, appears to have filled even the breast of a goddess; and when delivered of Jupiter and Juno, she placed a stone instead of the newly-born, in the arms of the god, habited in an infant's dress.

—— "Jealous of the infant's future power,

A stone the mother gave him to devour;

Greedy he seized the imaginary child,

And swallowed heedless, by the dress beguiled;

Nor thought the wretched god of aught to fear,

Nor knew the day of his disgrace was near;

Invincible remains his Jove alive,

His throne to shake, and from his kingdom drive

The cruel parent; for to him 'tis given

To rule the gods, and mount the throne of heaven."

Hesiod.

Saturn devoured this, as he had the previous offerings; and emboldened by her success, Cybele delivered in the same manner Pluto and Neptune, and afterwards, by administering a potion, compelled him to yield up those he had already swallowed. Jupiter, the first whom the Goddess had saved by her artifice, was brought up secretly in the Isle of Crete, by the Corybantes, or warrior priests, who, making a deafening noise with their drums and cymbals, prevented for a period the cries of the infant from reaching the ears of Titan: when, however, the latter discovered, as he eventually did, that his hopes had been deceived, and his

agreement broken, he assembled an army, marched against Saturn, (who by this time was made aware of the deception, but refused to destroy his children), took him prisoner, and threw him into Tartarus, from whence he was delivered by Jupiter, and replaced upon his throne. But the fears of Saturn rendered him ungrateful to his deliverer, for Destiny having prophesied that Saturn should be dethroned by his son, the God attacked Jupiter in ambush, and finished, by declaring open war against him. Jupiter, however, again proved conqueror, chasing from heaven his father and his king, who took refuge in that part of Italy known as Latium; Janus, monarch of this city of refuge, succoured and received him, and Saturn, to recompense his hospitality, granted to him the gift of memory, and of looking into the future. From this cause, Janus is represented with a double face. The time which Saturn passed on earth is known as the age of gold.

"Ere Saturn's rebel son usurped the skies;

When beasts were only slain in sacrifice;

While peaceful Crete enjoyed her ancient lord;

Ere sounding hammers forged the inhuman sword;

Ere hollow drums were beat; before the breath

Of brazen trumpets rung the peals of death,

The good old God his hunger did assuage

With roots and herbs, and gave the golden age."

Virgil.

———

"The Golden age was first; when man yet new,

No rule but uncorrupted reason knew,

And with a native bent did good pursue!

Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear,

His words were simple, and his soul sincere.

Needless was written law, when none oppressed,

The law of man was written in his breast;

No suppliant crowds before the judge appeared,

No court erected yet, nor cause was heard;

But all was safe, for conscience was their guard:

The mountain trees in distant prospects please,

Ere yet the pine descended to the seas;

Ere sails were spread new oceans to explore,

And happy mortals unconcerned for more,

Confined their wishes to their native shore:

No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor mound,

Nor drum was heard, nor trumpets' angry sound;

Nor swords were forged, but void of care or crime,

The soft creation slept away their time;

The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough,

And unprovoked did fruitful stores allow;

Content with food, which nature freely bred,

On wildings and on strawberries they fed:

The flowers unsown in fields and meadows reigned,

And western winds immortal spring maintained;

In following years the bearded corn ensued,

From earth unasked, nor was that earth renewed;

From veins of valleys, milk and nectar broke,

And honey sweating thro' the pores of oak."

Ovid.

From the gaieties and fêtes which then took place arose the name of Saturnalia, or fêtes of Saturn, which lasted three, four, and five days, and took place in December. All work was stayed, friend interchanged gifts with friend, the preparations for war and the execution of criminals were alike suspended, while masters waited on their slaves at table, in remembrance of the ideas of liberty and equality, which existed in ancient days.

Janus was represented supported by a staff, with a key in his hand, as he was believed to be the inventor of doors and of locks. From his name came the month of January. He worshipped at twelve altars, to represent the twelve months; and wore occasionally four faces, as tokens of the four seasons of the year. At Rome, in which his temple was placed, it was open in the time of war, and shut during that of peace.

Saturn, or Time, is represented sometimes on a flying chariot, and sometimes on a throne, under the figure of an old and bearded man, severe in aspect, thin and yet robust, his eyes marked by a stern light; a veil on his head, and a serpent round his waist; while in his hand he carries a harp. In later times he is represented with a scythe.

"Unfathomable sea! whose waves are years;

Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe

Are brackish with the salt of human tears;

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow

Claspest the limits of mortality!

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,

Vomitest wrecks on its inhospitable shore.

Treacherous in calm and terrible in storm,

Who shall put forth on thee,

Unfathomable sea?"

Shelley.

With his scythe and with his wings, our eyes are familiar, as, to the present day, he is never drawn without these accompaniments.

"To one that marks the quick and certain round

Of year on year, and finds that every day

Brings its grey hair, or bears a leaf away

From the full glory with which life is crowned,

Ere youth becomes a shade, and fame a sound:

Surely to one that feels his foot on sand

Unsure, the bright and ever visible hand

Of Time, points far above the lowly bound

Of pride that perishes: and leads the eye

To loftier objects and diviner ends;

A tranquil strength, sublime humility,

A knowledge of ourselves, a faith in friends,

A sympathy for all things born to die,

With cheerful love for those whom truth attends."

Laman Blanchard.

This fable is easy of explanation. Time is the child of heaven and earth; he has wings because he flies rapidly, a scythe because he destroys all, an hour-glass to measure his course equally; and the serpent is the symbol of eternity, which has neither a beginning nor an end. He slew his father, because, the world and time once created, he could exist no longer; he devoured his infants because time destroys all, and he threw them from his stomach because time returns with the years and days; and this part of the fable is also an image of the operations which nature accomplishes under the influence of time. He did not devour Jupiter, as he represents the celestial regions, nor Juno, she being the prototype of the air: Time, mighty and all-destroying as he is, having no influence over the elements.

C Y B E L E , V E S T A.

———

This goddess was the daughter of Uranus, being the sister and wife of Saturn. As soon as she was born, she was exposed on a mountain, but being preserved and suckled by some of the wild beasts of the forest, she received the name of Cybele from the mountain where her life had been preserved. She is called also the ancient Vesta, to distinguish her from her daughter Vesta, who, with her mother, is also called Cybele. But the Deity of whom we now write is the earth, and is easy to distinguish from her daughter. In several temples of the ancients, the statues of Cybele were only a piece of stone, meant to represent the stability of the earth.

This great Goddess saw and became enamoured of a shepherd, who repulsed her affection, being in love with a mortal nymph; and rather than submit to the tyrannical passion of Cybele, he is said to have destroyed himself, and the goddess metamorphosed him into a pine-tree.

In the mythology of every country, this Deity is found, though under various names. She is represented with keys in her hand, her head crowned with rising turrets, and sometimes with the leaves

of an oak. She is also seen with many breasts, to intimate that the earth gives aliment to all living creatures.

To her daughter, who presided over the fiery element, Numa Pompilius consecrated an altar, where virgins, named Vestals, maintained perpetual fire. At Delphi and at Athens the priestesses were not virgins, as at the other temples, but widows who were past the time of marriage.

It was the employment of the Vestals to take care that the sacred fire of Vesta was not extinguished, for if it ever happened, it was deemed the prognostic of great calamities to the state: the offender was punished for negligence, and severely scourged by the high priest. The privileges of the Vestals were great: they had the most honourable seats at the public games and festivals, a lictor preceded them when they walked in public; they were carried in chariots when they pleased, and had the power of pardoning criminals if they encountered them on the way to execution, and the meeting was declared to be purely accidental.

Such of them as forgot their vow, were placed in a large hole under the earth, where a bed was placed, with a little bread, wine,

oil, and a lighted lamp: the guilty Vestal was stripped of the habit of her order, and compelled to descend into the subterranean cavity, which was immediately shut, and she was left to die of hunger.

Vestal. Spare me! oh spare!

Priest. Speak not, polluted one.

Vestal. Yet spare me!

Priest. Thou pleadst in vain—thy destiny is fixed.

Vestal. Mercy—oh! mercy; tho' my sin be great,

Life is so beautiful I cannot die;

And earth seems smiling with intenser light,

And flowers give forth an odour ever new,

The stars look brighter still than when of old

I watched them fading from the mountain top:

Earth, sky and air, are all so beautiful,

I cannot, dare not, will not, think of death!

Priest. It is thy doom! thy living grave is near.

Thou hast despoiled the Goddess of her due,

The vow thou gavest to her thou hast broken,

And thou must pay the awful penalty!

Vestal. The grave—a living grave—thou meanst it not—

To ope my eyes in th' ever during dark,

To breathe a thick and frightful atmosphere,

Drawn from my sighs and dampened with my tears!

Priest. The Gods demand their victim!

Vestal. 'Tis blasphemy to think it;

Oh! if thou ever knew'st a father's love,

A mother's sigh, a sister's soft caress,

If but one human sympathy be left,

Pardon, oh! pardon!

Priest. Cling not around me, girl, touch, touch me not;

The power to pardon lieth not in man.

Thy hour hath come.

Vestal, (clasping him). I will not quit thee;

Thou art a man with human sympathies;

Madness will touch my brain; I cannot, will not yield.

Grant me some other death: poison or steel,

Or aught that sends me suddenly from earth;

But to be wrapt in clay, and yet not of it,

To feel the earth crumbling around my brow,

To scent its foul and noisome atmosphere,

Is more than frail mortality can bear.

Anon.

J U P I T E R.

———

The nymphs of mount Ida, to whom Cybele had confided her son, educated him with great care; but his cries being likely to call the attention of Saturn and Titan, the priests invented a dance accompanied with noise, called the Dactyl, in which they interchanged blows on steel bucklers. His nourishment was received from a goat, who was afterwards placed among the heavenly constellations, having given his skin to form a shield, and one of his horns, which was presented to the nymphs, and named the Horn of Plenty. As Jupiter emerged from infancy, we have seen he had to strive with the Titans, who disputed with him the right to reign in Heaven.

The first of their feats was to heap mountain on mountain in order to scale the walls of Heaven; they then threw fragments of rocks and burning trees against "high Olympus."

"But vainly came Typhæus on,