couple from coming into your waters." The powers of the ocean assented, and consequently the two constellations of the Great and Little Bear move round and round in heaven, but never sink, as the other stars do, beneath the ocean.

Milton alludes to the fact that the constellation of the Bear never sets, when he says:

"Let my lamp at midnight hour

Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,” etc.

And Prometheus, in Lowell's poem, says:

"One after one the stars have risen and set,
Sparkling upon the hoar frost of my chain;
The Bear that prowled all night about the fold
Of the North-star hath shruken into his den,
Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn."

The last star in the tail of the Little Bear is the Pole-star, called also the Cynosure. Milton says:

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
While the landscape round it measures.

Towers and battlements it sees

Bosomed high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some beauty lies

The Cynosure of neighboring eyes."

The reference here is both to the Pole-star as the guide of mariners, and to the magnetic attraction of the North. He calls it also the “Star of Arcady," because Callisto's boy was named Arcas, and they lived in Arcadia. In Comus, the brother, benighted in the woods, says:

Some gentle taper!

Though a rush candle, from the wicker hole

Of some clay habitation, visit us

With thy long levelled rule of streaming light,
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady
Or Tyrian Cynosure."

DIANA AND ACTAEON.

Thus, in two instances, we have seen Juno's severity to her rivals; now let us learn how a virgin goddess punished an invader of her privacy.

It was midday, and the sun stood equally distant from either goal, when young Actaeon, son of King Cadmus, thus addressed the youths who with him were hunting the stag in the mountains:

66

Friends, our nets and our weapons are wet with the blood of our victims; we have had sport enough for one day, and tomorrow we can renew our labors. Now, while Phoebus parches the earth, let us put by our implements and indulge ourselves with rest. ""

There was a valley thickly enclosed with cypresses and pines, sacred to the huntress queen, Diana. In the extremity of the valley was a cave, not adorned with art, but nature had counterfeited art in its construction, for she had turned the arch of its roof with stones as delicately fitted as if by the hand of man. A fountain burst out from one side, whose open basin was bounded by a grassy rim. Here the goddess of the woods used to come when weary with hunting and lave her virgin limbs in

the sparkling water.

One day, having repaired thither with her nymphs, she handed her javelin, her quiver, and her bow to one, her robe to another, while the third unbound the sandals from her feet. Then Crocale, the most skilful of them, arranged her hair, and Nephele, Hyale, and the rest drew water in capacious urns. While the goddess was thus employed in the labors of the toilet, behold Actaeon, having quitted his companions, and rambling without any especial object, came to the place, led thither by his destiny. As he presented himself at the entrance of the cave, the nymphs, seeing a man, screamed and rushed toward the goddess to hide her with their bodies. But she was taller than the rest and overtopped them all by a head. Such a color as tinges the clouds at sunset or at dawn came over the countenance of Diaña, thus taken by surprise. Surrounded as she was by her nymphs, she yet turned half away, and sought with a sudden impulse for her As they were not at hand, she dashed the water into the

arrows.

face of the intruder, adding these words: "Now go and tell, if you can, that you have seen Diana unapparelled." Immediately a pair of branching stag's horns grew out of his head, his neck gained in length, his ears grew sharp-pointed, his hands became

feet, his arms long legs, his body was covered with a hairy, spotted hide. Fear took the place of his former boldness, and the hero fled. He could not but admire his own speed; but when he saw his horns in the water, Ah, wretched me!" he would have said, but no sound followed the effort. He groaned, and tears flowed Bulfinch-5

66

down the face which had taken the place of his own. Yet his consciousness remained. What shall he do?-go home to seek the palace or lie hid in the woods? The latter he was afraid, the former he was ashamed to do. While he hesitated the dogs saw him. First Melampus, a Spartan dog, gave the signal with his bark, then Pamphagus, Dorceus, Lelaps, Theron, Nape, Tigris, and all the rest rushed after him, swifter than the wind. Over rocks and cliffs, through mountain gorges that seemed impracticable, he fled, and they followed. Where he had often chased the stag and cheered on his pack, his pack now chased him, cheered on by his huntsmen. He longed to cry out: "I am Actaeon; recognize your master!" but the words came not at his will. The air resounded with the bark of the dogs. Presently one fastened on his back, another seized his shoulder. While they held their master the rest of the pack came up and buried their teeth in his flesh. He groaned--not in a human voice, yet certainly not in a stag's-and falling on his knees raised his eyes, and would have raised his arms in supplication if he had had them. His friends and fellow-huntsmen cheered on the dogs, and looked everywhere for Actaeon, calling on him to join the sport. At the sound of his name he turned his head, and heard them regret that he should be away. He earnestly wished he was. He would have been well pleased to see the exploits of his dogs, but to feel them was too much. They were all around him, rending and tearing; and it was not till they had torn his life out that the anger of Diana was satisfied.

Apollidorus tells us that Actaeon was brought up by Chiron, and that Mount Cithaeron was the place of his death. He says, too, that the dogs died of grief at the loss of their master.

In Shelley's poem Adonais is the following allusion to the story of Actaeon :

"Midst others of less note came one frail form,
A phantom among men: companionless
As the last cloud of an expiring storm,
Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,

Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray

With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness;
And his own Thoughts, along that rugged way,

Pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey."

Stanza 31.

LATONA AND THE RUSTICS.

Some thought the goddess in this instance more severe than was just, while others praised her conduct as strictly consistent

with her virgin dignity. As usual, the recent event brought older ones to mind, and one of the bystanders told this story: Some countrymen of Lycia once insulted the goddess Latona,