felt sorry Bellerophon escaped. The young man was so grateful to Pegasus that he would have set him free; but the noble creature had learned to love his brave master, and would not leave him. Even when Bellerophon wanted to go into the heavens, Pegasus tried to fly up there with him on his back; but the gods threw Bellerophon down to earth for trying to intrude upon them uninvited.

In later times, Pegasus was said to have been also the horse of the Muses, the nine goddesses who presided over the different kinds of poetry and over the arts and sciences. Once these nine had a singing-match with the nine daughters of Pierus, on Mount Helicon, in Pieria. When the daughters of Pierus sang, all nature became dark; but when the "Tuneful Nine" broke forth into song, the heavens, the sea, and all the rivers stood still to listen; and Mount Helicon itself rose heavenward with delight, until Pegasus stopped it by a kick from his hoof. Out of the print of this timely kick bubbled up the fountain called Hippocrene, whose waters were said to bring inspiration to all who drank of them. The defeated nine were changed into birds.

Nobody has told us the final fate of the beauti

ful Pegasus; but some ancient writers hint that he returned into the heavens and became the horse of Aurora, the goddess of the morning. Certainly it is pleasant to think so; and perhaps it is in memory of this event that astronomers have given his name to a group of stars.

SOME MYTHOLOGICAL HORSES

BY JAMES BALDWIN

AURORA'S HIGH-JUMPERS

"That runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular.”—Henry IV.

HE steeds ever young that bring the morn

TH

ing-that is what they used to be called. People who wanted to see them had to rise very early indeed, for Lampus and Phaethon were as shy of the sunlight as owls are of the day. They were not fast travelers like the wondrous teams of Helios and Selene, and so far as I know, they never made long journeys. But of all the highjumpers that have ever delighted mankind they were the champions. When they spurned the earth with their golden hoofs and leaped high among the morning clouds, it was hard to say whether they were leaping or flying; for they always moved together, and drew behind them the chariot in which their mistress stood.

You have been told of the maiden Aurora, her who tapped every morning at the door of Helios's chamber and warned him that it was time to be climbing into his chariot. She was the old charioteer's younger sister. Snow-footed Aurora she was called-yellow-robed, rosy-fingered, air-born Aurora. Her daily duties were always the same, from the beginning of the year to the end. She had no very grand adventures; she cared but little for romance; she was a stay-at-home body whom few appreciated, but whom it was a pleasure to know. Three things she did every morning: she aroused her brother, she awakened the birds, and she drove her team of high-jumpers out for exercise.

Very, very early on a summer's morning, just as the darkness begins to fade away-that is the time when everybody used to go out to see Aurora's wonderful team. The air is cool and bracing, and a gentle breeze is blowing down from the mountains. Chilly? Wrap your cloak about your shoulders, for you will not have to wait long. A moment ago you could hardly see your hand before you. Now, see! Faint rays of light begin to appear low down in the east. Be