Of all the stories of antiquity, not one is more beautiful or touching than that of Orpheus. Strange that his earnest love, and the unwonted errand on which it led him, after charming successive centuries, and becoming the theme of poets, should be first recorded in marble by a youthful artist whose sight first opened in a land far away from the country of the herobeyond Ultima Thule-beyond the Hesperian Gardens and the Islands of the Blest-and beyond that Ocean which, poured round the ancient world, seemed more impassable even than those sullen waters that guarded Eurydice!

The tale is simple, and in the memory of all. Young men and maidens for ages have listened to it, and old men in the chimney-corner have mused over it. To Orpheus Apollo gave a lyre. Such a gift from such a God was not in vain; and the youth charmed by his music as music never charmed before. The rapid rivers ceased to flow, the mountains moved, and the rage of the tigers was restrained, to listen to his songs. The fairest nymphs were his companions; but he heeded only Eurydice. To her he was united in marriage. But the faithless Aristæus saw her and loved her. She fled from his approaches, and as she pressed the grass, in her rapid flight, a serpent stung her foot, and she died. The nymphs of the

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woods awakened the echoes of the mountains with their sorrows; and the rocks of Rhodope, the lofty Pangæus, the Hebrus, and the sternest parts of Thrace wept. The lover was desolate:

«Te, dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum, Te veniente die, te decedente canebat."

He resolved to regain his lost bride. With his lyre in his hand, he enters the inexorable gates of the regions below. The guardian dog Cerberus is lulled asleep by the unaccustomed strains:

-“ tenuitque inhians tria Cerberus ora." The gentle shades of the dead, wives and husbands, magnanimous heroes, boys and unmarried girls, came forward, and wept. The grim ruler was startled. The rock of Sisyphus stood still; the wheel of Ixion ceased its eternal motion; the refreshing water once again bathed the lips of Tantalus; the daughters of Danaus suspended their never-ending task; the Furies, with their necks clothed with snakes, ceased to rage. All listened rapt to the music, and forgot their pains in sympathy with the bereaved charmer. And now success has crowned his efforts. The woman's heart of Proserpine is touched, and Pluto yields to her intercession. Eurydice is restored, but with one condition. The lover shall