impulses of the natural man break in upon that providential purpose and prevent its consummation. Eleusis was the natural home for such a myth, and we may well believe that those initiated into the mysteries there were taught to dwell on its higher interpretation.

But there are other hymns in a lighter vein in which the play of fancy is not guided by any moral intuition. The hymn to Hermes is one perpetual ebullition of irresponsible humour.

Hermes is the child of Maia, a nymph of Cyllene whose cave Zeus has surreptitiously visited while the white-armed Juno—for, unsympathetic prude as this goddess may be, she must still be beautiful—slept soundly in Olympus. The child is hardly born when he catches a tortoise, kills it, scoops out the shell, and makes a lute of it, upon which he begins to play delicious music. Not satisfied with that feat, however, he escapes from his cradle, and drives from their pasture the kine that Apollo has left feeding there. Accused afterward of this mischief, he defends himself after the following fashion, while he lies in his crib, holding his new-made lyre lightly in his hand under the bedclothes. I quote Shelley's version:—

 "'An ox-stealer should be both tall and strong And I am but a little new-born thing Who yet, at least, can think of nothing wrong. My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling The cradle-clothes about me all day long, Or, half-asleep, hear my sweet mother sing And to be washed in water clean and warm And hushed and kissed and kept secure from harm.'"    *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * "Sudden he changed his plan, and with strange skill Subdued the strong Latonian, by the might Of winning music, to his mightier will. His left hand held the lyre, and in his right The plectrum struck the chords: unconquerable Up from beneath his hand in circling flight The gathering music rose—and sweet as Love The penetrating notes did live and move  "Within the heart of great Apollo. He Listened with all his soul, and laughed for pleasure. Close to his side stood harping fearlessly The unabashèd boy, and to the measure Of the sweet lyre there followed loud and free His joyous voice: for he unlocked the treasure Of his deep song, illustrating the birth Of the bright Gods, and the dark desert Earth;  "And how to the Immortals every one A portion was assigned of all that is. But chief Mnemosyne did Maia's son Clothe in the light of his loud melodies. And, as each god was born or had begun, He in their order due and fit degrees Sung of his birth and being—and did move Apollo to unutterable love." 

And I am but a little new-born 

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