Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Cadmus's letters
 The story of Aeneas
 The destruction of Troy
 The flight of Aeneas
 The landing in Latium
 Rhea Silvia
 The twins
 The founding of Rome
 The Sabine war
 The conclusion

Group Title: Abbott's histories
Title: History of Romulus
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00003548/00001
 Material Information
Title: History of Romulus
Series Title: Abbott's histories
Alternate Title: Life of Romulus
Physical Description: 220 p., <1> leaf of plates : port. ; 13 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Abbott, Jacob, 1803-1879
Allman, Thomas, 1792-1870 ( Publisher )
W.J. and J. Sears ( Printer )
Publisher: Thomas Allman
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: W.J. and J. Sears
Publication Date: 1853
Subject: History -- Juvenile literature -- Rome   ( lcsh )
Biographies -- 1853   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1853   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1853
Genre: Biographies   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by Jacob Abbott.
General Note: Steel engraved frontispiece: port. of Romulus.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00003548
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002446002
oclc - 46322485
notis - AMF1245
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Table of Contents
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    Cadmus's letters
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    The story of Aeneas
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    The destruction of Troy
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    The flight of Aeneas
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    The landing in Latium
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    Rhea Silvia
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    The twins
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    The founding of Rome
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
    The Sabine war
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
    The conclusion
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
Full Text


- r


'I N
- -. -i

- l



















IN writing the series of historical narratives to
which the present work pertains, it has been
the object of the author to furnish to the reading
community of this country an accurate and
faithful account of the lives and actions of the
several personages that are made successively
the subjects of the volumes, following precisely
the story which has come down to us from
ancient times. The writer has spared no pains
to gain access in all cases to the original sources
of information, and has confined himself strictly
to them. The reader may, therefore, feel
assured in perusing any one of these works, that
the interest of it is in no degree indebted to the
invention of the author. No incident, however
trivial, is ever added to the original account, nor
are any words even, in any case, attributed to a
speaker without express authority. Whatever
of interest, therefore, these stories may possess,
is due solely to the facts themselves which are
recorded in them, and to their being brought
together in a plain, simple, and connected



I. Cadmus










. . 0 0 .

.* .

*. J1 1 l0 / I. 0 *

. The Story of AEneas .

The destruction of Troy .

The Flight of Eneas .

The Landinr in Latium.

Rhea Silvia .........

The Twins ... .. .

The Found ig, otf Hii 1

Organization .. ....

W ives .... . .

The Sabine War ........

Conclusion ... .... .

















II C d
L tt s



SOME men are renowned in history on ac-
count of the extraordinary powers and capa-
cities which they exhibited in the course of
their career, or the intrinsic greatness of the
deeds which they performed. Others, with-
out having really achieved anything in it-
self very great or wonderful, have become
widely known to mankind by reason of the
vast consequences which, in the subsequent
course of events, resulted from their doings.
Men of this latter class are conspicuous
rather than great. From among thousands
of other men equally exalted in character
with themselves, they are brought out prc-
minently to the notice of mankind only in
consequence of the strong light reflected, by
great events subsequently occurring, back
upon the position where they happened to
.+--"V-. 3 U


The celebrity of Romulus seems to be of
this latter kind. He founded a city. A
thousand other men have founded cities ;
and in doing their work have evinced per-.
haps as much courage, sagacity, and mental
power as Romulus displayed. The city of
Romulus, however, became in the end, the
queen and mistress of the world. It rose to
so exalted a position of influence and power,
and retained its ascendancy so long, that
now for twenty centuries every civilized
nation in, the western world has felt a
strong interest in everything pertaining to
its history, and have been accustomed to
look back with especial curiosity to the cir-
cumstances of its origin. In consequence
of this it has happened that though Romulus,
in his actual day, performed no very great
exploits, and enjoyed no pre-eminence above
the thousand other half-savage chieftains of
his class, whose names have been long for-
gotten, and very probably while lie lived
never dreamed of any extended fame, yet so
brilliant is the illumination which the sub-
sequent events of history have shed upon his
position and his doings, that his name and
the incidents of his life have been brought
out very conspicuously to view, and attract
very strongly the attention of mankind.
The history of Rome is usually made to


begin with the story of AEneas. In order
that the reader may understand in what
light that romantic tale is to be regarded, it
is necessary to premise some statements in
respect to the general condition of society in
ancient days, and to the nature of strange
narrations, circulated in those early periods
among mankind, out of which in later ages,
when the art of writing came to be intro-
duced, learned men compiled and recorded
what they termed history.
Cadmus, an adventurer, was said to have
brought the knowledge of alphabetic writing
into Greece from some countries farther
eastward. In modern times there is a very
strong interest felt in ascertaining the exact
truth on this subject. The art of writing
with alphabetic characters was so great an
invention, and it hias exerted so vast an in-
fluence on the condition and progress of
mankind since it was introduced, that a very
strong interest is now felt in every thing
that can be ascertained as actually fact, in
respect to its origin.
There is in fact no account at present ex-
isting in respect to the actual origin of
alphabetic characters, though there is an ac-
count of the circumstances under which the
art was brought into Europe from Asia,
where it seems to have been originally in-


vented. We will give the facts, first in
their simple form, and then the narrative in
the form in which it was related in ancient
times, as embellished by the ancient story-
The facts then, as now generally under-
stood and believed, are, that there was a
certain king in some country in Africa,
named Agenor, who lived about 1500 years
before Christ. He had a daughter named
Europa, and several sons. Among his sons
was one named Cadmus. Europa was a
beautiful girl, and after a time a wandering
adventurer from some part of the northern
shores of the Mediterranean sea, came into
Africa, and was so much pleased with her
that he resolved, if possible, to obtain her
for his wife. He did not dare to make pro-
posals openly, and he accordingly disguised
himself and mingled with the servants upon
Agenor's farm. In this disguise he suc-
ceeded in making acquaintance with Europa,
and finally persuaded her to elope with him.
The pair accordingly fled, and crossing the
Mediterranean, they went to Crete, an is-
land near the northern shores of the sea, and
there they lived together.
The father, when he found that his daugh-
ter had deceived him and gone away, was
very indignant, and sent Cadmus and his

brothers in pursuit of her. The mother of
Europa, whose name was Telephassa, though
less indignant perhaps than the father, was
overwhelmed with grief at the loss of her
child, and determined to accompany her
sons in the search. She accordingly took
leave of her husband and of her native land,
and set out with Cadmus and her other
sons on the ]ong journey in search of her
lost child. Agenor charged his sons never
to come home again unless they brought
Europa with them.
Cadmus, with his mother and brothers,
travelled slowly toward the northward, along
the eastern shores of the Mediterranean sea,
inquiring everywhere for the fugitive. They
passed through Syria and Phenicia into
Asia Minor, and from Asia Minor into
Greece. At length Telephassa, worn down,
perhaps by fatigue, disappointment, and
grief, died. Cadmus and his brothers soon
after became discouraged ; and at last, weary
with their wanderings, and prevented by
their father's injunction from returning with-
out Europa, they determined to settle in
Greece. In attempting to establish them-
selves there, however, they became involved
in various conflicts, first with wild beasts,
and afterwards with men, the natives of the
land, who seemed to spring up, as it were,


from the ground, to oppose them. They
contrived, however, at length, by fomenting
quarrels among their enemies, and taking
sides with one party against the rest, to get
a permanent footing in Greece, and Cadmus
finally founded a city there, which lie called
In establishing the institutions and go-
vernment of Thebes, and in arranging the
organization of the people into a social state,
Cadmus introduced among them several arts,
which, in that part of the country, had been
before unknown. One of these arts was
the- use of copper, which metal he taught
his new subjects to procure from the ore ob-
tained in mines. There were several others ;
but the most important of all was that he
taught them sixteen letters representing ele-
mentary vocal sounds, by means of which
inscriptions of words could be carved upon
monuments, or upon tablets of metal or of
It is not supposed that the idea of repre-
senting the elements of vocal sounds by
characters originated with Cadmus, or that
he invented the characters himself. He
brought them with him undoubtedly, but
whether from Egypt or Phenicia, cannot
now be known.
Such are the facts of the case, as now


generally understood and believed. Let us
now compare this simple narration with the
romantic tale which the early story-tellers
made from it. The legend, as they relate
it, is as follows.
Jupiter was a prince born and bred among
the summits of Mount Ida, in Crete. His
father's name was Saturn. Saturn had
made an agreement that he would cause all
his sons to be slain, as soon as they were born.
This was to appease his brother, who was
his rival, and who consented that Saturn
should continue to reign only on that
Jupiter's mother, however, was very un-
willing that her boys should be thus cruelly
put to death, and she contrived to conceal
three of' them, and save then. The three
thus preserved were brought up among the
solitudes of the mountains, watched and at-
tended by nymphs, and nursed by a goat.
After they grew up, they engaged from time
to time in various wars, and met with
various wonderful adventures, until at length
Jupiter, the oldest of them, succeeded, by
means of thunderbolts which he caused to
be forged for his use, in vast subterranean
caverns beneath Mount Etna and Mount
Vesuvius, conquered all his enemies, and
became universal king. H e, however,


divided his empire between himself and his
brothers, giving to them respectively the
command of the sea and of the subterranean
regions, while he reserved the earth and the
heavenly regions for himself.
He established his usual abode among
the mountains of Northern Greece, but he
often made excursions to and fro upon the
earth, appearing in various disguises, and
meeting with a great number of strange and
marvellous adventures. In the course of
these wanderings he found his way at one
time into Egypt, and to the dominions of
Agenor, and there he saw Agenor's beauti-
ful daughter, Europa. lHe immediately de-
termined to make her his bride ; and to se-
cure this object he assumed the form of a
very finely-shaped and beautiful bull, and in
this guise joined himself to-Ageinor's herds
of cattle. Europa soon saw him there. She
was much pleased with the beauty of his
form, and finding him gentle and kind in
disposition, she approached him, patted his
glossy neck and sides, and in other similar
ways gratified the prince by marks of her
admiration and pleasure. She was at length
induced by some secret and magical influence
which the prince exerted over her, to mount
upon his back, and allow herself to he borne
away. The bull ran with his burden to the


shore, and plunged into the waves. He
swam across the sea to Crete, and there, re-
suming his proper form, he made the prin-
cess his bride.
Agenor and Telephassa, when they found
that their daughter was gone, were in great
distress, and Agenor immediately deter-
mined to send his sons on an expedition in
pursuit of her. The names of his sons were
Cadmus, Phoenix, Cylix, Thasus, and Phi-
neus. Cadmus, as the oldest son, was to be
the director of the expedition. Telephassa,
the mother, resolved to accompany them, so
overwhelmed was she with affliction at the
loss of her daughter. Agenor himself was
almost equally oppressed with the calamity
which had overwhelmed them, and he
charged his sons never to come home again
until they could bring Europa with them.
Teleplhassa and her sons wandered for a
time in the countries east of the Mediterra-
nean sea, without being able to obtain any
tidings of the fugitive. At length they
passed into Asia Minor, and from Asia
Minor into Thrace, a country lying north of
the -/geaea Sea. Finding no traces of their
sister in any of these countries, the sons of
Agenor became discouraged, and resolved to
make no farther search ; and Telephassa,
exhausted with anxiety and fatigue, and


now overwhelmed with the thought that all
hope must be finally abandoned, sank down
and died.
Cadmus and his brothers were much af-
fected at their mother's death. They made
arrangements for her burial, in a manner
befitting her high rank and station, and
when the funeral solemnities had been per-
formed, Cadmus repaired to the oracle at
Delphi, which was situated in the northern
part of Greece, not very far from Thrace, in
order that he might inquire there whether
there was anything more that he could do to
recover his lost sister, and if so to learn what
course he was to pursue. The oracle re-
plied to him that he must search for his
sister no more, but instead of it turn his at-
tention wholly to the work of establishing a
home and a kingdom for himself, in Greece.
To this end lie was to travel on in a direc-
tion indicated, until lie met with a cow of a
certain kind, described by the oracle, and
then to follow the cow wherever she might
lead the way, until at length, becoming
fatigued, she should stop and lie down.
Upon the spot where the cow should lie
down he was to build a city and make it his
Cadmus obeyed those directions of the
oracle. He left Delphi and went on, atten-


ded, as he had been in all his wanderings,
by a troop of companions and followers,
until at length in the herds of one of the
people of the country, named Pelagon, he
found a cow answering to the description of
the oracle. Taking this cow for his guide,
he followed wherever she led the way. She
conducted him toward the southward and
eastward for thirty or forty miles, and at
length wearied apparently, by her long
journey, she lay down. Cadmus knew im-
mediately that this was the spot where his
city was to stand.
lie began immediately to make arrange-
ments for the building of the city, but he de-
termined first to offer the cow that had been
his divinely appointed guide to the spot, as
a sacrifice to Minerva, whom he always con-
sidered as his guardian goddess.
Near thle spot where the cow lay down
there was a small stream which issued from
a fountain not far distant, called the foun-
tain of Dirce. Cadmus sent some of his
men to the place to obtain some water which
it was necessary to use in the ceremonies of
the sacrifice. It happened, however, that
this fountain was a sacred one, having been
consecrated to Mars,-and there was a great
dragon, a son of Mars, stationed there to
guard it. The men whom Cadmus sent


did not return, and accordingly Cadmus
himself, after waiting a suitable time, pro-
ceeded to the spot to ascertain the cause of
the delay. He found that the dragon had
killed his men, and at the time when he
arrived at the spot, the monster was greedily
devouring the bodies. Cadmus immediately
attacked the dragon and slew him, and then
tore his teeth out of his head, as trophies of
his victory. Minerva had assisted Cadmus
in this combat, and when it was ended she
directed him to plant the teeth of the dragon
in the ground. Cadmus did so, and im-
mediately a host of armed men sprung up
from the place where he had planted them.
Cadmus threw a stone among these armed
men, when they immediately began to con-
tend together in a desperate conflict, until
at length all but five of them were slain.
These five then joined themselves to Cad-
mus, and helped him to build his city.
He went on very successfully after this.
The city which he built was Thebes, which
afterward became greatly celebrated. The
citadel which he erected within, he called,
from his own name, Cadmia.
Such were the legends which were related
in ancient poems and tales ; and it is obvi-
ous that such narratives must have been
composed to entertain groups of listeners,


whose main desire was to be excited and
amused, and not to be instructed. The
stories were believed, no doubt, and the
faith which the hearer felt in their truth
added of course very greatly to the interest
which they awakened in his mind. The
stories are amusing to us ; but it is impos-
sible for us to share in the deep and solemn
emotion with which the ancient audiences
listened to them, for we have not the power,
as they had, of believing them. Such tales
related in respect to the great actors on the
stage in modern times, would awaken no in-
terest, for there is too general a diffusion
both of historical and philosophical know-
ledge to render it possible for any one
to suppose them to be true. But those
for whom the story of Europa was invented,
had no means of knowing how wide the
Mediterranean sea might be, and whether
a bull might not swim across it. They did
not know but that Mars might have a
dragon for a son, and that the teeth of such
a dragon might not, when sown in the
ground, spring up in the form of a troop of
armed men. They listened therefore to the
tale with an interest all the more earnest
and solemn on account of the marvellousness
of the recital. They repeated it word for
word to one another, around their camp-fires,


at their feasts, in their journeyings,-and
when watching their flocks at midnight,
among the solitudes of the mountains. Thus
the tales were handed down from generation
to generation, until at length the use of the
letters of Cadmus became so far facilitated,
that continuous narrations could be expressed
by means of them ; and then they were put
permanently upon record in many forms,
and were thus transmitted without any
farther change to the present age.



T'HERE are two llodes esseiltially distinct
from each other, by which ideas may be
communicated through the medium of in-
scriptions addressed to the eye. These two
modes are, first, by symbolical, and se-
condly, by phonetic characters. Each of
these two systems assumes, in fact, within
itself, quite a variety of distinct forms,
though it is only the general characteristics
which distinguish the two great classes from
each other, that we shall have occasion par-
ticularly to notice here.



Symbolical writing consists of characters
intended severally to denote ideas or things,
and not words. A good example of true
symbolical writing is to be found in a cer-
tain figure often employed among the archi-
tectural decorations of churches, as an em-
blem of the Deity. It consists of a triangle
representing the Trinity, with the figure of
an eye in the middle of it. The eye is
intended to denote the divine omniscience.
Such a character as this, is obviously the
symbol of an idea, not the representative of
a word. It may be read Jehovah, or God,
or the Deity, or by any other word or phrase
by which men are accustomed to denote the
Supreme Being. It represents, in fine, the
idea, and not any particular word by which
the idea is expressed.
The first attempts of men to preserve re-
cords of facts by means of inscriptions, have
in all ages, and among all nations,, been of
this character. At first, the inscriptions so
made were strictly pictures, in which the
whole scene intended to be commemorated
was represented, in rude carvings. In pro-
cess of time substitutions and abridgments
were adopted in lieu of full representations,
and these grew at length into a system of
hieroglyphical characters, some natural, and
others more or less arbitrary, but all de-



noting ideas or things, and not the sounds
of words. These characters are of the kind
usually understood by the word hierogly-
phics; though that word cannot now with
strict accuracy be applied as a distinctive
appellation, since it has been ascertained in
modern times that a large portion of the
Egyptian hieroglyphics are of such a nature
as brings them witliin the second of the
two classes which we are here describing ;
that is, the several delineations represent the
sounds and syllables of words, instead of
being symbols of ideas or things.
It happened that in some cases in this
species of writing, as used in ancient times,
the characters which were employed pre-
sented in their form some natural resem-
blance to the thing signified, and in other
cases they were wholly arbitrary. Thus,
the figure of a sceptre denoted a king, that
of a lion, strength ; and two warriors, one
with a shield, and the other advancing
toward the first with a bow and arrow, re-
presented a battle. We use in fact a symbol
similar to the last-mentioned one at the
present day, upon maps, where we often see
a character formed by two swords crossed,
employed to represent a battle.
We come now to consider the second
grand class of written characters, namely,



the phonetic, the class which Cadmus intro-
duced into Greece, and the one almost uni-
versally adopted among all the European
nations at the present day. It is called
Phonetic, from a Greek word denoting
sound, because the characters which are
used do not denote directly the thing itself
which is signified, but the sounds made in
speaking the word which signifies it. Take,
for instance, the two modes of representing
a conflict between two contending armies,
one by the symbolic delineation of two
swords crossed, and the other by the pho-
netic delineation of the letters of the word
battle. They are both inscriptions. The
beginning of the first represents the handle
of the sword, a part, as it were, of the thing
signified. The beginning of the second, the
B, represents the pressing of the lips toge-
ther, by which we commence pronouncing
the word. Thus the one mode is symbolical,
and the other phonetic.
On considering the two methods, as ex-
emplified in this simple instance, we shall
observe that what has already been pointed
out as characteristic of the two modes is here
seen to be true. The idea is conveyed in
the symbolical mode by one character, while
by the phonetic it requires no less than six.
This seems at first view to indicate a great


advantage possessed by the symbolical sys-
tem. But on reflection this advantage is
found entirely to disappear. For the sym-
bolical character, though it is only one, will
answer for only the single idea which it de-
notes. Neither itself nor any of its ele-
ments will aid us in forming a symbol for
any other idea ; and as the ideas, objects,
and relations which it is necessary to be
able to express, in order to make free and
full communications in any language, are
from fifty to a hundred thousand,-the step
which we have taken, though very simple
in itself, is the beginning of a course which
must lead to the most endless intricacy and
complication. Whereas in the six phonetic
characters of the word battle, we have ele-
ments which can be used again and again,
in the expression of thousands of other ideas.
In fact, as the phonetic characters which are
found necessary in most languages are only
about twenty-four, we have in that single
word accomplished one quarter of the whole
task, so far as the delineation of characters
is concerned, that is necessary for expressing
by writing any possible combination of ideas
which human language can convey.
At what time and in what manner the
transition was made among the ancient na-
tions from the symbolic to the phonetic

mode of writing, is not now known. When
in the flourishing periods of the Grecian and
Roman states, learned men explored the
literary records of the various nations of
the East, writings were found in all, which
were expressed in phonetic characters, and
the alphabets of these characters were found
to be so analogous to each other, in the
names and order, and in some respects in
the forms, of the letters, as to indicate
strongly something like community of origin.
All the attempts, however, which have been
made to ascertain the origin of the system,
have wholly failed, and no account of them
goes farther back than to the time when
Cadmus brought them from Phenicia or
Egypt into Greece.
The letters which Cadmus brought were
in number sixteen. The following table
presents a view of his alphabet, presenting
in the several columns, the letters them-
selves as subsequently written in Greece,
the Greek names given to them, and their
power as represented by the letters now in
use. The forms, it will be seen, have been
but little changed. (See next page).
The phonetic alphabet of Cadmus, though
so vastly superior to any system of symbol-
ical hieroglyphics, for all purposes where
any thing like verbal accuracy was desired,


Greek letters.



Greek names.

English representatives.


was still very slow in coming into general
use. It was of course, at first, very difficult
to write it, and very difficult to read it when
written. 'There was a very great practical
obstacle, too, in the way of its general intro-
duction, in the want of any suitable mate-
rials for writing. To cut letters with a
chisel and a mallet upon a surface of marble
is a very slow and toilsome process. To di-
minish this labour the ancients contrived
tables of brass, copper, lead, and some-
times of wood, and cut the inscriptions
upon them by the use of various tools and
implements. Still it is obvious, that by
such methods as these the art of writing
could only be used to an extremely limited
extent, such as for brief inscriptions in re-


gisters and upon monuments, where a very
few words would express all that it was
necessary to record.
In process of time, however, the plan of
painting the letters by means of a black dye
upon a smooth surface, was introduced. The
surface employed to receive these inscrip-
tions was, at first, the skin of some animal
prepared for this purpose, and the dye used
for ink, was a coloured liquid obtained from
a certain fish. This method of writing,
though in some respects more convenient
than the others, was still slow, and the ma-
terials were expensive; and it was a long
time before the new art was employed for
any thing like continuous composition.
Cadmus is supposed to have come into
Greece about the year 1550 before Christ ;
and it was not until about 650 before Christ,
-that is, nearly nine hundred years later,
that the art of writing was resorted to in
Greece to record laws.
The evidences that writing was very little
used in any way during this long period of
nine hundred years, are furnished in various
allusions contained in poems and narratives
that were composed during those times, and
committed to writing afterward. In the
poems of Homer, for instance, there is no
allusion, from the beginning to the end, to



any monument or tomb containing any in-
scription whatever; although many occa-
sions occur in which such inscriptions would
have been made, if the events described
were real, and the art of writing had been
generally known, or would have been ima-
gined to be made, if the narratives were
It seems that writing was not much em-
ployed for any of the ordinary and private
purposes of life by the people of' Greece until
the article called papyrus was introduced
among them. This took place about the
year 600 before Christ, when laws began
first to be written. Papyrus, like the art of
writing upon it, came originally from Egypt.
It was obtained from a tree which it seems
grew only in that country. The tree flou-
rished in the low lands alonii the margin of
the Nile. It grew to tle height of about
ten feet. The paper obtained from it was
formed from a sort of inner bark, which con-
sisted of thin sheets or pellicles growing
around the wood. The paper was manu-
factured in the following manner. A sheet
of the thin bark as taken from the tree, was
laid flat upon a board, and then a cross
layer was laid over it, the materials having
been previously moistened with water made
slightly glutinous. The sheet thus formed was


pressed and dried in the sun. The placing
of two layers of the bark in this manner
across each other was intended to strengthen
the texture of the sheet, for the fibres, it
was found, were very easily separated and
torn so long as they lay wholly in one di-
rection. The sheet when dry was finished
by smoothing the surface, and prepared to
receive inscriptions made by means of a pen
fashioned from a reed or a quill.
In forming the papyrus into books it was
customary to use a long sheet or web of it,
and roll it upon a stick, as is the custom in
respect to maps at the present day. The
writing was in columns, each of which
formed a sort of page, the reader holding
the ends of the roll in his two hands, and
reading at the part which was open between
them. Of course, as lie advanced, he con-
tinually unrolled on one side, and rolled up
on the other. Rolls of parchment were often
made in the same manner.
The term volume used in respect to mo-
dern books, had its origin in this ancient
practice of writing upon long rolls. The
modern practice is certainly much to be pre-
ferred, though the ancient one was far less
inconvenient than might at first be sup-
posed. The long sheet was rolled upon a
wooden billet, which gave to the volume a


certain firmness and solidity, and afforded
it great protection. The ends of this roller
projected beyond the edges of the sheet,
and were terminated in knobs or bosses,
which guarded in some measure the edges
of the papyrus or of the parchment. The
whole volume was also inclosed in a parch-
ment case, on the outside of which the title
of the work was conspicuously recorded.
Many of these ancient rolls have been found
at Herculaneum.
For ink, various coloured liquids were
used, generally black, but sometimes red
and sometimes green. The black ink was
sometimes manufactured from a species of
lampblack or ivory black, such as is often
used in modern times for painting. Some
specimens of the inkstands which were used
in ancient times have been found at Hercu-
laneum, and one of them contained ink,
which though too thick to flow readily from
the pen, it was still possible to write with.
It was of about the consistence of oil.
These rolls of papyrus and parchment,
however, were only used for important
writings which it was intended permanently
to preserve. For ordinary occasions tablets
of wax and other similar materials were
used, upon which the writer traced the
characters with the point of a steel instru-



ment called a style. The head of the style
was smooth and rounded, so that any words
which the writer wished to erase might be
obliterated by smoothing over again, with
it, the wax on which they had been written.
Such is a brief history of the rise and
progress of the art of writing in the States
of Greece. Whether the phonetic principle
which Cadmus introduced was brought ori-
ginally from Egypt, or from the countries on
the eastern shore of the Mediterranean sea,
cannot now be ascertained. It has generally
been supposed among mankind, at least until
within a recent period, that the art of pho-
netic writing did not originate in Egypt, for
the inscriptions on all the ancient monu-
ments in that country are of such a charac-
ter that it has always been supposed that
they were symbolical characters altogether,
and that no traces of any phonetic writing
existed in that land. Within the present
century, however, the discovery has been
made that a large portion of these hierogly-
phics are plionetic in their character ; and
that the learned world in attempting for so
many centuries, in vain, to affix symbolical
meanings to them, had been altogether upon
the wrong track.





BESIDES the intrinsic interest and impor-
tance of the facts stated in the last chapter,
to the student of history, there was a special
reason for calling the attention of the reader
to them here, that he might know in what
light the story of the destruction of Troy,
and the wanderings of AEneas, the great an-
cestor of Romulus, which we now proceed
to relate, is properly to be regarded. The
events connected with the destruction of
Troy, took place, if they ever occurred at
all, about the year twelve hundred before
Christ. Homer is supposed to have lived
and composed his poems about the year
nine hundred ; and the art of writing is
thought to have been first employed for the
purpose of recording continuous composi-
tions, about the year six hundred. The
story of jEneas then, so far as it has any
claims to historical truth, is a tale which
was handed down by oral tradition, among
story-tellers for three hundred years, and
then was clothed in verse, and handed down



in that form orally by the memory of the
reciters of it, in generations successive for
three hundred years more, before it was re-
corded ; and.during the whole period of this
transmission, the interest felt in it was not
the desire for ascertaining and communicat-
ing historic truth, but simply for entertain-
ing companies of listeners with the details of
a romantic story. The story, therefore,
cannot be relied upon as historically true ;
but it is no less important on that account,
that all well-infbrmed persons should know
what it is.
The mother of ]Eneas (as the story goes),
was a celebrated goddess. Her name was
Aphrodite ;* though among the Romans
she afterwards received the name of Venus.
Aphrodite was not born of a mother, like
ordinary mortals, but sprang mysteriously
and supernaturally from A foam which
gathered on a certain occasion upon the
surface of the sea. At the commencement
of her existence she crept out upon the
shores of an island that was near,-the is-
land of Cythera, which lies south of the
She was the goddess of love, of beauty,
and of fruitfulness; and so extraordinary

Pronounced in four syllables, Apih-ro-di-te.



were the magical powers which were inher-
ent from the beginning, in her very nature,
that as she walked along upon the sands of
the shore, when she first emerged from the
sea, plants and flowers of the richest verdure
and beauty sprang up at her feet wherever
she stopped. She was, besides, in her own
person, inexpressibly beautiful ; and in ad-
dition to the natural influence of her charms,
she was endued with the supernatural power
of inspiring the sentiment of love in all who
beheld her.
From Cythera the goddess made her way
over by sea to Cyprus, where she remained
for some time, amid the gorgeous and mag-
nificent scenery of that enchanting island.
Here she had two children, beautiful boys.
Their names were Eros and Anteros. Each
of these children remained perpetually a
child, and Eros, in later times called Cupid,
became the god of love bestowed," while
Anteros was the god of love returned."
After this the mother and the boys roamed
about the world, now in the heavenly regions
above, and now among mortals on the plains
and in the valleys below: they sometimes
appeared openly, in their true forms, some-
times they assumed disguises, and sometimes
they were wholly invisible ; but whether
seen or unseen, they were always busy in



performing their functions-the mother in-
spiring everywhere, in the minds both of
gods and men, the tenderest sentiments of
beauty and desire,-while Eros, awakened
love in the heart of one person for another,
and Anteros made it his duty to tease and
punish those who thus became objects of af-
fection, if they did not return the love.
After some time, Aphrodite and her boys
found their way to the heavenly regions of
Mount Olympus, where the great divinities
resided, and there they soon produced great
trouble, by enkindling the flames of love in
the hearts of the divinities themselves, caus-
ing them, by her magic power, to fall in love
not only with one another, but also with
mortal men and women on the earth below. In
retaliation upon Aphrodite for this mischief,
Jupiter, by his supreme power, inspired
Aphrodite herself with a sentiment of love.
The object of her affection was Anchises, a
handsome youth, of the royal family of Troy,
who lived among the mountains of Ida, not
far from the city.
The way in which it happened that the
affection of Aphrodite turned toward an in-
habitant of Mount Ida was this. There had
been at one time a marriage among the di-
vinities, and a certain goddess who had not
been invited to the wedding, conceived the



design of avenging herself for the neglect,
by provoking a quarrel among those who
were there. She, accordingly, caused a
beautiful golden apple to be made, with an
inscription marked upon it, FOR THE MOST
BEAUTIFUL." This apple she threw in
among the guests assembled at the wedding.
The goddesses all claimed the prize, and a
very earnest dispute arose among them in
respect to it. Jupiter sent the several
claimants, under the charge of a special
messenger, to Mount Ida, to a handsome
and accomplished young shepherd there,
named Paris-who was, in fact, a prince in
disguise-that they might exhibit them-
selves to him, and submit the question of the
right to the apple to his award. The con-
tending goddesses appeared accordingly be-
fore Paris, and each attempted to bribe hiim
to decide in her favour, by offering him
some peculiar and tempting reward. Paris
gave the apple to Aphrodite, and she was so
pleased with the result, that she took Paris
under her special protection, and made the
solitudes of Mount Ida one of her favourite
Here she saw and became acquainted
with Anchises, who was, as has already been
said a noble, or prince, by descent, though
he had bfr some time been dwelling away


from the city, and among the mountains,
rearing flocks and herds. Here Aphrodite
saw him, and when Jupiter inspired her
with a sudden susceptibility to the power of
love, the shepherd Anchises was the object
toward which her affections turned. She
accordingly went to Mount Ida, and giving
herself up to him, she lived with him for
some time among the mountains as his
bride. iEneas was their son.
Aphrodite did not, however, appear to
Anchises in her true character, but assumed,
instead, the form and the disguise of a Phry-
gian princess. Phrygia was kingdom of Asia
Minor, not very far from Troy. She con-
tinued this disguise as long as she remained
with Anchises at Mount Ida; at length,
however, she concluded to leave him, and to
return to Olympus, and at her parting she
made herself known. She, however, charged
Anchises never to reveal to any person who
she was, declaring that ]Eneas, whom she
was going to leave with his father when she
went away, would be destroyed by a stroke
of lightning from heaven, if the real truth in
respect to his mother were ever revealed.
When Aphrodite had gone, Anchises,
having now no longer any one at home to at-
tend to the rearing of the child, sent him to
Dardanus, a city to the northward of Troy,


where he was brought up in the house of his
sister, the daughter of Anchises, who was
married and settled there. His having a
sister old enough to be married, would seem
to show that the youth was not one of the
attractions of Anchises in Aphrodite's eyes.
IEneas remained with his sister until he was
old enough to be of service in the care of
flocks and herds, and then returned again to
his former residence among the pasturages
of the mountains. His mother, though she
had left him, did not forget her child; but
watched over him continually, and inter-
posed directly to aid or to protect him, when-
ever her aid was required by the occurrence
of any emergency of difficulty or danger.
At length the Trojan war broke out. For
a time, however, iEneas took no part in it.
He was jealous of the attentions which
Priam, the king of Troy, paid to other
young men, and fancied that he himself was
overlooked, and that the services that he
might render were undervalued. He re-
mained, therefore, at his home among the
mountains, occupying himself with his flocks
and herds ; and he might, perhaps, have
continued in these peaceful avocations to the
end of the war, had it not been that
Achilles, one of the most formidable of the
Grecian leaders, in one of his forays in the



country around Troy, in search of provisions,
came from jEneas's territory, and attacked
him while tending his flocks upon the moun-
tain side. Achilles seized the flocks and
herds, and drove IEneas and his fellow-
herdsmen away. They would, in fact, all
have been killed, had not Aphrodite inter-
posed to protect her son and save his life.
The loss of his flocks and herds, and the
injury which he himself had received, aroused
2Eneas's indignation and anger against the
Greeks. He immediately raised an armed
force of Dardanians, and thenceforth took
an active part in the war. He became one
of the most distinguished among the comba-
tants, for his prowess and his bravery ; and
being always assisted by his mother in his
conflicts, and rescued by her when in danger,
he performed prodigies of strength and valour.
At one time he pressed forward into the
thickest of the battle to rescue a Trojan
leader named Pandarus, who was beset by
his foes and brought into very imminent
danger. /Eneas did not succeed in saving
his friend. Pandarus was killed. JEneas,
however, flew to the spot, and by means of
the most extraordinary feats of strength and
valour he drove the Greeks away from the
body. They attacked it on every side, but


JEneas, wheeling around it, and fighting
now on this side and now on that, drove
them all away. They retired to a little
distance and then began to throw in a
shower of spears and darts and arrows upon
him. jEneas defended himself and the
body of his friend from these missiles for a
time, with his shield. At length, however,
he was struck in the thigh by a ponderous
stone which one of the Greek warriors
hurled at him,--a stone so heavy that two
men of ordinary strength would have been
required to lift it. J-neas was felled to the
ground by the blow. He sank down,
resting upon his arm, faint and dizzy, and
being thus made helpless would have im-
mediately been overpowered and killed by
his assailants had not his mother interposed.
She came immediately to rescue him. She
spread her vail over him, which had the
magic power of rendering harmless all blows
which were aimed at what was covered by
it, and then taking him up in her arms she
bore him off through the midst of his ene-
mies unharmed. The swords, spears, and
javelins which were aimed at him were
rendered powerless by the magic vail.
Aphrodite, however, flying thus with her
wounded son, mother-like, left herself ex-
posed in her anxiety to protect him. Dio-


medes, the chief of the pursuers, following
headlong on, aimed a lance at Venus herself.
The lance struck Venus in the hand, and
inflicted a very severe and painful wound.
It did not, however, stop her flight. She
pressed swiftly on, while Diomedes, satisfied
with his revenge, gave up the pursuit, but
called out to Aphrodite as she disappeared
from view, bidding her learn from the les-
son which lie had given her that it would be
best for her thenceforth to remain in her
own appropriate sphere, and not come down
to the earth and interfere in the contests of
mortal men.
Aphrodite, after conveying JEneas to a
place of safety, fled, herself, faint and
bleeding, to the mountains, where, after
ascending to the region of mists and clouds,
Iris, the beautiful goddess of tle rainbow,
came to her aid. Iris found her faint and
pale from the loss of blood ; she did all in
her power to soothe and comfort the wounded
goddess, and then led her farther still among
the mountains to a place where they found
Mars, the god of war, standing with his
chariot. Mars was Aphrodite's brother.
He took compassion upon his sister in her
distress, and lent Iris his chariot and horses,
to convey Aphrodite home. Aphrodite
ascended into the chariot, and Iris took the



reins; and thus they rode through the air
to the mountains of Olympus. Here the
gods and goddesses of heaven gathered
around their unhappy sister, bound up her
wound, and expressed great sympathy for
her in her sufferings, uttering at the same
time many piteous complaints against the
merciless violence and inhumanity of men.
Such is the ancient tale of JEneas and his
At a later period in the history of the war,
JEneas had a grand combat with Achilles,
who was the most terrible of all the Grecian
warriors, and was regarded as the grand
champion of their cause. The two armies
were drawn up in battle array. A vast open
space was left between them on the open
plain. Into this space the two combatants
advanced, /Eneas on the one side and
Achilles on the other, in full view of all the
troops, and of the throngs of spectators
assembled to witness the proceedings.
A very strong and an universal interest
was felt in the approaching combat. JEneas,
besides the prodigious strength and bravery
for which he was renowned, was to be
divinely aided, it was known, by the pro-
tection of his mother, who was always at
hand to guide and support him in the con-
flict, and to succour him in danger. Achilles,



on the other hand, possessed a charmed life.
He had been dipped by his mother Thetis,
when an infant, into the river Styx, to
render him invulnerable and immortal; and
the immersion produced the effect intended
in respect to all those parts of the body
which the water laved. As, however,
Thetis held the child by the ankles when
she plunged him in, the ankles remained
unaffected by the magic influence of the
water. All the other parts of the body
were rendered incapable of receiving a
Achilles had a very beautiful and costly
shield which his mother had caused to be
made for him. It was formed of five plates
of metal. The outermost plates on each
side were of brass ; in the centre was a
plate of gold ; and between the central
plate of gold and the outer ones of brass
were two other plates, one on each side,
made of some third metal. The workman-
ship of this shield was of the most elaborate
and beautiful character. The mother of
Achilles had given this weapon to ler son
when he left home to join the Greeks in the
Trojan war, not trusting entirely it seems to
his magical invulnerability.
The armies looked on with great interest
as these two champions advanced to meet


each other, while all the gods and goddesses
surveyed the scene with almost equal in-
terest, from their abodes above. Some
joined Venus in the sympathy which she
felt for her son, while others espoused the
cause of Achilles. When the two combatants
had approached each other, they paused
before commencing the conflict, as is usual
in such cases, and surveyed each other with
looks of anger and defiance. At length
Achilles spoke. He began to upbraid
jEneas for his infatuation and folly in en-
gaging in the war, and especially for coming
forward to put his life at hazard by en-
countering such a champion as was now
before him. What can you gain," said
he, even if you conquer in this warfare ?
You can never be king, even if you succeed
in saving the city. I know you claim to be
descended from the royal line ; but Priam
has sons who are the direct and immediate
heirs, and your claims can never be allowed.
Then, besides, what folly to attempt to con-
tend with me Me, the strongest, bravest,
and most terrible of the Greeks, and the
most special favourite of many deities."
With this introduction Achilles went on to
set forth the greatness of his pedigree, and
the loftiness of his pretensions to superiority
overall others in personal prowess and valour,


in a manner very eloquent indeed, and in a
style which it seems was very much admired
in those days as evincing only a proper
spirit and energy,-though in our times such
a harangue would be very apt to be
regarded as only a vainglorious and empty
JEneas replied,-retorting with vauntings
on his side no less spirited and energetic
than those which Achilles had expressed.
He gave a long account of his pedigree, and
of his various claims to lofty consideration.
He, however, said, in conclusion, that it was
idle and useless for them to waste their time
in such a war of words, and so he hurled
his spear at Achilles with all his force, as
a token of the commencement of the battle.
The spear struck the shield of Achilles,
and impinged upon it with such force that it
penetrated through two of the plates of
metal which composed the shield,and reached
the central plate of gold, where the force
with which it had been thrown being spent,
it was arrested and fell to the ground.
Achilles then exerting his utmost strength
threw his spear in return. JEneas crouched
down to avoid the shock of the weapon,
holding his shield at the same time above
his head, and bracing himself with all his
force against the approaching concussion.



The spear struck the shield near the upper
edge of it, as it was held in }Eneas's hands.
It passed directly through the plates of
which the shield was composed, and then
continuing its course, it glided down just
over JEneas's back, and planted itself deep
in the ground behind him, and stood there
quivering. JEneas crept out from beneath
it with a look of horror.
Immediately after throwing his spear, and
perceiving that it had failed of its intended
effect, Achilles drew his sword and rushed
forward to engage JEneas, hand to hand.
jEneas himself, recovering in an instant from
the consternation which his narrow escape
from impalement had awakened, seized an
enormous stone, heavier, as Homer repre-
sents it, than any two ordinary men could
lift, and was about to hurl it at his advancing
foe, when suddenly the whole combat was
terminated by a very unexpected interpo-
sition. It seems that the various gods and
goddesses, from their celestial abodes among
the summits of Olympus, had assembled in
invisible forms to witness this combat--
some sympathizing with and upholding one
of the combatants, and some the other.
Neptune was on JEneas's side; and ac-
cordingly when he saw how imminent the
danger was which threatened JEneas, when



Achilles came rushing upon him with his
uplifted sword, he at once resolved to inter-
fere. He immediately rushed, himself,
between the combatants. He brought a
sudden and supernatural mist over the
sea, such as the God of the Sea has always
at his command ; and this mist at once con-
cealed AEneas from Achilles's view. Nep-
tune drew the spear out of the ground, and
released it too from the shield which re-
mained still pinned down by it; and then
threw the spear down at Achilles's feet. He
next seized ]Eneas, and lifting him high
above the ground he bore him away in an
invisible form over the heads of soldiers and
horsemen that had been drawn up in long
lines around the field of combat. When
the mist passed away Achilles saw his
spear lying at his feet, and on looking
around him found that his enemy was gone.
Such are the marvellous tales which were
told by the ancient narrators, of the prowess
and exploits of /Eneas under the walls of
Troy, and of the interpositions which were
put forth to save him in moments of des-
perate danger, by beings supernatural and
divine. These tales were in those days be-
lieved as sober history. That which was
marvellous and philosophically incredible in
them, was sacredly sheltered from question



by mingling itself with the prevailing prin-
ciples of religious faith. The tales were
thus believed, and handed down traditionally
from generation to generation, and admired
and loved by all who heard and repeated
them, partly on account of their romantic
and political beauty, and partly on account
of the sublime and sacred revelations which
they contained, in respect to the divinities
of the spiritual world.

AFTER the final conquest and destruction of
Troy, ZEneas, in the course of his wander-
ings, stopped, it was said, at Carthage, on
his way to Italy, and there, according to
ancient story, he gave the following account
of the circumstances attending the capture
and the sacking of the city, and his own es-
cape from the scene.
One day, after the war had been con-
tinued with various success for a long
period of time, the sentinels on the walls
and towers of the city began to observe ex-
traordinary movements in the camp of the
besiegers, which seemed to indicate prepara-
tions for breaking up the camp and going

away. Tents were struck. Men were
busy passing to and fro, arranging arms and
military stores, as if for transportation. A
fleet of ships was drawn up along the shore,
which was not far distant, and a great scene
of activity manifested itself upon the bank,
indicating an approaching embarkation. In
a word, the tidings soon spread throughout
the city, that the Greeks had at length be-
come weary of the protracted contest, and
were making preparations to withdraw from
the field. These proceedings were watched,
of course, with great interest from the walls
of the city, and at length the inhabitants, to
their inexpressible joy, found their anticipa-
tions and hopes, as they thought, fully
realized. The camp of the Greeks was
gradually broken up, and at last entirely
abandoned. The various bodies of troops
were drawn off one by one to the shore,
where they were embarked on board the
ships, and then sailed away. As soon as
this result was made sure, the Trojans threw
open the gates of the city, and came out in
throngs,-soldiers and citizens, men, women
and children together,-to explore the aban-
doned encampment, and to rejoice over the
departure of their terrible enemies.
The first thing which attracted their at-
tention was an immense wooden horse, which


stood upon the ground that the Greek en-
campment had occupied. The Trojans im-
mediately gathered, one and all, around the
monster, full of wonder and curiosity.
_.Eneas, in narrating the story, says that the
image was as large as a mountain; but, as
he afterwards relates that the people drew
it on wheels within the walls of the city,
and especially as he represents them as
attaching the ropes for this purpose to the
neck of the image, instead of its own fore-
legs, which would have furnished the only
proper points of attachment if the effigy had
been of any very extraordinary size, he
must have had a very small mountain in
mind in making the comparison. Or, which
is perhaps more probable, he used the term
only in a vague metaphorical sense, as we
do now when we speak of the waves of the
ocean as running mountain high, when it is
well ascertained that the crests of the bil-
lows, even in the most violent and protracted
storms, never rise more than twenty feet
above the general level.
At all events, the image was large enough
to excite the wonder of all the beholders.
The Trojan people gathered around it,
wholly unable to understand for what pur-
pose the Greeks could have constructed
such a monster, to leave behind them on



their departure from Troy. After the first
emotions of astonishment and wonder which
the spectacle awakened, had somewhat sub-
sided, there followed a consultation in re-
spect to the disposal which was to be made
of the prodigy. The opinions on this point
were very various. One commander was
disposed to consider the image a sacred prize,
and recommended that they should convey
it into the city, and deposit it in the
citadel, as a trophy of victory. Another,
dissenting decidedly from this counsel, said
that he strongly suspected some latent
treachery, and he proposed to build a fire
under the body of the monster, and burn the
image itself and all contrivances for mischief
which might be contained in it, together.
A third recommended that they should hew
it open, and see for themselves what there
might be within. One of the Trojan leaders
named Laocoon, who, just at this juncture,
came to the spot, remonstrated loudly and
earnestly against having any thing to do
with so mysterious and suspicious a prize,
and, by way of expressing the strong ani-
mosity which he felt towards it, he hurled
his spear with all his force against the
monster's side. The spear stood trembling
in the wood, producing a deep hollow sound
by the concussion.


What the decision would have been in re-
spect to the disposal of the horse, if this
consultation and debate had gone on, it is
impossible to say, as the farther consideration
of the subject was all at once interrupted,
by new occurrences which here suddenly
intervened, and which, after engrossing for
a time the whole attention of the company
assembled, finally controlled the decision of
the question. A crowd of peasants and
shepherds were seen coming from the moun-
tains, with much excitement, and loud
shouts and outcries, bringing with them a
captive Greek whom they had secured and
bound. As the peasants came up with their
prisoner, the Trojans gathered eagerly
round them, full of excitement and threats
of violence, all thirsting, apparently, for
their victim's blood. He, on his part, filled
the air with the most piteous lamentations
and cries fbr mercy.
His distress and wretchedness, and the
earnest entreaties which he uttered, seemed
at length to soften the hearts of his enemies,
and finally, the violence of the crowd around
the captive became somewhat appeased, and
was succeeded by a disposition to question
him, and hear what he had to say. The
Greek told them, in answer to their interro-
gations, that his name was Sinon, and that


he was a fugitive from his own countrymen
the Greeks, who had been intending to kill
him. He said that the Greek leaders had
long been desirous of abandoning the siege
of Troy, and that they had made many at-
tempts to embark their troops and sail away,
but that the winds and seas had risen against
them on every such attempt, and defeated
their design. They then sent to consult
the oracle of Apollo, to learn what was the
cause of the displeasure and hostility thus
manifested against them by the god of the
sea. The oracle replied, that they could
not depart from Troy, till they had first
made an atoning and propitiatory offering
by the sacrifice of a man, such an one as
Apollo himself might designate. TWhen this
answer was returned, the whole army, as
Sinon said, was thrown into a state of con-
sternation. No one knew but that the
fatal designation might fall on him. The
leaders were, however, earnestly determined
on carrying the measure into effect. Ulysses
called upon Calchas, the priest of Apollo, to
point out the man who was to die. Calchas
waited day after day, for ten days, before
the divine intimation was made to him in
respect to the individual who was to suffer.
At length he said that Sinon was the des-
tined victim. His comrades, Sinon said,



rejoicing in their own escape from so terrible
a doom, eagerly assented to the priest's de-
cision, and immediately made preparations
for the ceremony. The altar was reared.
The victim was adorned for the sacrifice,
and the garlands, according to the accus-
tomed usage, were bound upon his temples.
He contrived, however, he said, at the last
moment, to make his escape. He broke
the bands with which he had been bound,
and fled into a morass near the shore, where
he remained concealed in inaccessible thick-
ets until the Greeks had sailed away. He
then came forth and was at length seized and
bound by the shepherds of the mountains,
who found him wandering about, in extreme
destitution and misery. Sinon concluded his
tale by the most piteous lamentations, on
his wretched lot. The Trojans, he supposed,
would kill him, and the Greeks, on their
return to his native land, in their anger
against him for having made his escape
from them, would destroy his wife and chil-
The air and manner with which Sinon told
this story seemed so sincere, and so natural
and unaffected were the expressions of
wretchedness and despair with which he
ended his narrative, that the Trojan leaders
had no suspicion that it was not true. Their



compassion was moved for the wretched
fugitive, and they determined to spare his
life. Priam, the aged king, who was present
at the scene, in the midst of the Trojan
generals, ordered the cords with which the
peasants had bound the captive to be sun-
dered, that he might stand before them
free. The king spoke to him, too, in a
kind and encouraging manner. Forget
your countrymen," said he. They are
gone. Henceforth you shall be one of us.
WVe will take care of you." "And now," he
continued, tell us what this monstrous
image means. WVhy did the Greeks make
it, and why have they left it here ?"
Sinon, as if grateful for the generosity
with which his life had been spared, pro-
fessed himself ready to give his benefactors
the fullest information. He told them that
the wooden horse had been built by the
Greeks to replace a certain image of Pallas
which they had previously taken and borne
away from Troy. It was to replace this
image, Sinon said, that the Greeks had
built the wooden horse ; and their purpose
in making the image of this monstrous size
was to prevent the possibility of the Trojans
taking it into the city, and thus appropria-
ting to themselves the benefit of its pro-
tecting efficacy and virtue. E



The Trojans listened with breathless
interest to all that Sinon said, and readily
believed his story ; so admirably well did he
counterfeit, by his words and his demeanour,
all the marks and tokens of honest sincerity
in what he said of others, as well as of grief
and despair in respect to his own unhappy
lot. The current of opinion which had
begun before to set strongly in favour of
destroying the horse, was wholly turned,
and all began at once to look upon the
colossal image as an object of sacred vene-
ration, and to begin to form plans for
transporting it within the limits of the city.
Whatever remaining doubts any of them
might have felt on the subject were dispelled
by the occurrence of a most extraordinary
phenomenon just at this stage of the affair,
which was understood by all to be a divine
judgment upon Laocoon for his sacrilegious
temerity in striking his spear into the horse's
side. It had been determined to offer a
sacrifice to Neptune. Lots were drawn to
determine who should perform the rite.
The lot fell upon Laocoon. He began to
make preparations to perform the duty,
assisted by his two young sons, when sud-
denly two immense serpents appeared,
ooming-up from the sea. They came swim-
ming over the surface of the water, with



their heads elevated above the waves, until
they reached the shore, and then gliding
along, they advanced across the plain, their
bodies brilliantly spotted and glittering in the
sun, their eyes flashing, and their forked and
venomous tongues darting threats and de-
fiance as they came. The people fled in
dismay. The serpents, disregarding all
others, made their way directly toward the
affrighted children of Laocoon, and twining
around them they soon held the writhing
and struggling limbs of their shrieking vic-
tims hopelessly entangled in their deadly
Laocoon, who was himself at a little dis-
tance from the spot, when the serpents came,
as soon as he saw the danger and heard the
agonizing cries of his boys, seized a weapon
and ran to rescue them. Instead, however,
of being able to save his children, he only
involved himself in their dreadful fate. The
serpents seized him as soon as he came
within their reach, and taking two turns
around his neck and two around his body,
and binding in a remorseless gripe the forms
of the fainting and dying boys with other
convolutions, they raised their heads high
above the group of victims wlich they thus
enfolded, and hissed and darted out their
forked tongues in token of defiance and


victory. When at length their work was
done, they glided away and took refuge in a
temple that was near, and coiled themselves
up for repose beneath the feet of the statue
of a goddess that stood in the shrine.
The story of Laocoon has become cele-
brated among all mankind in modern times
by means of a statue representing the
catastrophe, which was found two or three
centuries ago among the ruins of an ancient
edifice at Rome. This statue was mentioned
by an old Roman writer, Pliny, who gave an
account of it while it yet stood in its place
in the ancient city. He said that it was the
work of three artists, a father and two sons,
who combined their industry and skill to
carve in one group, and with immense labour
and care, the representation of Laocoon
himself, the two boys, and the two serpents,
making five living beings intertwined in-
tricately together, and all carved from one
single block of marble. On the decline and
fall of Rome this statue was lost among
the ruins of the city, and for many centuries
it was known to mankind only through the
description of Pliny. At length it was
brought to light again, having been dis-
covered about three centuries ago, under the
ruins of the very edifice in which Pliny had
described it as standing. It immediately


became the object of great interest and
attention to the whole world. It was de-
posited in the Vatican ; a great reward was
paid to the owner of the ground on which it
was discovered ; drawings and casts of it,
without number, have been made; and the
original stands in the Vatican now, an object
of universal interest, as one of the most
celebrated sculptures of ancient or modern
But to return to the story. The people
understood this awful visitation to be the
judgment of heaven against Laocoon for his
sacrilegious presumption in daring to thrust
his spear into the side of the image before
them, and which they were now very sure
they were to consider as something super-
natural and divine. They determined with
one accord to take it into the city.
They immediately began to make prepa-
rations for the transportation of it. They
raised it from the ground, and fitted to the
feet some sort of machinery of wheels or
rollers, suitable to the nature of the ground,
and strong enough to bear the weight of
the colossal mass. They attached long ropes
to the neck of the image, and extended them
forward upon the ground ; and then brought
up large companies of citizens and soldiers
to man them. They arranged a procession,



consisting of the generals of the army, and of
the great civil dignitaries of the state ; and
in addition to these were groups of singing
boys and girls, adorned with wreaths and
garlands, who were appointed to chant
sacred hymns to solemnize the occasion.
They widened the access to the city, too, by
tearing down a portion of the wall so as to
open a sufficient space to enable the monster
to get in. When all was ready the ropes
were manned, the signal was given, the
ponderous mass began to move, and though
it encountered in its progress many diffi-
culties, obstructions, and delays, in due
time it was safely deposited in the court of
a great public edifice within the. city. The
wall was then repaired, the day passed away,
the night came on, the gates were shut, and
the curiosity and wonder of the people
within being gradually satisfied, they at
length dispersed to their several homes and
retired to rest. At midnight the uneon-
scious effigy stood silent and alone where
its worshippers had left it, while the whole
population of the city were sunk in slumber,
except the sentinels who had been stationed
as usual to keep guard at the gates, or to
watch upon the towers and battlements above
In the mean time the Greek fleet, which


had sailed away under pretence of finally
abandoning the country, had proceeded only
to the island of Tenedos, which was about
a league from the shore, and there they had
concealed themselves during the day. As
soon as night came on they returned to the
main land, and disembarking with the ut-
most silence and secrecy, they made their
way back again under cover of the darkness,
as near as they dared to come to the gates of
the city. In the meantime Sinon had arisen
stealthily from the sleep which he had
feigned to deceive those to whose charge he
had been committed, and creeping cautiously
through the streets he repaired to the place
where the wooden horse had been deposited,
and there opened a secret door in the side of
the image, and liberated a band of armed
and desperate men who had been concealed
within. These men, as soon as they had
descended to the ground and had adjusted
their armour, rushed to the city walls, sur-
prised and killed the sentinels and watch-
men, threw open the gates, and gave the
whole body of their comrades that were
lurking outside the walls, in the silence and
darkness of the night, an unobstructed
]Eneas was asleep in his house while
these things were transpiring. The house


where he lived was in a retired and quiet
situation, but he was awakened from his
sleep by distant outcries and din, and spring-
ing from his couch, and hastily resuming
his dress, he ascended to the roof of the
house to ascertain the cause of the alarm.
He saw flames ascending from various edi-
fices in the quarter of the city where the
Greeks had come in. He listened. He
could distinctly hear the shouts of men, and
the notes of trumpets sounding the alarm.
IHe immediately seized his armour and
rushed forth into the streets, arousing the
inhabitants around him from their slumbers
by his shouts, and calling upon them to arm
themselves and follow him.
In the midst of this excitement, there
suddenly appeared before himi, coming from
the scene of the conflict, a Trojan friend,
named Pantheus, who was hasteniing away
from the danger, perfectly bewildered with
excitement and agitation. He was leading
with him his little son, who was likewise
pale with terror. iEneas asked Pantheus
what had happened. Pantheus in reply ex-
plained to him in hurried and broken words,
that armed men treacherously concealed
within the wooden horse, had issued forth
from their concealment, and had opened the
gates of the city, and let the whole horde of



their ferocious and desperate enemies in ;
that the sentinels and guards who had been
stationed at the gates had been killed; and
that the Greek troops had full possession of
the city, and were barricading the streets
and setting fire to the buildings on every
side. All is lost," said he, our cause is
ruined, and Troy is no more."
The announcing of these tidings filled
JEneas and those who had joined him with
a species of frenzy. They resolved to
press forward into the combat, and there, if
they must perish themselves, to carry down
as many as possible of their enemies with
them to destruction. They pressed on,
therefore, through the gloomy streets, guid-
ing their way towards the scene of action by
the glare of the fires upon the sky, and by
the sounds of the distant tumult and din.
They soon found themselves in the midst
of scenes of dreadful terror and confusion,
-the scenes, in fact, which are usually ex-
hibited in the midnight sacking of a city.
They met with various adventures during
the time that they continued their desperate
but hopeless resistance. They encountered
a party of Greeks, and overpowered them
and slew them, and then seizing the armour
which their fallen enemies had worn, they
disguised themselves in it, in hopes to de-



ceive the main body of the Greeks by this
means, so as to mingle among them unob-
served, and thus attack and destroy such
small parties as they might meet without
being themselves attacked by the rest.
They saw the princess Cassandra, the young
daughter of king Priam, dragged away by
Greek soldiers from a temple where she had
sought refuge. They immediately under-
took to rescue her, and were at once at-
tacked both by the Greek party who had
the princess in charge, and also by the Tro-
jan soldiers, who shot arrows and darts down
upon them from the roofs above, supposing,
from tle armour and the plumes which they
wore, tlat they were enemies. They saw
the royal palace besieged, and the tortoise
formed for scaling the walls of it. The tu-
mult and din, and the frightful glare of lurid
flames by which the city was illuminated,
formed a scene of inconceivable confusion
and terror.
JEneas watched the progress of the as-
sault upon the palace from the top of cer-
tain lofty roofs, to which he ascended for the
purpose. Here there was a slender tower,
which had been built for a watch-tower, and
had been carried up to such a height that,
from the summit of it, the watchman sta-
tioned there could survey all the environs of



the city, and on one side look off to some
distance over the sea. This tower IZEneas
and the Trojans who were with him con-
trived to cut off at its base, and throw over
upon the throngs of Grecians that were
thundering at the palace gates below.
Great numbers were killed by the falling
ruins, and the tortoise was broken down.
The Greeks, however, soon formed another
tortoise, by means of which some of the
soldiers scaled the walls, while others broke
down the gates with battering rams, and
engines; and thus the palace, the sacred
and last remaining stronghold of the city,
was thrown open to the ferocious and frantic
horde of its assailants.
The sacking of the palace presented an
awful spectacle to the view of JEneas and
his companions, as they looked down upon
it from the roofs and battlements around.
As the walls one after another, fell in under
the resistless blows dealt by the engines
that were brought against them, the interior
halls, and the most retired and private
apartments, were thrown open to view-all
illuminated by the glare of the surrounding
Shrieks and wailing, and every other
species of outcry that comes from grief,
terror and despair, arose from within ; and



such spectators as had the heart to look con-
tinuously upon the spectacle, could see
wretched men running to and fro, and
virgins clinging to altars for protection, and
frantic mothers vainly endeavouring to find
hiding-places for themselves and their help-
less children.
Priam the king, who was at this time old
and infirm, was aroused from his slumbers
by the dreadful din, and immediately began
to seize his armour, and to prepare himself for
rushing into the fight. His wife, however,
Hecuba, begged and entreated him to desist.
She saw that all was lost, and that any fur-
ther attempts at resistance would only exas-
perate their enemies, and render their own
destruction the more inevitable. She per-
suaded the king, therefore, to give up his
weapons and go with her to an altar, in
one of the courts of the palace,-a place
which it would be sacrilege for their enemies
to violate, and there patiently and submis-
sively to await the end. Priam yielded to the
queen's solicitations, and wentwith her to the
place of refuge which she had chosen ;-and
the plan which they thus adopted, might
very probably have been successful in saving
their lives, had it not been for an unexpected
occurrence which suddenly intervened, and
which led to a fatal result. While they



were seated by the altar, in attitudes of sub-
mission and suppliance, they were suddenly
aroused by the rushing towards them of one
of their sons, who came in, wounded and
bleeding from some scene of combat, and
pursued by angry and ferocious foes. The
spent and fainting warrior sank down at the
feet of his father and mother, and lay there
dying and weltering in the blood which
flowed from his wounds. The aged king
was aroused to madness at this spectacle.
He leaped to his feet, seized a javelin, and
thundering out at the same time the most
loud and bitter imprecations against the
murderers of his son, he hurled the weapon
towards them as they advanced. The jave-
lin struck the shield of the leader of the as-
sailants, and rebounded from it without pro-
ducing any other effect than to enrage still
more the furious spirit which it was meant
to destroy. The assailant rushed forward,
seized the aged father by the hair, dragged
him slipping, as he went, in the blood of his
son, up to the altar, and there plunged a
sword into his body, burying it to the hilt,
-and then threw him down, convulsed and
dying, upon the body of his dying child.
Thus Priam fell, and with him the last
hope of the people of Troy. The city in
full possession of their enemies, the palace


and citadel sacked and destroyed, and the
king slain, they saw that there was nothing
now left for which they had any wish to
con tend.



]ENEAS, from his station upon the battle-
ments of a neighboring edifice, witnessed
the taking of the palace and the death of
Priam. lHe immediately gave up all for
lost, and turned his thoughts at once to the
sole question of the means of saving himself
and his family from impending destruction.
He thought of his father, Anchises, who at
this time lived with him in the city, and was
nearly of the same age as Priam the king,
whom he had just seen so cruelly slain. iHe
thought of his wife, too, whom he had left at
home, and of his little son, Ascanius, and he
began now to be overwhelmed with the ap-
prehension, that the besiegers had found
their way to his dwelling, and were, per-
haps, at that very moment plundering and
destroying it, and perpetrating cruel deeds
of violence and outrage upon his wife and


family. He determined immediately to
hasten home.
He looked around to see who of his com-
panions remained with him. There was not
one. They had all gone and left him alone.
Some had leaped down from the battlements
and made their escape to other parts of the
city. Some had fallen in the attempt to
leap, and had perished in the flames that
were burning among the buildings beneath
them. Others still had been reached by
darts and arrows from below, and had
tumbled headlong from their lofty height
into the street beneath them. The Greeks,
too, had left that part of the city. WVhen
the destruction of the palace had been ef-
fected, there was no longer any motive to
remain, and they had gone away, one band
after another, with loud shouts of exultation
and defiance, to seek new combats in other
quarters of the city. IEneas listened to the
sounds of their voices, as they gradually
died away upon his ear. Thus, in one way
and another, all had gone, and ZEneas found
himself alone.
ZEneas contrived to find his way back safely
to the street, and then stealthily choosing
his way, and vigilantly watching against the
dangers that surrounded him, he advanced
cautiously among the ruins of the palace, in


the direction towards his own home. He
had not proceeded far before he saw a fe-
male figure lurking in the shadow of an altar
near which he had to pass. It proved to be
the princess Helen.
Helen was a Grecian princess, formerly
the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, but
she had eloped from Greece some years be-
fore, with Paris, the son of Priam, king of
Troy, and this elopement had been the
whole cause of the Trojan war. In the first
instance, Menelaus, accompanied by another
Grecian chieftain, went to Troy and de-
manded that Helen should be given up
again to her proper husband. Paris re-
fused to surrender her. Menelaus then
returned to Greece and organised a grand
expedition to proceed to Troy and re-
capture the queen. This was the origin of
the war. The people, therefore, looked upon
Helen as the cause, whether innocent or
guilty, of all their calamities.
When JEneas, therefore, who was, as may
well be supposed, in no very amiable or
gentle temper, as he hurried along away
from the smoking ruins of the palace toward
his home, saw Helen endeavouring to screen
herself from the destruction which she had
been the means of bringing upon all that
he held dear, he was aroused to a frenzy of


anger against her, and determined to avenge
the wrongs of his country by her destruc-
tion. I will kill her," said he to himself,
as he rushed forward toward the spot where
she was concealed. There is no great
glory it is true in wreaking vengeance on a
woman, or in bringing her to the punish-
ment which her crimes deserve. Still I will
kill her, and I shall be commended for the
deed. She shall not, after bringing ruin
upon us, escape herself, and go back to
Greece in safety and be a queen there
As }Eneas said these words, rushing for-
ward at the same time, sword in hand, he
was suddenly intercepted and brought to a
stand by the apparition of his mother, the
goddess Aphrodite, who all at once stood
in the way before him. She stopped him,
took him by the hand, urged him to restrain
his useless anger, and calmed and quieted
him with soothing words. It is not Helen,"
said she, that has caused the destruction
of Troy. It is through the irresistible and
irrevocable decrees of the gods that the city
has fallen. It is useless for you to struggle
against inevitable destiny, or to attempt
to take vengeance on mere human means
and instrumentalities. Think no more of


Helen. Think of your family. Your aged
father, your helpless wife, your little son,
-where are they ? Even now while you
are wasting time here in vain attempts to
take vengeance on Helen for what the gods
have done, all that are near and dear to you
are surrounded by ferocious enemies thirst-
ing for their blood. Fly to them and save
them. I shall accompany you, though un-
seen, and will protect you and them from
every impending drnger."
As soon as Aphrodite had spoken these
words she disappeared from view. IEneas,
following her injunctions, went directly to-
ward his home ; and he found as he passed
along the streets tliat the way was opened
for him, by mysterious movements among
the armed bands which were passing in
every direction about the city, inl such a
manner as to convince him that his mother
was really accompanying him, and protect-
ing his way by her supernatural powers.
When he reached home the first person
whom he saw was Anchises his father. He
told Anchises that all was lost, and tlat no-
thing now remained for them but to seek
safety for themselves by flying to the moun-
tains behind the city. But Anchises refused
to go. You who are young," said he,
c and who have enough of life before you to


be worth preserving, may fly. As for me I
will not attempt to save the little remnant
that remains to me, to be spent, if saved, in
miserable exile. If the powers of heaven
had intended that I should have lived any
longer, they would have spared my native
city,-iny only home. You may go your-
selves, but leave me here to die."
In saying these words Anchises turned
away in great despondency, firmly fixed,
apparently, in his determination to remain
and share the fate of the city. IEneas and
Creusa his wife joined their entreaties in
urging him to go away. But he would not
be persuaded. IEneas then declared that he
would not go and leave his father. If one
was to die they would all die, he said, toge-
ther. He called for his armour and began
to put it on, resolving to go out again into
the streets of the city and die, since he must
die, in the act of destroying his destroyers.
He was, however, prevented from carrying
this determination into effect, by Creusa's in-
tervention, who fell down before him at the
threshold of the door, almost frantic with
excitement and terror, and holding her little
son Ascanius with one arm, and clasping her
husband's knees with the other, she begged
him not to leave them. Stay and save us,"
said she, do not go and throw your life



away. Or, if you will go, take us with you
that we may all die together."
The conflict of impulses and passions in
this unhappy family continued for some time
longer, but it ended at last in the yielding of
Anchises to the wishes of the rest, and they
all resolved to fly. In the mean time, the
noise and uproar in the streets of the city,
were drawing nearer and nearer, and the light
of the burning buildings breaking out con-
tinually at new points in the progress of the
conflagration, indicated that no time was to
be lost. JEneas hastily formed his plan. His
father was too old and infirm to go himself
through the city. IEneas determined there-
fore to carry him upon his shoulders. Little
Ascanius was to walk along by his side.
Creusa was to follow, keeping as close as pos-
sible to her husband lest she should lose him
in the darkness of the night, or in the scenes
of uproar and confusion through which they
would have to pass on the way. The domes-
tics of the family were to escape from the city
by different routes, each choosing his own, in
order to avoid attracting the attention of their
enemies; and when once without the gates
they were all to rendezvous again at a cer-
tain rising ground, not far from the city,
which I3Eneas designated to them by means
of an old deserted temple which marked the


spot, and a venerable cypress which grew
This plan being formed the party imme-
diately proceeded to put it in execution.
IEneas spread a lion's skin over his shoulders
to make the resting-place more easy for his
father, or perhaps to lighten the pressure of
the heavy burden upon his own limbs. An-
chises took what were called the household
gods, in his hands. These were sacred ima-
ges which it was customary to keep, in those
days, in every dwelling, as the symbol and
embodiment of divine protection. To save
these images, when everything else was
given up for lost, was always the object of
the last desperate effort of the husband and
father. A~neas in this case asked his father
to take these images, as it would have been
an impiety for him, having come fresh from
scenes of battle and bloodshed, to have put
his hand upon them, without previously
performing some ceremony of purification.
Ascanius took hold of his father's hand.
Creusa followed behind. Thus arranged
they sallied forth from the house into the
streets--all dark and gloomy, except so far
as they received a partial and inconstant
light from the flames of the distant confla-
grations, which glared in the sky, and
flashed sometimes upon battlements and


towers, and upon the tops of lofty dwell-
JEneas pressed steadily on, though in a
state continually of the highest excitement
and apprehension. He kept stealthily along
wherever lie could find the deepest shadows,
under walls, and through the most obscure
and the narrowest streets. He was in con-
stant fear lest some stray dart or arrow
should strike Anchises or Creusa, or lest
some band of Greeks should come suddenly
upon them, in which case he knew well that
they would all be cut dowh without mercy,
for, loaded down as he was with his burden,
he would be entirely unable to do anything
to defend cither himself or them. The
party, however, for a time seemed to escape
all these dangers, but at length, just as they
were approaching the gate of the city, and
began to think that they were safe, they
were suddenly alarmed by a loud uproar,
and by a rush of men which came in toward
them from some streets in that quarter of the
city, and threatened to overwhelm them.
Anchises was greatly alarmed. He saw the
gleaming weapons of the Greeks who were
rushing toward them, and he called out to
.,Eneas to fly faster, or to turn off some other
way, in order to escape the impending
danger. JEneas was terrified by the shouts


and uproar which he heard, and his mind
was for a moment confused by the bewilder-
ing influences of the scene. He however
hurried forward, running this way and that,
wherever there seemed the best prospect of
escape, and often embarrassed and retarded
in his flight by the crowds of people who
were moving confusedly in all directions.
At length, however, lie succeeded in finding
egress from the city. He pressed on,
without stopping to look behind him till he
reached the appointed place of rendezvous
on the hill, and then gently laying down his
burden, he looked around for Creusa. She
was nowhere to be seen.
iJEneas was in utter consternation, at
finding that his wife was gone. He
mourned and lamented this dreadful ca-
lamity with loud exclamations of grief and
despair ; then reflecting that it was a time
for action and not for idle grief, he hastened
to conceal his father and Ascanius in a dark
and winding valley behind the hill, and
leaving them there under the charge of his
domestics, he hastened back to the city to
see if Creusa could be found.
He armed himself completely before he
went, being in his desperation determined
to encounter every danger in his attempts to
find and to recover his beloved wife. He


went directly to the gate from which he had
come out, and re-entering the city there, he
began to retrace, as well as he could, the
way that le had taken in coming out of the
city-guiding himself as he went, by the
light of the flames which rose up here and
there from the burning buildings.
He went on in this way in a desperate state
of agitation and distress, searching every-
where but seeing nothing of Creusa. At
length he thought it possible that she had
concluded, when she found herself separated
from him, to go back to the house, as the
safest place of refuge fbr her, and he de-
termined, accordingly, to go and seek her
there. This was his last hope, and most
cruelly was it disappointed when he came to
the place of his dwelling.
He found his house, when he arrived near
the spot, all in flames. The surrounding
buildings were burning too, and the streets
in the neighbourhood were piled up with
furniture and goods which the wretched
inmates of the dwellings had vainly en-
deavoured to save. These inmates them-
selves were standing around, distracted with
grief and terror, and gazing hopelessly
upon the scene of devastation before them.
]Eneas saw all these things at a glance,
and immediately, in a frenzy of excitement,


began to call out Creusa's name. He went
to and fro among the groups surrounding
the fire, calling for her in a frantic manner,
and imploring all whom he saw to give him
some tidings of her. All was, however, in
vain. She could not be found. ,Eneas
then went roaming about through other
portions of the city, seeking her everywhere,
and inquiring for her of every person whom
he met that had the appearance of being a
friend. His suspense, however, was termi-
nated at last by his suddenly coming upon
an apparition of the spirit of Creusa, which
rose before him in a solitary part of the city,
and arrested his progress. The apparition
was of preternatural size, and it stood before
him in so ethereal and shadow-like a form,
and the features beamed upon him with so
calm and placid and benignant an expression,
as convinced him that the vision was not of
this world. AEneas saw at a glance that
Creusa's earthly sorrows and sufferings were
ended for ever.
At first he was shocked and terrified at
the spectacle. Creusa, however, endeavoured
to calm and quiet him by soothing words.
" My dearest husband," said she," donotgive
way thus to anxiety and grief. The events
which have befallen us, have not come by
chance. They are all ordered by an over-

ruling providence that is omnipotent and
divine. It was predetermined by the decrees
of heaven that you were not to take me with
you in your flight. I have learned what
your future destiny is to be. There is a
lon- period of weary wandering before you,
over the ocean and on the land, and you will
Lave many difficulties, dangers, and trials to
incur. You will, however, be conducted
safely through t chrn all, and will in the end
find a peaceful and happy home on the banks
of the Tiber. There you will found a new
kingdom ; a princess is even now provided
for you there, to become your bride. Cease
tlen to mourn for me ; rather rejoice that I
did not fall a captive into the hands of our
enemies, to be carried away into Greece and
made a slave. I am free, and you must not
lament my fate. -Farewell. Love Ascanius
for my sake, and watch over him and protect
him as long as you live."
Having spoken these words, the vision be-
gan to disappear. JEneas endeavoured to
clasp the beloved image in his arms to retain
it, but it was intangible and evanescent,
and, before he could speak to it, it was
gone, and he was left standing in the deso-
late and gloomy street alone. He turned at
length slowly away ; and solitary, thoughtful
and sad, he went back to the gate of the


city, and thence out to the valley where he
had concealed Anchises and his little son.
He found them safe. The whole party
then sought places of retreat among the
glens and mountains, where they could re-
main concealed a few days, while JEneas and
his companions could make arrangements for
abandoning the country altogether. These
arrangements were soon completed. As
soon as the Greeks had retired, so that they
could come out without danger from their
place of retreat, }Eneas employed his men
in building a number of small vessels, fitting
them, as was usual in those days, both with
sails and oars.
During the progress of these preparations,
small parties of Trojans were coming in con-
tinually, day by day, to join him ; being
drawn successively from their hiding-places
among, the mountains, by hearing that the
Greeks had gone away, and that AEneas was
gradually assembling the remnant of the
Trojans on the shore. The number thus
collected at JEneas's encampment gradually
increased, and as }Eneas enlarged and ex-
tended his naval preparations to correspond
with the augmenting number of his adher-
ents, he found when he was ready to set
sail, that he was at the head of a very res-
pectable naval and military force.


When the fleet at last was ready, he put
a stock of provisions on board, and embarked
his men,-taking, of course, Anchises and
Ascanius with him. As soon as a favourable
wind arose, the expedition set sail. As the
vessels moved slowly away, the decks were
covered with men and women, who gazed
mournfully at the receding shores, conscious
that they were bidding a final farewell to
their native land.
The nearest country within reach in
leaving the Trojan coast, was Thrace-a
country lying north of the Egean sea, and
of the Propontis, being separated, in fact, in
one part, from the Trojan territories, only
by the Hellespont. JEneas turned his course
northward toward this country, and after
a short voyage landed there, and attempted
to make a settlement. He was, however,
prevented from remaining long, by a dread-
ful prodigy which he witnessed there, and
which induced him to leave those shores
very precipitously. The prodigy was this :
They had erected an altar on the shore,
after they had landed, and were preparing to
offer the sacrifices customary on such oc-
casions, when ZEneas, wishing to shade the
altar with boughs, went to a myrtle bush
which was growing near, and began to pull
up the green shoots from the ground. To


his astonishment and horror, he found that
blood flowed from the roots whenever they
were broken. Drops of what appeared to
be human blood would ooze from the rup-
tured part as he held the shoot in his hand,
and fall slowly to the ground. He was
greatly terrified at this spectacle, considering
it as some omen of very dreadful import.
He immediately and instinctively offered up
a prayer to the presiding deities of the land,
that they would avert from him the evil in-
fluences, whatever they might be, which the
omen seemed to portend, or that they would
at least explain the meaning of the prodigy.
After offering this prayer, he took hold of
another stem of the myrtle, and attempted
to draw it from the ground, in order to see
whether any change in the appearances ex-
hibited by the prodigy had been effected by
his prayer. At the instant, however, when
the roots began to give way, he heard a
groan coming up from the ground below, as
if from a person in suffering. Immediately
afterwards a voice, in a mournful and sepul-
chral accent, began to beg him to go away,
and cease disturbing the repose of the dead.
" What you are tearing and lacerating," said
the voice, is not a tree, but a man. I am
Polydorus. I was killed by the king of
Thrace, and instead of burial, have been


turned into a myrtle growing on the
Polydorus was a Trojan prince. He was
the youngest son of Priam, and had been
sent some years before to Thrace, to be
brought up in the court of the Thracian
king. He had been provided with a large
supply of money and treasure when he left
Troy, in order that all his wants might be
abundantly supplied, and that lie might
maintain, during his absence from home,
the position to which his rank as a Trojan
prince entitled him. His treasures, how-
ever, which had been provided for him by
his father as his sure reliance for support
and protection, beame the occasion of his
ruin-for the Thracian king, when he found
that the war was going against the Trojans,
and that Priam the father was slain, and the
city destroyed, mtiurdered the son fbr his gold.
JEneas and his companions were shocked
to hear this story and perceived at once that
Thrace was no place of safety for them.
They resolved immediately to leave the
coast and seek their fortunes in other re-
gions. They, however, first, in secrecy and
silence, but with great solemnity, performed
those funeral rites for Polydoi us which were
considered in those ages essential to the re-
pose of the dead. When these mournful

ceremonies were ended they embarked on
board their ships again and sailed away.
After this, the party of _Eneas spent many
months in weary voyages from island to
island, and from shore to shore, along the
Mediterranean sea, encountering every ima-
ginable difficulty and danger, and meeting
continually with the strangest and most ro-
mantic adventures. At one time they were
misled by a mistaken interpretation of pro-
phecy to attempt a settlement in Crete-a
green and beautiful island lying south of the
Egean sea. They had applied to a sacred
oracle, which had its seat at a certain conse-
crated spot which they visited in the course
of their progress southward through the
Egean sea, asking the oracle to direct them
where to go in order to find a settled home.
"The oracle, in answer to their request, in-
formed tliemi that they were to go to the
land that their ancestors had originally
come from, before their settlement in Troy.
2Eneas applied to Anclises to inform them
what land this was. Anchises replied, that
he thought it was Crete. There was an
ancient tradition, he said, that some dis-
tinguished men among the ancestors of' the
Trojans had originated in Crete ; and he
presumed accordingly that tlat was the land
to which the oracle referred.


The course of the little fleet was accord-
ingly directed southward, and in due time
the expedition safely reached the island of
Crete, and landed there. They immediately
commenced the work of effecting a settle-
ment. They drew the ships up upon the
shore ; they laid out a city; they inclosed
and planted fields, and began to build their
houses. In a short time, however, all their
bright prospects of rest and security were
blighted by the breaking out of a dreadful
pestilence among them. Many died ; others
who still lived, were utterly prostrated by
the effects of the disease, and crawled about,
emaciated and wretched, a miserable and
piteous spectacle to behold. To crown their
misfortunes, a great drought came on. The
grain which they had planted was dried up
and killed in the fields ; and thus in addition
to the horrors of pestilence, they were
threatened with the still greater horrors of
famine. Their distress was extreme, and
they were utterly at a loss to know what to do.
In this extremity Anchises recommended
that they should send back to the oracle to
inquire more particularly in respect to the
meaning to the former response, in order to
ascertain whether they had, by possibility,
misinterpreted it, and made their settlement
on the wrong ground. Or, if this was not



the case, to learn by what other error or
fault they had displeased the celestial
powers, and brought upon themselves such
terrible judgments. IEneas determined to
adopt this advice, but he was prevented
from carrying his intentions into effect by
the following occurrence.
One night he was lying upon his couch
in his dwelling,-so harassed by his anxie-
ties and cares that he could not sleep, and
revolving in his mind all possible plans for
extricating himself and his followers from
the difficulties which environed them. The
moon shone in at the windows, and by the
the light of this luminary he saw, reposing
in their shrines in the opposite side of
apartment where he was sleeping, the
household images which he had rescued
from the flames of Troy. As he looked
upon these divinities in the still and solemn
hour of midnight, oppressed with anxiety
and care, one of them began to address him.
We are commissioned," said this super-
natural voice, by Apollo, whose oracle you
are intending to consult again, to give you
the answer that you desire, without requir-
ing you to go back to his temple. It is true
that you have erred in attempting to make
a settlement in Crete. This is not the land


which is destined to be your home. You
must leave these shores, and continue your
voyage. The land which is destined to re-
ceive you is Italy, a land far removed from
this spot, and your way to it lies over wide
and boisterous seas. Do not be discouraged,
however, on this account, or on account of
the calamities which now impend over you.
You will be prospered in the end. You
will reach Italy in safety, and there you will
lay the foundations of a mighty empire,
which in days to come will extend its do-
minion far and wide among the nations of
the earth. Take courage, then, and embark
once more in your ships with a cheerful and
confident heart. You are safe, and in the
end all will turn out well."
The strength and spirits of the desponding
adventurer were very essentially revived by
this encouragement. He immediately pre-
pared to obey the injunctions which had
been thus divinely communicated to him,
and in a short time the half-built city was
abandoned, and the expedition one more
embarked on board the fleet and proceeded
to sea. They met in their subsequent
wanderings with a great variety of adven-
tures, but it would extend this portion of
our narrative too far, to relate them all.
At length, however, after the lapse of a

long period of time, and after meeting with
a great variety of adventures to which we can
not even here allude, Aneas and his party
reached the shores of Italy, at the point
which by divine intimations had been pointed
out to them as the place where they were
to land.
The story of the life and adventures of
JEneas, which we have given in this and in
the preceding chapters, is a faithful summary
of the narrative which the poetic historians
of those days recorded. It is, of course, not
to be relied upon as a narrative of facts ; but
it is worthy of very special attention by every
cultivated mind of the present day, from the
fact, that such is the beauty, the grace, the
melody, the inimitable poetic perfection with
which the story is told, in the language in
which the original record stands, that the
narrative has made a more deep, and wide-
spread, and lasting impression upon the hu-
man mind than any other narrative perhaps
that ever was penned.

LATIUM was the name given to an ancient
province of Italy, lying south of the Tiber.

At the time of ]Eneas's arrival upon the
coast it was an independent kingdom. The
name of the king who reigned over it at this
period was Latinus.
The country on the banks of the Tiber,
where the city of Rome afterward arose, was
then a wild but picturesque rural region, con-
sisting of hills and valleys, occupied by shep-
herds and husbandmen, but with nothing
upon it whatever, to mark it as the site of a
city. The people that dwelt in Latium were
shepherds and herdsmen, though there was a
considerable band of warriors under the com-
mand of the king. The inhabitants of the
country were of Greek origin, and they had
brought with them from Greece, when they
colonised the country, such rude arts as were
then known. They had the use of Cadmus's
letters, for writing, so far as writing was em-
ployed at all in those early days. They were
skilful in making such weapons of war, and
such simple instruments of music, as were
known at the time, and they could erect
buildings, of wood, or of stone, and thus
constructed such dwellings as they needed,
in their towns, and walls and citadels for
AEneas brought his fleet into the mouth of
the Tiber, and anchored it there. He him-
self, and all his followers, were thoroughly


weary of their wanderings, and hoped that
they were now about to land where they
should find a permanent abode. The number
of ships and men that had formed the expe-
dition at the commencement of the voyage,
was very large; but it had been consider-
ably diminished by the various misfortunes
and accidents incident to such an enterprise,
and the remnant that was left longed ar-
dently for rest. Some of the ships took fire,
and were burned at their moorings in the
Tiber, immediately after the arrival of the
expedition. It was said that they were set
on fire by the wives and mothers belonging
to the expedition,-who wished, by de-
stroying the ships, to render it impossible
for the fleet to go to sea again.
However this may be, AJneas was very
strongly disposed to make the beautiful
region which he now saw before him, his
final home. The country, in every aspect
of it, was alluring in the highest degree.
As soon as the disembarkation was effected,
lines of encampment were marked out, at a
suitable place on the shore, and such simple
fortifications as were necessary for defence
in such a case, were thrown up. dEneas
dispatched one party in boats to explore the
various passages and channels which
formed the mouth of the river, Derhans in


order to be prepared to make good his escape
again to sea, in case of any sudden or ex-
traordinary danger. Another party were
employed in erecting altars, and preparing
for sacrifices and other religious celebrations,
designed on the part of IEneas to propitiate
the deities of the place, and to inspire his
men with religious confidence and trust.
He also immediately proceeded to organize a
party of reconnoiterers who were to proceed
into the interior, to explore the country and
communicate with the inhabitants.
The party of reconnoiterers thus sent out
followed up the banks of the river, and
made excursions in various directions across
the fields and plains. They found that the
country was everywhere verdant and beau-
tiful, and that it was covered in the interior
with scattered hamlets and towns. They
learned the name of the king, and also that
of the city which lie made his capital.
Latinus himself, at tie same time, heard the
tidings of the arrival of these strangers.
His first impulse was immediately to make
an onset upon them with all his forces,
and drive them away from his shores. On
further inquiry, however, he learned that
they were in a distressed and suffering con-
dition, and from the descriptions which were
given him of their dress and demeanour he

concluded that they were Greeks. This
idea awakened in his mind some apprehen-
sion ; for the Greeks were then well known
throughout the world, and were regarded
everywhere as terrible enemies. Besides
his fears, his pity and compassion were
awakened, too, in some degree ; and he was
on the whole for a time quite at a loss to
know what course to pursue in respect to
the intruders.
In the mean time JEneas concluded to
send an embassy to Latinus to explain the
circumstances under which he had been in-
duced to land so large a party on the Italian
coast. He accordingly designated a con-
siderable number of men to form this em-
bassy, and giving to some of the number his
instructions as to what they were to say to
Latinus, he committed to the hands of the
others a large number of gifts which they
were to carry and present to him. These
gifts consisted of weapons elaborately finished,
vessels of gold or silver, embroidered gar-
ments, and such other articles as were
customarily employed in those days as pro-
pitiatory offerings in such emergencies.
The embassy when all was arranged pro-
ceeded to the Latian capital.
When they came in sight of ir they found
that it was a spacious city, with walls

around it, and turrets and battlements
within, rising here and there above the
roofs of the dwellings. Outside the gates a
portion of the population were assembled
busily engaged in games, and in various
gymnastic and equestrian performances.
Some were driving furiously in chariots
around great circles marked out for the
course. Others were practising feats of
horsemanship, or running races upon fleet
chargers. Others still were practising with
darts, or bows and arrows, or javelins ;
either to test and improve their individual
skill, or else to compete with each other for
victory or for a prize. The ambassadors
paused when they came in view of this
scene, and waited until intelligence could
be sent in to the monarch, informing him of
their arrival.
Latinus decided immediately to admit the
embassy to al audience, and they were ac-
cordingly conducted into the city. They
were led, after entering by the gates,
through various streets, until they came at
length to a large public edifice, which
seemed to be, at the same time, palace,
senate-house, and citadel. There were to
be seen, in the avenues which led to this
edifice, statues of old warriors, and various
other martial decorations. There were many


old trophies of former victories preserved here,
such as arms, and chariots, and prows of
ships, and crests, and great bolts and bars
taken from the gates of conquered cities,--
all old, war-worn, and now useless, but pre-
served as memorials of bravery and con-
quest. The Trojan embassy, passing
through and among these trophies, as they
stood or hung in the halls and vestibules of
the palace, were at length ushered into the
presence of Latinus the king.
Here, after the usual ceremonies of intro-
duction were performed, they delivered the
message which /Eneas had intrusted to
them. They declared that they had not
landed on ILatinus's shore with any hostile
intent. They had been driven away, they
said, from their own homes, by a series of
dire calamities, which had ended, at last, in
the total destruction of their native city.
Since then they have been driven to and fro
at the mercy of the winds and waves, ex-
posed to every conceivable degree of hard-
ship and danger. Their landing finally in
the dominions of Latinus in Italy, was not,
they confessed, wholly undesigned, for
Latium had been divinely indicated to them,
on their way, as the place destined by the
decrees of heaven for their final home.
Following these indications, they had sought



the shores of Italy and the mouths of the
Tiber, and having succeeded in reaching
them, had landed ; and now }Eneas, their
commander, desired of the king that he
would allow them to settle in his land in
peace, and that he would set apart a portion
of his territory for them, and give them
leave to build a city.
The effect produced upon the mind of
Latinus by the appearance of these am-
bassadors, and by the communication which
they made to him, proved to be highly
favourable. He received the presents, too,
which they had brought him, in a very
gracious manner, and appeared to be much
pleased with them. He had heard, as
would seem, rumours of the destruction of
Troy, and of the departure of ,Eneas's
squadron ; for a long time had been con-
sumed by the wanderings of the expedition
along the Mediterranean shores, so that
some years had now elapsed since the de-
struction of Troy and the first sailing of the
fleet. In a word, Latinus soon determined
to accede to the proposals of his visitors,
and he concluded with A neas a treaty of
alliance and friendship. He designated a
spot where the new city might be built, and
all things were thus amicably settled.
There was one circumstance which exerted


a powerful influence in promoting the estab-
lishment of friendly relations between La-
tinus and the Trojans, and that was, that
Latinus was engaged, at the time of JEneas's
arrival, in a war with the Rutulians, a na-
tion that inhabited a country lying south of
Latium and on the coast. Latinus thought
that by making the Trojans his friends, he
should be able to enlist them as his auxili-
aries in this war. JEneas made no objection
to this, and it was accordingly agreed that
the Trojans, in return for being received as
friends, and allowed to settle in Latium,
were to join with their protectors in de-
fending the country, and were especially to
aid them in prosecuting the existing war.
In a short time a still closer alliance was
formed between JEneas and Latinus, an alli-
ance which in the end resulted in the acces-
sion of AEneas to the throne of Latinus.
latinus had a daughter named Lavinia.
She was an only child, and was a princess
of extraordinary merit and beauty. The
name of the queen, her mother, the wife of
Latinus, was Ainata. Amata had intended
her daughter to be the wife of Turnus, a
young prince of great character and promise,
who had been brought up in Latinus's
court. Turnus was, in fact, a distant
relative of Amata, and the plan of the queen

was that he should marry Lavinia, and in
the end succeed with her, to the throne of
Latinus. Latinus himself had not entered
into this scheme; and when closing his
negotiations with iEneas, it seemed to him
that it would be well to seal and secure the
adherence of _Eneas to his cause by offering
him his daughter Lavinia for his bride.
}Eneas was very willing to accede to this
proposal. What the wishes of Lavinia
herself were in respect to the arrangement,
it is not very well known; nor were her
wishes, according to the ideas that prevailed
in those times, of any consequence whatever.
The plan was arranged, and the nuptials
were soon to.be celebrated. Turnus, when he
found that he was to be superseded, left the
court of Latinus, and went away out of the
country in a rage.
Eneas and his followers seemed now to
have come to the end of all their troubles.
They were at last happily established in a
fruitful land, surrounded by powerful friends,
and about to enter apparently upon a long
career of peaceful and prosperous industry.
They immediately engaged with great ardour
in the work of building their town. IEneas
had intended to have named it Troy, in com-
memoration of the ancient city now no more.
But, in view of his approaching marriage

with Lavinia, he determined to change this
design, and, in honour of her, to name the
new capital Lavinium.
The territory which had been assigned to
the Trojans by Latinus was in the south-
western part of Latium, near the coast, and
of course it was on the confines of the
country of the Rutulians. Turnus, when
he left Latium, went over to the Rutulians,
determining, in his resentment against La-
tinus fbr having given Lavinia to his rival,
to join them in the war. The Rutulians
made him their leader, and he soon advanced
at the head of a great army across the
frontier, toward the new city of Lavinium.
Thus _Eneas found himself threatened with
a very formidable danger.
Nor was this all. For just before the
commencement of the war with Turnus, an
extraordinary train of circumstances oc-
curred which resulted in alienating the
Latins themselves from their new ally, and
in leaving _Eneas consequently to sustain
the shock of the contest with Turnus and
his Rutulians alone. It would naturally be
supposed that the alliance between Latinus
and _Eneas would not be very favourably
regarded by the common people of Latium.
They would, on the other hand, naturally
look with much jealousy and distrust on a


company of foreign intruders, admitted by
what they would be very likely to consider
the capricious partiality of their king, to a
share of their country. This jealousy and
distrust was, for a time, suppressed and con-
cealed ; but the animosity only acquired
strength and concentration by being re-
strained, and at length an event occurred
which caused it to break forth with un-
controllable fury. The circumstances were
these :
There was a man in Latium named Tyr-
rheus, who held the office of royal herdsman.
He lived in his hut on some of the domains
of Latinus, and had charge of the flocks and
herds belonging to the king. He had two
sons, and likewise a daughter. The daughter's
name was Sylvia. The two boys had one day
succeeded in making prisoner of a young
stag, which they found in the woods with
its mother. It was extremely young when
they captured it, and they brought it home
as a great prize. They fed it with milk
until it was old enough to take other food,
and as it grew up accustomed to their hands,
it was very tame and docile, and became a
great favourite with all the family. Sylvia
loved and played with it continually. She
kept it always in trim by washing it in a
fountain, and combing and smoothing its



hair, and she amused herself by adorning it
with wreaths, and garlands, and such other
decorations as her sylvan resources could
One day when Ascanius, JEneas's son,
who had now grown to be a young man, and
who seems to have been characterized by a
full share of the ardent and impulsive energy
belonging to his years, was returning from
the chase, he happened to pass by the place
where the herdsman lived. Ascaniuswas
followed by his dogs, and he had his bow and
arrows in his hand. As he was thus passing
along a copse of wood, near a brook, the
dogs came suddenly upon Sylvia's stag. The
confiding animal, unconscious of any danger,
had strayed away from the herdsman's
grounds to this grove, and had gone down to
the brook to drink. The dogs immediately
sprang upon him, in full cry. Ascanius
followed, drawing at the same time an
arrow from his quiver and fitting it to the
bow. As soon as he came in sight of the
stag, he let fly his arrow. The arrow pierced
the poor fugitive in the side, and inflicted a
dreadful wound. It did not, however,
bring him down. The stag bounded on
down the valley toward his home, as if to
seek protection from Sylvia. He came
rushing into the house, marking his way


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