Great rejoicings ensued, and a heifer was immolated on the spot to the celestial donor of the shield. Yet another care pressed upon Numa's mind. It was possible, and even probable, that some dishonest or malicious individual might carry off the shield, and leave him without his visible token of the patronage of heaven. To prevent this, he ordered Mamurius, a very clever worker in metals, to make eleven exact copies of the shield, so that it would be impossible to say which was the original; if, therefore, a thief appropriated one of them, there would be a considerable chance of his failing to obtain the right one. This being done, he committed them to the charge of twelve priests, called Salii, who on the first four days of March carried them through the streets of Rome, singing as they went, and performing a martial dance, said to resemble the Pyrrhic war-dance of the Greeks. In the evening, these fortunate priests were entertained in the most sumptuous manner at banquets prepared for them, which were of so splendid a kind that extravagant and costly repasts were sometimes called Salian, in consequence of their resemblance to those given upon this occasion. Such was the origin of the Feast of Shields. It may not be superfluous to state that certain far-seeing and would-be sharp commentators have conjectured that some of the ancients possessed the knowledge of bringing lightning to the ground by means of conductors similar to those which we ourselves make use of; that the power was lost to mankind, and that this legend refers to its former existence. A more probable suggestion is that which makes the shield which fell, or was said to have fallen, from the sky, an aerolite, many of which greatly correspond in shape with the shield, as described by the poet. The 15th of March was the festival of Anna Perenna, a day upon which the lower orders were in the habit of going to a place some little distance from Rome, and enjoying themselves in a more free than decorcus manner. They drank goblet after goblet of wine, sang in chorus, danced together all in the open fields, and generally concluded by returning home extremely jovial, and sometimes very tipsy. A crowd always assembled at the city gates to witness the return of the revellers, whose appearance and conduct furnished great amusement to the spectators. They were saluted then with what is vulgarly termed "chaff," which they returned with interest. Who Anna Perenna was, where she came from, and what she did, is a disputed point; but we will select that account of her which makes her the sister of Dido, as the one most likely to interest the reader. In doing this, in order to render the story complete, we shall have to advert to the oft-told story of Dido and Eneas, for which we must entreat the patience of those readers already familiar with the story. In our last number it was mentioned how, in consequence of the decision of Paris regarding the apple of discord, the Trojans were persecuted by the goddess Juno. After the destruction of Troy, Æneas sailed from thence, and had to undergo various perils and accidents by land and flood, all caused by the spitefulness of Juno, till being driven by a storm on the coast of Africa, he arrived at Carthage. This city was governed This city was governed by Queen Dido, by whom it had been founded, and under whose fostering care it had greatly prospered. She herself was a widow, who had had the misfortune to marry and bury a rich husband. We say a misfortune, because in her case it was so. She had a brother called Pygmalion, who was avaricious, cruel, and reckless. Hearing of the wealth of his sister's husband, he did not scruple to murder him, in the hope of obtaining his riches. Dido, to avoid this affectionate relative, set off from Tyre, her native city, and built Carthage for the accommodation of herself and attendants. When Æneas arrived there he was cordially welcomed by the queen-a most beautiful woman, who had suitors without number, and of all colours, one of the most assiduous being a Moor. The new comer speedily destroyed the hopes of the other lovers of Dido, for she almost at first sight fell desperately in love with him, and he too was similarly smitten. The longer he stopped the stronger did their attachment become, and Æneas began to seriously consider the propriety of marrying and settling in Carthage, when he was warned by a dream that he must not stop there—that he must go about his business, which was to found a great kingdom, according to prophecy. Worst of all, he was forbidden to take with him, or espouse Dido. Upon receiving this uncomfortable order, he immediately prepared to depart. He ordered his men to prepare the ships secretly for sailing; for he had not the courage to face his hostess, and openly inform her of his intention. The only earliest announcement she received of his departure was the report that the ships were quickly sailing out of sight. Her first impulse was to forcibly capture and detain him: but finding that the attempt would be futile, she poured forth a shower of imprecations upon the head of Æneas. She prayed the gods to avenge her, and to inflict all the mischief possible upon her faithless lover. Her sister Anna did all in her power to soothe her, but in vain; and the unfortunate Dido took an opportunity, when unobserved, to put herself to death. Meanwhile Æneas sailed on, encountering many dangers, and amongst other journeys, making a trip into the infernal regions. At length he arrived in Italy, and married Lavinia, daughter of the king Latinus. When walking one day on the seashore, accompanied by his faithful Achates, he was greatly astonished to see Anna, the sister of Dido, advancing towards him. A series of questions followed. How did she come there? why had she left her sister? whither was she going? Anna related to him the mournful sequel of his departure, the grief of Dido, and her suicide. Æneas, who had not heard of it before, was inexpressibly shocked by the intelligence. He scarcely imagined that he had made so powerful an impression on the heart of Dido, and assured her sister that it was only the desire to obey the commands of the gods which prompted him to leave her Anna proceeded to tell him the reason of her being there. After the death of Dido, the dusky suitor mentioned above, took forcible possession of her city and kingdom, and obliged her sister to flee. Battus, the king of Cyrene, gave the wanderer an asylum in his little kingdom, of which, small as it was, he offered her a part. She would here have had a safe and happy home, had not her wretched brother Pygmalion, still intent upon gaining wealth, menaced her and threatened to come and deprive her of the riches which she still was mistress of. The hospitable Battus, fearful of the advent of the greedy monster, was obliged to solicit Anna to depart, which she accordingly did, after nearly three years' stay in his kingdom. Once more she placed herself at the mercy of the briny ocean, less cruel than her own brother. Her ship was steered in the direction of a place called Camera, and everything proceeded prosperously for some time. They were rapidly approaching their destination, and were already in sight of land, and preparing their anchors for use, when a violent storm arose, which drove them off the shore, destroying their mast and rigging, and leaving them at the mercy of the waves. All had given themselves up for lost, and Anna was almost envying the fate of her sister; but the vessel was at last driven upon the shore, near the place where Æneas had met Anna, and all the crew and passengers having been landed, almost immediately sank. On hearing her sad story, Æneas, mindful of many kindnesses which she had shown him whilst at Carthage, and pitying her distress, offered her all the assistance in his power. He took her to his house, told Lavinia, his wife, who the visitor was, and how and when he became acquainted with her. He directed rooms to be prepared for her, and ordered her to be provided with everything she required, and all honour to be paid to her. His wife complied with his requests in an apparently cheerful and willing manner, but at the same time the worm of jealousy was gnawing at her heart, and she was only considering in what way she should get rid of the poor exile. Perhaps it was natural that she should have some suspicion of a lady found or said to be found under such cir cumstances. Anna retired to rest. She had scarcely closed her eyes, when a vision of her sister appeared. It warned her that the jealous Lavinia was planning a design upon her life, and advised her immediately to quit the place. She arose, and descended from the window. Fear lent vigour to her steps. She ran like the frightened deer across the plains, but whither she went, or what became of her, was never ascertained. Upon the discovery of her flight, Æneas caused her to be sought for, but failed in procuring any intelligence of her. Her footsteps were traced as far as a rapid river, some distance off, and she was believed to have fallen therein. The stream flowed calmly on, betraying no traces of anything having happened, whilst it was feigned that Anna had become the tutelar deity of the river, and was ever after worshipped as such upon the fifteenth of March. THE BRIDESMAID. A LAY for the bridesmaid, When the loved one is gone. There is grief at her heart, And a shade on her brow, "Tis she who at morn Did array the young bride Encouraging words She was speaking the while, With a sister's kind act, When the parting hour came, On her sweet placid face; How pure the devotion Oh! ye only who love And now as she sits, At the close of the day, 'Mid the scenes of the past, She thinks of the time When together they played 'Neath the hawthorn tree's shade; While the fountain hard by, Fell with murmurings sweet, And caressed the clear streamlet, Then fancy recalls All the dangers they dared; And henceforth she must bear Then, thoughts of the changes : That her future may prove Which is pictured by love. Oh! the poet may sing All the charms of the bride, And the painter depict Her fair features beside; But the bridesmaid shall shine With a lustre as pure, Who so nobly can suffer So calmly endure. N. S. VOL. XXXVI. A. A. J. |