People's Pilot, Volume 5, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 August 1895 — A GODDESS' REVENGE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A GODDESS' REVENGE.

( F YOU had been in I a certain part of . I Greece one day' a i long time ago you might have heard ringing through the deep woods and » L —J over hill and dale the clear sound of / the hunter's horn ■ and the quick, sharp bark of the staghound, for a

party of young nobles were on the chase. Little cared they for the tender, reproachful look that is said to come from the great eyes of the wounded deer, nor for the agony of the poor creature as it falls beneath the infuriated attack of the dogs and lies there torn and bleeding. If you had suggested this phase of the question to them they would, perhaps, have stared at you in utter amazement. It was their pleasure to hunt, to chase the deer from its quiet retreats into the open glades, where their fierce dogs might yelp at its heels and finally leap upon its quivering flanks and drag it to the earth.

Or, z if the hunter’s fortune favored • them, they might send their hurtling javelins into the vitals of their prey, j thus keeping for themselves the cruel ! victory that usually hung upon the i sharp fangs of their dogs. But what would you have? It was an ' age when men killed, not only brutes, but each other, for the pure love of kill- • ing, an age of blood-letting, of unbridled passions, of cruelty and death. j No wonder, then, that these young nobles would have stared amazed if you ■ had suggested that their so-called sport i was the very essence of cruelty and heartlessness; that they had the right to hunt game for food, but not the right to i torture and kill inoffensive creatures for | the gratification of a purely cruel instinct. | How would they have liked to change ' places with the deer? Let us see! My story will tell you. At the head of this party of young nobles was a handsome prince named ! Actaeon, son of the King Cadmus. He was the pet of the court, brave, adventurous and sometimes reckless. Perhaps he had his good points, as such I things went in those days, but on the chase he was fearless, persistent, relent- . less, and the greatest happiness pjat could befall him was to be “in atTthe death.” | All the forenoon had the party been wetting their weapons with the blood of their victims, and when the sun-god reached the mid-way point in his daily course and was sending down his beams , hot upon the parched earth, Actaeon proposed to his companions that they rest in the shade of the trees. | Calling in the dogs, they threw themselves upon the sward, and while they ate the viands that slaves had brought with them and drank many deep draughts of rich red wine, they gossiped of the affairs at court and told each other many stories of individual advenI ture. i Presently Actaeon,- tiring, perhaps, of the idle gossip of his friends, rose and wandered off among the trees, wandered idly, without a purpose, seeking in the . silence of the w4ods, mayhap, a momentary distraction from the silly nothings with which his companions were i beguiling the time. Now, not far from where the hunters

I were resting was a beautiful valley into f which the foot of mortal might not intrude with impunity. It was inclosed with cypresses and tall pines, so arched and interlocked that they formed a verdant screen for what the valley might contain. At the far end of the valley was a cave, in making which nature had imitated art, for the roof of the cave was ■ formed of stones that fitted as perfectly and delicately as if turned by the hand i of man. Just within the entrance of this cave : was a fountain, whose limpid waters ' gushed joyously from the rock and ' poured themselves into a round basin i whose edge was a rim of never-dying grass. It was a spot of surpassing beauty, and no wonder the foliage of the cypresses and pines had contrived to hide it from the gaze of the chance wanderer, for it was sacred to Diana, the chaste goddess of the hunt. It was there that she repaired, when weary of the chase, to bathe her beautiful limbs in the clear water, for there she was safe from all eyes, secure from all intrusion. That is to say, she had been free from intrusion until the day of which I speak, when Actaeon and his friends were hunting in the adjoining woods. Just at the time that the young prince left his party and began to stroll aimles'sly about, the goddess had sought her quiet retreat, accompanied by her nymphs, and was preparing to take her midday bath. Laying down her spear, her bow and her quiver filled with arrows, she threw I off her robe and stood there in the I midst of her fair attendants, the very I embodiment of virgin loveliness and I beauty. i Suddenly her nymphs uttered a joint I cry of amazement and alarm, for there, | looking at the sacred scene, was a man. I the that had ever seen Diana unrobed! ; It was Actaeon, and surely it was the ' Fates that led him thus to his destiny. He was standing in the entrance to the cave. The nymphs crowded around the goddess, trying to conceal her by making a screen of their bodies, but she overtopped them all, and they could not hide her. Over her - face spread the blush modesty surprised, and, obeying a sudden and natural impulse, she reached down at her side for an arrow; but it was not there. j Then, facing the bold intruder, she took up a handful of water from the basin, and throwing it full in his face, she cried: I "Thus does Diana punish the intruder upon her sacred privacy!” And then happened something passing strange. Even while Actaeon was trying to excuse himself by saying that his Intrusion was unintentional, his tongue lost the power of speech, his ears grew sharp pointed, great horns grew out of his head, his hands became feet, his arms long legs and his body took on a coat of spotted hair. | He was Actaeon no longer, but a stag . of the forest! i Trembling with terror, he turned and fled. Through the wooded glades he ran I so swiftly that he could not but admire his speed, but when he stopped to drink from a brook and saw reflected there the stag's horns that grew from his head, he was overcome with remorse. What should he do? Where should he go? Not to the palace, which that morning he had left as a handsome young prince. He dared not return there as a stag. For you must know that he retained the consciousness of a man, in spite of his form as a stag. While he stood there undecided what to do, the dogs saw him. One gave the signal to the others by barking, and then the whole pack rushed after him. He was the hunter no longer; he was the hunted! Now he knew what it was to have a score of hounds barking and yelping and snarling at his heels, threatening every instant to leap upon him and tear out his life! Swiftly as the wind he bounded through the forest, trying all the time to utter his well-known hunting cry so that the dogs might hear and understand his voice. But not a sound escaped his lips. Even as the hunted stag rushes on, panting, breathless, agonized by fear, so rushed Actaeon, hunted by ■ his own dogs! Then he heard the cries of his companions as they followed the dogs, all enjoying the rare sport and wishing that Actaeon was there to enjoy it, too. Over rocks and cliffs, through vales and across streams he ran, closely followed by his dogs, and the dogs closely followed, in turn, by the young nobles. Oh, it was great sport, this chasing of the deer through the forest depths! How he had enjoyed it when he was the chaser! Now how different it was! Again and again he essayed to cry out to his dogs and to his friends, but the cries were stifled on his trembling lips, and his panting sides ached with the terrible labor of the chase that they were giving him. “I am Actaeon, your master!” he would have cried to the dogs. “I am Actaeon, your prince and your friend!” he would have cried to the young nobles. But the words would not come! He could think and he could feel, but he could not speak! Then one of the dogs, running close by his side, sprang upon his back, and another seized him by the shoulder. And while they held him with their cruel teeth, the rest of the pack came up and sprang upon him. The young nobles cheered on the dogs and cried out in their enjoymerit of the sport. Again they called for Actaeon, wishing that he were there, and wondering what had become of him. I.t was soon over. Tearing, rending, lacerating his flesh, the dogs merely did what he had made them do hundreds of times, and in a few minutes his spirit left his suffering body and went out upon the wings of the wind! The revenge of the goddess was terrible, but who shall say that it does not teach a good lesson?