SEVENTEEN TEARS UNDER GROUND. 373 



"That was very good, iuJeed, for Eunomis," ex- 

 claimed Abb}^, "but did the Cicada have no pity for 

 poor Ariosto ? It was partial dealing, I think, for a 

 divine insect." 



" True enough. Miss Abby ; but the gods of Greece 

 had their special favorites among the mortals, very 

 much like the occupants of the political Olympus in 

 these degenerate days. You mustn't ask me to defend 

 the rather eccentric behaviour of the classic deities ; I 

 only tell the story as I find it. 



"The poets seem to have been as partial to the 

 Cicada as the gods, for its praise is sung by nearly every 

 Grecian bard from Homer and Hesiod to Anacreou and 

 Theocritus. Here, for example, is the way in which 

 the muse of Anacreon celebrates its virtues : 



" ' Happy creature ! What below 

 Can more happy live than thou ? 

 Seated oil thy leafy throne, 

 Summer weaves thy verdant crouii. 

 Sipping- o'er the pearly lawn, 

 The fragrant nectar of the dawn, 

 Little tales thou lov'st to sing, 

 Tales of mirth — an insect king ! 



Darling of the tuneful nine, 

 Phoebus is thy sire divine ; 

 Phoebus to thy note has given 

 Music from the spheres of heaven.' 



" You can readily see from this how the highest com- 

 mendation of a singer was to excel the Cicada in song. 

 Naturallj', the metaphor was carried into the realm of 

 oratory, so that the music of Plato's eloquence was 



