m who had received me from Xanthus, I saw my
beloved father struggling on the ground, livid and speechless. The
more violent my cries, the more rapidly they hurried me away; and
many were soon between us.

"Little was I suspicious that he had suffered the pangs of famine
long before: alas! and he had suffered them for me. Do I weep
while I am telling you they ended? I could not have closed his
eyes; I was too young; but I might have received his last breath,
the only comfort of an orphan's bosom. Do you now think him
blameable, O AEsop?"

"_AEsop_. It was sublime humanity; it was forbearance and
self-denial which even the immortal gods have never shown us."

The _Dream of Petrarca_ is, I think, more famous but not more
beautiful than this narrative of Rhodope; it lacks the deep human
tragedy and infinite charity of the winsome child, and the
self-contained father silently perishing of hunger for her; but if the
_AEsop and Rhodope_ had never been written, the _Dream of Petrarca_
would secure its author a place among the immortals:--

"... Wearied with the length of my walk over the mountains, and
finding a soft molehill, covered with grey moss, by the wayside, I
laid my head upon it and slept. I cannot tell how long it was
before a species of dream or vision came over me.

"Two beautiful youths appeared beside me; each was winged; but the
wings were hanging down and seemed ill-adapted to flight. One of
them, whose voice was the softest I ever heard, looking at me
frequently, said to the other, 'He is under my guardianship for
the present; do not awaken him with that feather.' Methought, on
hearing the whisper, I saw something like the feather on an arrow;
and then the arrow itself; the whole of it, even to the point,
although he carried it in such a manner that it was difficult at
first to discover more than a palm's length of it; the rest of the
shaft (and the whole of the barb) was behind his ankles.

"'This feather never awakens anyone,' replied he, rather
petulantly, 'but it brings more of confident security, and more of
cherished dreams, than you, without me, are capable of imparting.'

"'Be it so!' answered the gentler; 'none is less inclined to
quarrel or dispute than am I. Many whom you have wounded
grievously call upon me for succour; but so little am I disposed
to thwart you, i