shing than that up the
Anapo. The water tastes as though Arethusa had been the heroine of
another story besides the one with the uncertain ending about
Alpheus--one with Neptune as the villain and an ending tragic enough to
justify S. Paul in his attitude towards the nymph. Some who adopt this
view suppose that Neptune's designs were forwarded by an earthquake
which, they think, must have occurred since Nelson's time, because he
speaks as though he gave his sailors the water of the spring; but that is
not enough to date the disturbance. It is some distance from Greece to
Sicily, and along all those miles, during all those ages, there may have
been many earthquakes, any one of which would have served Neptune's turn;
some may have been before S. Paul's time, some before Eumaeus was born,
some in still earlier days. If the earthquake had already been, Nelson
must have observed the brackishness of the spring and he would then have
preferred to take his water from the usual fresh source which supplied
the inhabitants of his day, and, in speaking of "having watered at the
fountain of Arethusa," he would be trusting to Lady Hamilton's
familiarity with that figure which permits the part to be put for the
whole.

I have visited Arethusa many times. Once, on a calm evening in early
summer, Diana was high up in the sky, shining over the harbour; although,
like others, she may not have been sure which was her temple and which
was Minerva's, she could not help wondering whether anything was ever
going to be done about openly restoring them both to their ancient
worship. She was, however, comforting herself in the meantime with the
reflection that neither she nor Minerva had much to complain of, inasmuch
as it was clear that if it were not for the support of those Doric
columns the modern Church would not stand as it does, and after all, she
thought, "What's in a name?" Down below in the passeggiata, officers and
young men were strolling about, listening to a pot-pourri of _Faust_.
Their cheeks were shaved smooth to show the modelling and their
moustaches gave evidence of hours of toil and even suffering; they met
their friends and gesticulated with them, smoking cigarettes and being
polite to everyone. Mothers and elder sisters in cool white dresses sat
under the trees, and little parties of children darted away from them,
hand in hand, returning after breathless excursions. I took a seat among
it all and, as the King of Th