They roam the happy fields together now, sometimes he leading, sometimes she; and Orpheus gazes as much as he will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty for a thoughtless glance. The story of Orpheus has furnished Pope with an illustration of the power of music, for his “Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day.” The following stanza relates the conclusion of the story: “But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes; Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move? No crime was thine, if ’tis no crime to love. Now under hanging mountains, Beside the falls of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Rolling in meanders, All alone, He makes his moan, And calls her ghost, Forever, ever, ever lost! Now with furies surrounded, Despairing, confounded, He trembles, he glows, Amidst Rhodope’s snows. See, wild as the winds o’er the desert he flies; Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals’ cries; Ah, see, he dies! Yet even in death Eurydice he sung, Eurydice still trembled on his tongue: Eurydice the woods Eurydice the floods Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.” The superior melody of the nightingale’s song over the grave of Orpheus is alluded to by Southey in his “Thalaba”: “Then on his ear what sounds Of harmony arose! Far music and the distance-mellowed song From bowers of merriment; The waterfall remote; The murmuring of the leafy groves; The single nightingale Perched in the rosier by, so richly toned, That never from that most melodious bird Singing a love song to his brooding mate, Did Thracian shepherd by the grave Of Orpheus hear a sweeter melody, Though there the spirit of the sepulchre All his own power infuse, to swell The incense that he loves.” ARISTÆUS, THE BEE-KEEPER Man avails himself of the instincts of the inferior animals for his own advantage. Hence sprang the art of keeping bees. Honey must first have been known as a wild product, the bees building their structures in hollow trees or holes in the rocks, or any similar cavity that chance offered. Thus occasionally the carcass of a dead animal would be occupied by the bees for that purpose. It was no doubt from some such incident that the superstition arose that the bees were engendered by the decaying flesh of the animal; and Virgil, in the following story, shows how this supposed fact may be turned to account for renewing the swarm when it has been lost by disease or accident: