No unimportant part of the religious training which every girl receives at her mother's knee in Meleager is the Sun Myth, with its picturesque fables of the Sun-god and his incarnated Child. The divine nature and mission of the latter are always dwelt on by the teacher with particular insistence and with due solemnity; and his sanctity is described as placing him outside the pale of ordinary men with ordinary passions. And not only this. Should the Child of the Sun forget the sacred character of his entrusted mission to his father's people and flout his father's precepts so far as to stoop to philander with any maiden of his kingdom, not only will the disobedient monarch incur his divine parent's grave displeasure, but also a most terrible fate awaits the unhappy object of his attentions. From this last portion of the advice instilled into the growing female mind, I conclude that alarming scandals have actually occurred in the past; and who can marvel at it? But how recent or remote are these love intrigues in date; and how or where or when they were detected and punished I am quite ignorant, nor am I ever likely to receive enlightenment thereon. But it is also in harmony with my theory of past troubles of this nature that a salutary story (which is by no means regarded here as a legend) has long been in circulation. The tale itself is strongly reminiscent of the old Greek myth of Zeus and Semele, and in Meleager it takes the shape of an intrigue between a foolish maiden of the people, Anata by name, and the then reigning Child of the Sun, who fell a victim to her charms or her advances. For it is gravely related that Anata actually made her way to the private apartments of the King by stealth. Whether or no she obtained any satisfaction from her forbidden interview will never be known, but it is certain her body was found next morning in the royal bed-chamber charred and almost unrecognisable as the dire result of her clandestine embraces in the arms of the son of the God of Fire. To become the mistress therefore of the Sun-child, should the monarch descend so low as to forget his divine calling, is but the certain prelude to an ignominious and horrible death; and such a belief is firmly held by all women dwelling on Meleager. It is also pronounced dangerous (as it is voted most decidedly immodest) for any young woman, whether maiden or married, to allow even the casual glance of the Sun-child to fall full on her face; so that it is usual for all girls to fling the light veil, or mantilla, which every Meleagrian woman wears, over her features in the event of her encountering accidentally the person of the King. This custom, however, is not an actual regulation, and I have often noticed girls, especially those of the populace, indulge in a good solid stare as I have come riding or walking down the streets of the capital, though sooner or later some pretence of covering the eyes with the veil was carried out. Amongst