Lady Rivers was, of course, vociferous in her lamentations when Emmie went to wish her good-by, and Sir Francis had to come up-stairs at the last possible minute and carry her off, leaving Alma to soothe her mother as best she might.

stretched out to take it away her fingers | must be to-day! Very little sleep they seemed to cling to it, and in spite of their had we may be sure on that sad night trembling, she finished making up her bou- when the news came, hardly more than quet without letting her cousin touch the the dear Mademoiselle Emmé herself, who flowers. Alma was satisfied that she would looked so white, so white on the morning not be a very helpless travelling compan- she left us, and who yet stopped to kiss ion for her father, in spite of that look of little Jean Baptiste at the last momentoverpowering pain in her eyes. She had when she was getting into the carriage. more self-command and strength of will After that, as far as one hears, she took than one would give her credit for, to look no notice of any one. Le gros Jean who at her. was working by the roadside five miles from La Roquette that morning, affirms, indeed, that the carriage passed him closely, and that Mademoiselle Emmé made him a sign of farewell from the window; but still it is well known that while she was in the village she never looked outno, not even when the carriage passed the château, though madame herself was standing out at the gate, longing-so Joseph Marie tells us for a look, or a word. Well, well, the world goes round; and it is now a funeral, and now a wedding that one is hurried towards. But that dear demoiselle-to have seen her and the relation of madame, as they passed through that little gate in the rose hedge, on their way to the valley three days ago. Hold, mademoiselle, I was watching them from the window of my dairy down there, and certainly it was not of death and misfortune one was reminded in looking at them. The one as beautiful as the other—as I ventured to tell madame not 'twelve hours after, she laughed like this, but bah! mademoiselle wishes to be alone" and la fermière at last gathered up her knitting, and walked off to her own end of the house. Alma quite understood the unfa vorable comparisons between herself and Mamselle Emmie that the good woman made as she went.

Except a distant glimpse of the carriage as it wound down the hill, Alma saw no more of the travellers, but she heard many stray scraps of news of them during the long tedious days that followed. Whenever she came across any of the people belonging to the farm, they stopped her to impart some piece of intelligence that had travelled up the hill, and was being circulated through the neighborhood by some lucky person who had caught a passing glimpse of Emmie's face or figure, as the carriage drove through the village. The further away from La Roquette that the glimpse had been obtained, the more valuable it was held to be, and the greater interest was attached to a full account of it. As the days passed, and the interest did not diminish, Alma felt bewildered, not knowing how to reconcile this universal occupation of a whole neighborhood about Emmie West with the family opinion of her insignificance.

"That poor sweet mademoiselle," la fermière began, seating herself by Alma's side in the porch on the last evening be- Still, with all these distractions, how fore her departure, and talking as famil- long the days of preparation were to Alma! iarly to her as if she had been Emmie Her heart was heavy and anxious, and yet "that dear Mademoiselle Emmé, the she could not help feeling irritated instead whole neighborhood is desolated at her of sympathetic with her mother's constant having been carried away from us so sud- wailings, which always seemed poured out denly, and for so sad a cause. The other over the least legitimate causes of comnight at the dance at Père Babou's some plaint. She racked her brains for consolone brought in the sad news among the atory remarks, and found all her efforts wedding-guests, and it was one exclama useless, since nothing but a direct assurtion of regret, one cry of sorrow. Made-ance that she would marry Horace Kirklon, the bride of to-morrow, wept; oh! how she wept, in spite of the bad omen of tears at a betrothal feast; and her lover could not chide her, for he was almost as bad himself. It was terrible! and then Madame la Comtesse and her English relation who were to have assisted at the wedding to-morrow, with Mademoiselle Emmé, only to imagine what their feelings

man without delay, and undertake that his father should make the fortunes of all the West orphans—would satisfy her mother's requirements, or give her the only comfort she would accept. Under the guise of complaint and condolence a wearying contest of wills went on all day long, and Alma had no time to give to anticipations of the mountain journey and the

companionship it would bring her into, till | daughter's wedding this morning. Yes,

wear it, or was she really, really going during this journey to bid good-by to that part of her life, to the side of her character that loved it, forever?

She crossed her arms on the balcony at the top of the steps, and fixed her eyes on the point of the road where she expected the postman to appear, but her thoughts were soon too busy for observation. She wondered over the strange interweaving of lots: joy to one, grief to another, that go to make up life. What a great many people's loss and trouble had it not taken to buy this chance of a new decision for her, and the tranquil, bright days during which it would be possible for her to make it! Poor little Emmie West, was she thinking of the contrast, too? The very flower in Alma's bosom, whose strong fragrance forced itself on her notice through her reverie, was_Emmie's by right. It had budded for Emmie, and now it was breathing its full-blown perfume into her face. Yes, it was strange how things were ordered. Alma's thoughts wound round and round this question, touching it and straying a little beyond her own personal concerns to grapple with the problem why benefit to one should, as it seemed, be bought by loss to another; but she did not, as Emmie might have done, turn her perplexity into a prayer. Serious thought with her was more prone to exhale itself in half-discontented speculation than to turn into prayers, though at that moment, as she remembered afterwards, there was a whisper in her conscience urging her to send up one cry for light and guidance in what she felt was likely to be a turningpoint of her life; one prayer that she might not be allowed to make a cruel use of other people's sorrow, and put her foot upon another's life to reach what she wanted for herself. It was a little whisper, not so distinct to her mental ear as the tinkling of the joy-bell in the valley, and it sank into silence soon when it was not heeded.

She was roused from her absorption by a voice addressing her, and turning round, she saw that the postman (who must have passed down the road unseen by her) was mounting the steps with a packet of letters in his hands. He would not let her take them till he had delivered himself of a

long explanation of his reasons for leaving the letters for the château with her, as well as those addressed to the maisonnette. "Was not madame coming up the hill in half an hour?" he asked, smiling, and pointing to a spray of orange-blossom in his buttonhole. "Yes, he too was a wed

ding-guest, though unluckily too late for the ceremony. If the young lady would only relieve him of the last contents of his bag-this great bundle of letters for the château- he should be at liberty to return through the bosquet and join in welcoming the bridal party at the orange-tree house on their return from church."

From The Contemporary Review. THE POSITION AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN IN ANCIENT ATHENS.

The an

AFTER the Spartan women,* we should naturally discuss the position and influence of women among the Athenians. But a singular phenomenon chronologically anterior arrests our attention. The Spartan constitution remained nearly in the same condition from the ninth century to the fourth. Our knowledge of the life of the Athenian women relates mainly to the fifth and later centuries. In the seventh and sixth occurred the movement among women to which I allude. Unfortunately many features of it are obscure. cients did not feel much interest in it, and the records in which its history was contained have nearly all perished. The centre of the movement was the poetess Sappho. She of herself would deserve a passing notice in any account of ancient women, for she attained a position altogether unique. She was the only woman in all antiquity whose productions by universal consent placed her on the same level as the greatest poets of the other sex. Solon, on hearing one of her songs sung at a banquet, got the singer to teach it to him immediately, saying that he wished to learn it and die.t Herodotus, Plato, Aristotle, refer to her in terms of profound respect. Plato called her the tenth Muse. And Strabo seems to express the opinion of antiquity when he says that she was something quite wonderful; "for we do not know," he says, "in the whole period of time of which there is any record, the appearance of a single woman that could rival her, even in a slight degree, in respect of poetry."

This woman determined to do her utmost to elevate her sex. The one method

of culture open to women at that time was poetry. There was no other form of literature, and accordingly she systematically trained her pupils to be poets, and to weave

* LIVING AGE, No. 1817, p. 106.
+ Stob. 29, 58.

txiii. c. 2, sect. 3.

into verse the noblest maxims of the intel- | strove, to establish much closer conneclect and the deepest emotions of the heart. Young people with richly endowed minds flocked to her from all quarters, and formed a kind of woman's college.

There can be no doubt that these young women were impelled to seek the society of Sappho from disgust with the low dredgery and monotonous routine to which won en's lives were sacrificed, and they were anxious to rise to something nobler and better. We learn this from Sappho herself. It is thus that she addresses an uneducated woman:

tions, such strong ties of love between members of her own sex as would unite them forever in firm friendship, soothe them in the time of sorrow, and make the hours of life pass joyfully on. And her poetry expresses an extraordinary strength and warmth of affection. Just as Socrates almost swoons at the sight of the exquisite beauty of an Athenian youth, so Sappho trembles all over when she gazes on her lovely girls. And she weaves all the beauties of nature into the expression of the depth of her emotion. She seems to have had a rarely intense love of nature. The bright sun, the moon and the stars, for thou partakest not of the roses of Pieria: the music of birds, the cool river, the shady yea, undistinguished shalt thou walk in the grove, Hesperus, and the golden-sandalled halls of Hades, fluttering about with the pith-dawn-all are to her ministers of love, of this intense love for her poetical pupils, for one of whom she says she would not take the whole of Lydia. But though this as

Dying thou shalt lie in the tomb, and there shall be no remembrance of thee afterwards,

less dead.

And one of her most distinguished pupils, Erinna, who died at the early age of nine-sociation may have been one great object, teen, sang in her poem "The Distaff" the sorrows of a girl whom her mother compelled to work at the loom and the distaff while she herself longed to cultivate the worship of the Muses.

it cannot be affirmed that she formed any idea of making the love of women a substitute for the love of men. Some of her girls unquestionably married, and Sappho composed their hymeneal songs. She entered into their future destinies and sympathized with them throughout their career, following them to the grave with the sad lament which they only can utter who have felt intensely the joys of life, and see in death the entrance to a cold, shadowy, and pithless existence.

Did she attempt any other innovation in regard to the position of women? What did she think were the relations which ought to subsist between the one sex and the other? These are questions that we should fain wish we could answer; but history remains silent, and we can only form conjectures from isolated facts and It is possible that she may have venstatements. A late Greek writer, Maxi-tured on new opinions as to the nature of mus Tyrius, compares her association with young women to the association which existed between Socrates and young men. It has to be remembered that even in Sparta the men were thrown into very close and continual intimacy; and that this was still more the case in other states where the women were kept in strict confinement. Even in Sparta the men dined together alone; they were often away on military expeditions for whole months together, and men were the instructors of the youths. In this way passionate intimacies arose between old and young, the old man striving to instruct his favorite youth in all manly and virtuous exercises, and the young man serving and protecting his old friend to the best of his power. These attachments were like the loves of Jona-them, have almost uniformly been slanthan and David, surpassing the love of women. It is likely that Sappho did not see why these intimacies, fraught as they were with so many advantages, should be confined to the male sex; and she strove, or at least Maximus Tyrius thought she

marriage. When we come to treat of Athens, we shall see that the restrictions on marriage in the ancient world were of the sternest and most narrow character. Her Lesbian countrywomen enjoyed considerable liberty, and Heraclides Ponticus says that they were daring and bold. But they were surrounded by Ionians among whom the position of women was almost servile. Sappho may have opened her home to the girls who were tired of such close restriction, and may have counselled marriage from choice. Probably this circumstance would account for the treatment which the character of Sappho received in subsequent times, for all women who have dared to help forward the progress of their sex, and all men who have boldly aided

dered and reviled in all ages.* All the notices which we have of her from contemporary or nearly contemporary sources

of the blockhead who is jealous of her talents."
"To attack a woman's reputation is the ready resort
Miss
Cornwallis.

speak of her in high terms of praise. Alcæus, her fellow-townsman, sings of her as "the violet-crowned, chaste, sweetsmiling Sappho," and approaches her in verses which imply a belief in her purity. Herodotus tells how she bitterly rebuked a brother who squandered all his money on a beautiful courtezan. Her fellow-citizens honored her by stamping her figure upon their coins, "honored her," says Aristotle, "though she was a woman." And the fragments of her own poems bear testimony to the same fact. They show, indeed, the warm blood of a southern girl who has no concealments. If she loves, she tells it in verses that vibrate with emotion, that tremble with passion. And she was no prude. Like the rest of her sex of that day, she thought that it was woman's destiny to love, and that the woman who tried to resist the impulse of the god tried an impossible feat. But there is not one line to show that she fell in love with any man. She may have done so, she probably did so, but there is no clear proof. There is only one reference to a man, and it is most likely that she is celebrating not her own passion, but the love of one of her girls. And if she wrote many a hymn to the golden-throned Aphrodite, she wrote also hymns to the chaste Artemis, and prayed to the chaste graces.

cal movements which agitated her native island, but it seems more likely that she would give offence by trying to strike off some of the restrictions which in her opinion harassed or degarded her sex.*

We come now to the Athenians. The phenomenon that presents itself here is as peculiar and striking as anything we have yet examined. In Athens we find two classes of women who were not slaves. There was one class who could scarcely move a step from their own rooms, and who were watched and restricted in every possible way. There was another class on whom no restrictions whatever were laid, who could move about and do whatever seemed good in their own eyes. And the unrestricted would in all probability have exchanged places with the restricted, and many of the restricted envied the freedom of the other members of their sex. We proceed to the explanation of this phenomenon.

First of all the ancient idea of a State has to be firmly kept in mind. The ancient Greeks did not dream, as we have said, of any political constitution more extensive than a city. Athens was the larg est of these city-States in Greece, and yet it probably never numbered more than thirty thousand citizens. These citizens, according to the Greek idea, were all connected by ties of blood more or less distant; they all had the same divine ancestor; they all worshipped the same gods in the same temples, and they possessed many rights, properties, and privileges in

It was therefore of supreme importance that in the continuation of the State only true citizens should be admitted, and accordingly the general principle was laid down that none could become citizens but those whose fathers and mothers had been the children of citizens. From this it followed the utmost care should be taken that no spurious offspring should be palmed upon the State. The women could not be trusted in this matter to their own sense of propriety. It was natural for a woman to love. Even men were powerless before irresistible love, and much less self-control could be expected from weak women. Means must therefore be devised to prevent the possi bility of anything going wrong, and ac

But when we pass from her contemporaries to the Athenian comic writers, all is changed. No less than six comedies, written by six different poets, bore her name and exhibited her loves, and four other plays probably treated the same subject. In these she was represented as lov-common. ing a poet who died before she was born, and two poets who were born after she died. But especially she fell into an infatuated love at the age of fifty for a kind of mythological young man who was gifted by Aphrodite with the power of driving any woman he liked into desperation for him. Old Sappho became desperate according to these poets, and plunged into the sea to cool this mad passion; but whether she ever reached the bottom, no comic poet or subsequent historian has vouchsafed to tell us. All these villanous stories, which gathered vileness till, as Philarète Chasles remarks, they reached a climax in Pope, seem to me indicative that she ventured on some bold innovations in regard to her own sex which shocked the Athenian mind. And perhaps confirmation is added to this by a reliable inscription that she was banished and fled to Sicily. She may, indeed, have taken part in some of the numerous politi-Vorträge."

The controversy about Sappho's character between Welcker and Col. Mure is well known. Welcker's "Kleine Schriften" contain several essays on her, in addition to his famous defence. There is a very good essay on her and her times in Koechly's "Akademische