And

infest human life were past and gone forever. Theseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch of the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter he had held it fast in his left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success, he followed the guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the entrance of the labyrinth.

PART SEVEN

69. "Thou hast slain the monster!" cried Ariadne, clasping her hands.

"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne," answered Theseus, "I return victorious."

70. "Then," said Ariadne, "we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them and thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds thee here, my father will avenge the Minotaur."

71. To make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and, hardly knowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what Theseus had done, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak. Hastening down to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except Prince Theseus, who lingered behind them, on the strand, holding Ariadne's hand clasped in his own.

72. "Dear maiden," said he, "thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art too gentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King Minos. He cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little flower that grows in one of its crevices. But my father, King Ægeus, and my dear mother, Æthra, and all the fathers and mothers in Athens, and all the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their benefactress. Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when he knows what thou hast done."

73. Now, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus and Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden did really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger whose life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who would have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world) ungratefully deserted Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel touched on its voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus heard these falsehoods, he would have served their slanderous authors as he served the Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne answered:

74. "No, Theseus," the maiden said, pressing his hand, "I cannot go with you. My father is old and has nobody but myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it would break to lose me. King Minos will soon forgive his only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more youths and maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur. I have saved you, Theseus, as much

for my father's sake as for your own.

Heaven bless you!"

Farewell!

75. This was so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a dignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her longer. Nothing remained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an affectionate farewell.

76. On the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in excellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their time in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope too much. In due season they came within sight of the coast of Attica, which was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you, happened a sad misfortune.

77. You will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father, King Ægeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshine sails, instead of black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return victorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports, dancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the time, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or rainbow colored. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with the same sable wings that had wafted her away. 78. But poor King Ægeus, day after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that overhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails, than he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so proud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought of living any longer; so, King Ægeus merely stooped forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor soul, in the waves that foamed at its base!

79. This was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped ashore, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no. He sent to Athens for his dear mother. He became a very excellent monarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.

THE FRONTIER

(From "The Oregon Trail ")

BY FRANCIS PARKMAN

Away, away from men and towns
To the silent wilderness.

SHELLEY.

Parkman (1823-1893) is the historian of the early struggle for possession of America. In a series of brilliant histories he takes up the long and romantic contest of the French and Indians against the English in the country west of the Alleghanies. This contest continued over many years and was the theatre of many heroic and romantic movements. Some of his books are, "The Oregon Trail," "The Conspiracy of Pontiac," "France in the New World," "Count Frontenac.'

1. Last spring, 1846, was a busy season in the city of St. Louis. Not only were emigrants from every part of the country preparing for the journey to Oregon and California, but an unusual number of traders were making ready their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe. Many of the emigrants, especially those bound for California,