to be the leader, detaching himself and standing out before the others, with ringing words of encouragment and cheer. He even heard a dim sentence in his ears. "Oh, ye, who have suffered heavier things, the gods will give an end to this also!" It was—it was—what? Of course! He knew. The picture had been etched for all time by that vivid word-artist, Virgil of the golden stylus. And the leader of the shipwrecked band was no other than his old friend, Aeneas—Aeneas of the inexhaustible tears! It was the moment when the shipwreck had been induced by the crafty machinations of the mighty Juno—her bribe to old Aeolus, of the "fairest of women to have and to hold" having bereft the Keeper of the Winds of his allegiance to his rightful over-lord, with the consequent unloosing of the tempestuous elements and the devastation that ensued on this wild African shore.
The observer saw at the moment no significance in the vision but amusedly wondered what had recalled these dim memories from
