existence and activity of polyonymy, synonymy, and oblivion. The first and last of the three factors are useful, however, to Sir George Cox, when he tries to show that myths which do not give themselves out for nature-myths are nature-myths in disguise after all. But we have observed no evidence (except the opinion of some philologists) for the theory on which the whole demonstration depends. Again, M. Decharme, with just as much reason, makes Phrixus "the demon of thunder," and Hellê, "a goddess of lightning!" This kind of philosophy is too facile. To opinions like those which Sir George Cox has advanced with so much earnestness, and in such a captivating style of eloquence, it has always been objected that there is an improbable monotony in the theory which resolves most of old romance into a series of remarks about the weather. This objection has not been made by uncritical writers only. M. Meyer complains, almost petulantly, of that "eternal lay-figure," the sun in all his mythological disguises. (Romania.) No historical hero, no custom, no belief, M. Meyer vows, is out of danger from the solar mythologists.
Mr. Tylor again writes (Primitive Culture, i. 319), "No legend, no allegory, no nursery rhyme is safe from the hermeneutics of a thorough-going mythologic theorist. Should he, for instance, demand as his property the nursery 'Song of Sixpence,' his claim would be easily established: obviously the four-and-twenty blackbirds are the four-and-twenty hours, and the pie that holds them is the underlying earth covered with the over-arching sky: how true a touch of nature is it that 'when the pie is opened,' that is, when day breaks, 'the birds begin to sing,' the King is the Sun, and his 'counting out his money,' is pouring out the sunshine, the golden shower of Danae; the Queen is the Moon, and her transparent honey the moonlight. The maid is the "rosy-fingered"
