Thus a poor father, helpless and undone,
Mourns o'er the ashes of an only son;
Takes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn,
And pour in tears, ere yet they close the urn.

HOMER.

Of the immense concourse collected together at Olympia, each one pursued his pleasure, or his interest, in the way best suited to his taste. Alcibiades was proud of giving a feast corresponding in magnificence to the chariots he had brought into the course. Crowds of parasites flattered him and the other victors, to receive invitations in return; while a generous few sympathized with the vanquished. Merchants were busy forming plans for profitable negociation, and statesmen were eagerly watching every symptom of jealousy between rival states and contending parties.

One, amid that mass of human hearts, felt so little interest in all the world could offer, that she seemed already removed beyond its influence. Philothea had herself closed the eyes of her husband, and imprinted her last kiss upon his lips. Bathed in pure water, and perfumed with ointment, the lifeless form of Paralus lay wrapped in the robe he had been accustomed to wear. A wreath of parsley encircled his head, and flowers were strewn around him in profusion.

In one hand was placed an obolus, to pay the ferryman that rowed him across the river of death; and in the other, a cake made of honey and flour, to appease the triple-headed dog, which guarded the entrance to the world of souls.

The bereaved wife sat by his side, and occasionally renewed the garlands, with a quiet and serene expression, as if she still found happiness in being occupied for him who had given her his heart in the innocence and freshness of its childhood.

The food prepared by Milza's active kindness was scarcely tasted; except when she observed the tears of her faithful attendant, and sought to soothe her feelings with characterestic tenderness.

The event soon became universally known; for the hair of the deceased, consecrated to Persephone, and a vase of water at the threshold, proclaimed tidings of death within the dwelling.

Many of the assembled multitude chose to remain until the funeral solemnities were past; some from personal affection for Paralus, others from respect to the son of Pericles.

Plato sent two large vases, filled with wine and honey; Eudora provided ointments and perfumes; Alcibiades presented a white cloak, richly embroidered with silver; and the young men of Athens, present at the games, gave a silver urn, on which were sculptured weeping genii, with their torches turned downward.

Enveloped in his glittering mantle, and covered with flowers, the form of Paralus remained until the third day. The procession, which was to attend the body to the funeral pile, formed at morning twilight; for such was the custom with regard to those who died in their youth. Philothea followed the bier, dressed in white, with a wreath of roses and myrtle around her head, and a garland about the waist. She chose this beautiful manner to express her joy that his pure spirit had passed into Elysium.

At the door of the house, the nearest relatives addressed the inanimate form, so soon to be removed from the sight of mortals. In tones of anguish, almost amounting to despair, Pericles exclaimed: "Oh, my son! my son! Why didst thou leave us? Why wast thou, so richly gifted of the gods, to be taken from us in thy youth? Oh, my son, why was I left to mourn for thee?"

Instead of the usual shrieks and lamentations of Grecian women, Philothea said, in sad, heart-moving accents: "Paralus, farewell! Husband of my youth, beloved of my heart, farewell!"

Then the dead was carried out; and the procession moved forward, to the sound of many voices and many instruments, mingled in a loud and solemn dirge. The body of Paralus was reverently laid upon the funeral pile, with the garments he had been accustomed to wear; his lyre and Phrygian flute; and vases filled with oil and perfumes.

Plentiful libations of wine, honey, and milk were poured upon the ground, and the mourners smote the earth with their feet, while they uttered supplications to Hermes, Hecate, and Pluto. Pericles applied the torch to the pile, first invoking the aid of Boreas and Zephyrus, that it might consume quickly. As the flames rose, the procession walked slowly three times around the pile, moving toward the left hand. The solemn dirge was resumed, and continued until the last flickering tongue of fire was extinguished with wine. Then those who had borne the silver urn in front of the hearse, approached. Pericles, with tender reverence, gathered the whitened bones, sprinkled them with wine and perfumes, placed them within the urn, and covered it with a purple pall, inwrought with gold; which Philothea's prophetic love had prepared for the occasion.

The procession again moved forward, with torches turned downward; and the remains of Paralus were deposited in the Temple of Persephone, until his friends returned to Athens.

In token of gratitude for kind attentions bestowed by the household of Proclus, Pericles invited his family to visit the far-famed wonders of the violet-crowned city; and the eager solicitations of young PterilaÜs induced the father to accept this invitation for himself and son. As an inhabitant of consecrated Elis, without wealth, and unknown to fame, it was deemed that he might return in safety, even after hostilities were renewed between the Peloponessian states. Eudora likewise obtained permission to accompany her friend; and her sad farewell was cheered by an indefinite hope that future times would restore her to that quiet home. The virtuous Melissa parted from them with many blessings and tears. Zoila was in an agony of childish sorrow; but she wiped her eyes with the corner of her robe, and listened, well pleased, to Eudora's parting promise of sending her a flock of marble sheep, with a painted wooden shepherd.

The women travelled together in a chariot, in front of which reposed the silver urn, covered with its purple pall. Thus sadly did Philothea return through the same scenes she had lately traversed with hopes, which, in the light of memory, now seemed like positive enjoyment. Pericles indeed treated her with truly parental tenderness; and no soothing attention, that respect or affection could suggest, was omitted by her friends. But he, of whose mysterious existence her own seemed a necessary portion, had gone to return no more; and had it not been for the presence of Eudora, she would have felt that every bond of sympathy with this world of forms had ceased forever.

At Corinth, the travellers again turned aside to the Fountain of Poseidon, that the curiosity of PterilaÜs might be satisfied with a view of the statues by which it was surrounded.

"When we are in Athens, I will show you something more beautiful than these," said Pericles. "You shall see the Pallas AthenÆ, carved by Phidias."

"Men say it is not so grand as the statue of Zeus, that we have at Olympia," replied the boy.

"Had you rather witness the sports of the gymnasia than the works of artists?" inquired Plato.

The youth answered very promptly, "Ah, no indeed. I would rather gain one prize from the Choragus, than ten from the Gymnasiarch. Anniceris, the CyrenÆan, proudly displayed his skill in chariot-driving, by riding several times around the Academia, each time preserving the exact orbit of his wheels. The spectators applauded loudly; but Plato said, 'He who has bestowed such diligence to acquire trifling and useless things, must have neglected those that are truly admirable.' Of all sights in Athens, I most wish to see the philosophers; and none so much as Plato."

The company smiled, and the philosopher answered, "I am Plato."

"You told us that your name was Aristocles," returned PterilaÜs; "and we always called you so. Once I heard that Athenian lady call you Plato; and I could not understand why she did so."

"I was named Aristocles for my grandfather," answered the philosopher; "and when I grew older, men called me Plato."

"But you cannot be the Plato that I mean," said PterilaÜs; "for you carried my little sister Zoila on your shoulders—and played peep with her among the vines; and when I chased you through the fields, you ran so fast that I could not catch you." The philosopher smiled, as he replied, "Nevertheless, I am Plato; and they call me by that name, because my shoulders are broad enough to carry little children."

The boy still insisted that he alluded to another Plato. "I mean the philosopher, who teaches in the groves of Academus," continued he. "I knew a freedman of his, who said he never allowed himself to be angry, or to speak in a loud voice. He never but once raised his hand to strike him; and that was because he had mischievously upset a poor old woman's basket of figs; feeling that he was in a passion, he suddenly checked himself, and stood perfectly still. A friend coming in asked him what he was doing; and the philosopher replied, 'I am punishing an angry man.'

"Speusippus, his sister's son, was such a careless, indecent, and boisterous youth, that his parents could not control him. They sent him to his uncle Plato, who received him in a friendly manner, and forbore to reproach him. Only in his own example he was always modest and placid. This so excited the admiration of Speusippus, that a love of philosophy was kindled within him. Some of his relatives blamed Plato, because he did not chastise the impertinent youth; but he replied, 'There is no reproof so severe as to show him, by the manner of my own life, the contrast between virtue and baseness.'—That is the Plato I want you to show me, when we are in Athens."

Proclus, perceiving a universal smile, modestly added, by way of explanation: "My son means him whom men call the divine Plato. He greatly desires to see that philosopher, of whom it is said Socrates dreamed, when he first received him as his pupil. In his dream he saw a swan without wings, that came and sat upon his bosom; and soon after, its wings grew, and it flew high up in the air, with melodious notes, alluring all who heard it."

Pericles laid his hand on the philosopher's shoulder, and smiling, answered, "My unbelieving friend, this is the teacher of Academus; this is the divine Plato; this is the soaring swan, whose melodious notes allure all that hear him."

Proclus was covered with confusion, but still seemed half incredulous. "What would Melissa say," exclaimed he, "if she knew that her frolicsome little plaything, Zoila, had been rude enough to throw flowers at the divine Plato."

"Nay, my friend," replied the disciple of Socrates,—what better could a philosopher desire, than to be pelted with roses by childhood?"

Eudora looked up with an arch expression; and Philothea smiled as she said, "This is a new version of unknown Phoebus tending the flocks of Admetus."

PterilaÜs seemed utterly confounded by a discovery so unexpected. It was long before he regained his usual freedom; and from time to time he was observed to fix a scrutinizing gaze on the countenance of Plato, as if seeking to read the mystery of his hidden greatness.

As the travellers approached Athens, they were met by a numerous procession of magistrates, citizens, and young men bearing garlands, which they heaped on the urn in such profusion that it resembled a pyramid of flowers. They passed the chariots with their arms and ensigns of office all reversed; then turned and followed to the abode of Pericles, singing dirges as they went, and filling the air with the melancholy music of the Mysian flute.

The amiable character of the deceased, his genius, the peculiar circumstances attending his death, and the accumulated afflictions of his illustrious parent, all combined to render it an impressive scene. Even the gay selfishness of Alcibiades was subdued into reverence, as he carefully took the urn from the chariot, and gave it to attendants, who placed it beside the household altar.

Early the next morning, a procession again formed to convey the ashes of Paralus to the sepulchre of his fathers; called, in the beautiful language of the Greeks, a Place of Sleep.

When the urn was again brought forth, Philothea's long golden hair covered it, like a mantle of sunbeams. During his life-time, these shining tresses had been peculiarly dear to him; and in token of her love, she placed them on his grave. Her white robe was changed for coarse black garments; and instead of flowery wreaths, a long black veil covered the beautiful head, from which its richest ornament had just been severed. She had rejoiced for his happy spirit, and now she mourned her own widowed lot.

At the sepulchre, Pericles pronounced a funeral oration on the most gifted, and best-beloved of his children. In the evening, kindred and friends met at his house to partake a feast prepared for the occasion; and every guest had something to relate concerning the genius and the virtues of him who slept.

A similar feast was prepared in the apartments of the women, where Philothea remained silent and composed; a circumstance that excited no small degree of wonder and remark, among those who measured affection by the vehemence of grief.

As soon as all ceremonies were completed, she obtained leave to return to her early home, endeared by many happy scenes; and there, in the stillness of her own heart, she held communion with the dear departed.