corruption, which was connected, in this writer at least, with not a
little obvious coarseness. It was a strange notion of the gross lust
of the actual world, that Marius took from some of these episodes.
"I am told," they read, "that [61] when foreigners are interred, the
old witches are in the habit of out-racing the funeral procession, to
ravage the corpse"--in order to obtain certain cuttings and remnants
from it, with which to injure the living--"especially if the witch
has happened to cast her eye upon some goodly young man." And the
scene of the night-watching of a dead body lest the witches should
come to tear off the flesh with their teeth, is worthy of Theophile
Gautier.

But set as one of the episodes in the main narrative, a true gem amid
its mockeries, its coarse though genuine humanity, its burlesque
horrors, came the tale of Cupid and Psyche, full of brilliant, life-
like situations, speciosa locis, and abounding in lovely visible
imagery (one seemed to see and handle the golden hair, the fresh
flowers, the precious works of art in it!) yet full also of a gentle
idealism, so that you might take it, if you chose, for an allegory.
With a concentration of all his finer literary gifts, Apuleius had
gathered into it the floating star-matter of many a delightful old
story.--

The Story of Cupid and Psyche.

In a certain city lived a king and queen who had three daughters
exceeding fair. But the beauty of the elder sisters, though pleasant
to behold, yet passed not the measure of human praise, while such was
the loveliness of the [62] youngest that men's speech was too poor to
commend it worthily and could express it not at all. Many of the