es fell by each other's hands. Their uncle Creon forbade that the
bodies of men who had so ruined their country should receive funeral
honours from anyone on pain of death, thus condemning their shades to the
dreary flitting about on the banks of the Styx, so much dreaded. But
their sister Antigone, the noblest woman of Greek imagination, dared the
peril, stole forth at night, and gave burial alone to her two brothers.
She was found out, and put to death for her sisterly devotion, though
Creon's own son killed himself for grief and love of her. This happened
in the generation before the Trojan war, for Tydeus, the father of
Diomed, was one of the seven chiefs.

Macedon, the country northward of Greece, had one very droll legend.
Midas, king of the Bryges, at the foot of Mount Bermion, had a most
beautiful garden, full of all kinds of fruit. This was often stolen,
until he watched, and found the thief was old Silenus, the tutor of
Bacchus. Thereupon he filled with wine the fount where Silenus was used
to drink after his feast, and thus, instead of going away, the old god
fell asleep, and Midas caught him, and made him answer all his questions.
One was, "What is best for man?" and the answer was very sad, "What is
best for man is never to have been born. The second best is to die as
soon as may be." At last Silenus was released, on condition that he
would grant one wish, and this was that all that Midas touched should
turn to gold; and so it did, clothes, food, and everything the king took
hold of became solid gold, so that he found himself starving, and
entreated that the gift might be taken away. So he was told to bathe in
the river Pactolus, in Lydia, and the sands became full of gold dust;
but, in remembrance of his folly, his ears grew long like those of a
donkey. He hid them by wearing a tall Phrygian cap, and no one knew of
them but his barber, who was told he should be put to death if ever he
mentioned these ears. The barber was so haunted by the secret, that at
last he could not help relieving himself, by going to a clump of reeds
and whispering into them, "King Midas has the ears of an ass;" and
whenever the wind rustled in the reeds, those who went by might always
hear them in turn whisper to one another, "King Midas has the ears of an
ass." Some accounts say that it was for saying that Pan was a better
musician than Apollo that Midas had his ass's ears, and that it was Lydia
of which he was king; and