extent a Book of divine suggestion; two deities appear, the Upper World
plays into the Lower World, yet in very different manners. The God of
the Sea seems to be an obstructionist, a reactionary, with look turned
behind, an old divinity of Nature; while Pallas always has her look
turned forward, and is furthering the great deed of purification, is
wholly a divinity of Spirit. These three phases of the Book we shall
note more fully.

I. We have a glimpse of the court at Phaeacia; Ulysses has ended the
long account of his experience, the time of action has arrived. The
formal yet hearty farewell is described; the gifts of the host are
given, and the guest is sent on his way. Nor must we forget the bard
Demodocus, still singing at the banquet, but the theme of his song is
not now mentioned; evidently it was some tale of Troy, as before, and
this stage of song has been far transcended by Ulysses. Very eager the
Hero was to start; "often he turned his head toward the all-shining
Sun" to see how far away the hour still remained. He wishes to listen
to no more lays of the Past, sweet though they be, nor does he desire
to tell any tales himself.

Moreover we hear the great longing of his heart: "May I, returning,
find at home my blameless wife!" In like manner he wishes domestic joy
to the king, as this whole Phaeacian world partakes more of the Family
than of the State. Of course, he cannot leave without going to the
heart and center of the Family, namely, Arete, wife, mother, and even
judge of the people. So we hear from the lips of Ulysses a final
salutation to her in her threefold character, "Within thy household
rejoice in thy children, thy people and thy husband the king." She
looks to the domestic part on the ship for Ulysses; she sends servants
bearing bread, wine and garments for the passage. Nausicaa we feel to
be present in the last interview, but not a word from her or from the
departing guest to her; self-suppression is indeed the law for both,
for is not Penelope the grand end of this voyage?

The ship of the Phaeacians in which the passage is made is a miraculous
one, and yet prophetic; it is gifted with thought and flies more fleet
than a falcon, swiftest of birds. Again the mythical account prefigures
the reality, and this little marvelous story of the sea hints, yes,
calls for the speed of modern navigation. It is not a matter to be
understood; Ulysses, the wise man, knows nothing about it, he is sunk
in