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This picture, painted by Guido, is the last of the four he produced to représent the labours of Hercules. The three others are, the Rape of Dejanira, the Death of Hercules, and the Combat of this hero with Acheloüs.

In representing the defeat of the Hydra, Guido has not strictly adhered to mythology; to fight which, it is related that Hercules mounted his chariot; that his nephew Iolaus, the son of Iphiclus, acted as charioteer, and burnt the heads of the Hydra as Hercules cut them off. This was the only method that prevented their regeneration. A crab crept to the assistance of the Hydra. This Hercules destroyed, and killed the monster. It is added that Eurystheus would not consider the event as one of the twelve labours attributed by the gods to the son of Alcmena, because Iolaus had assisted him in the enterprise.

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SAPPHO AT LEUCAS.

GROS.

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THIS picture, the composition of M. Gros, a disciple of the celebrated David, experienced, during its exhibition, the most flattering success. It is distinguished for tastefulness of design, truth of expression, and facility of touch.

The passion of Sappho for Phaon, and her unfortunate death, are too well known to need description. Incensed at the coldness of her lover, she threw herself into the sea, from the summit of Mount Leucas.

To the memory of this illustrious female, various statues were erected by the Greeks, none of which have descended to our hands. She flourished about 600 B. C. and excelled in lyric poetry. She was held in such estimation by her countrymen, that they stamped her image on their coin.

Although various fragments of her poems are extant, nothing can exceed in beauty the following ode, translated by Philips.

Blest as th' immortal Gods is he,
The youth, who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while,
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.

'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast,
For while I gaz'd, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost;

My bosom glow'd; the subtile flame Ran quick through all my vital frame; O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd;
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away.

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