EVANGELINE'S LETTER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18015, 27 November 1926, Page 19

EVANGELINE'S LETTER.

jyjY DEAR STARLETS AND SHOOTING STARS—

How hot it is! Now, who will volunteer? I want eight Shooting Stars to come and fan me while I write this letter! "Eight!” you say. “Why eight?” “Well, that’s just the number that could tit in round my table. I have been ever so busy getting the page ready, and you know when it is hot how troublesome everyone is. Well, first of all the Joke Box wouldn't let me lift the lid. I fought with him for several minutes and eventually I won. But. really, it was tine sun’s fault, for he melted the glue that holds J.B. together, hut this time the glue held him together in the wrong place, hence the struggle. How I envv the seaside Stars, for I can hear them splashing the water and shouting out in cool delight. 1 really think Apollo is out of his course to-day and driving his fiery chariot a little nearer to Earth than usual, or else that reckless son of his, Phaeton, has taken the reins again. You know, don’t you, that Apollo is god of the sun, and that he drives his chariot of lire across the sky every day from east to west? If Phaeton is driving instead—l sincerely hope he isn’t—then, what a catastrophe is ahead of us! A long, long time ago—here is a little story about him—he lived with his mother on the sunny plains of Greece. He had golden hair and a very, very fair skin, of which he was exceptionally proud. Apollo was his father, and I suppose his beautiful complexion svas due to that, for if anyone else had been his father then he would have had an ordinary skin just like his companions. Whenever his father happened to be driving over the glade where he and his youthful mother used to play, lie always switched off some of ibe heat so that it wouldn’t cause any discomfort to either his wife or son.

Phaeton was conceited about other things, too. He talked incessantly about having a god for a father, and his playmates got ‘ired of it, and naturally did not believe it, so they challenged him to show some proof of it. He immediately hastened to his father’s palace, which was a most gorgeous one, covered with jewelled pinnacles and golden turrets, and found him sitting on the throne waiting for his golden-wheeled sun-car, drawn by four wonderful horses. Phaeton told him how his playmates disbelieved his divine parentage, and asked to he allowed, to drive the-surx-car that day. Apollo was amazed at his son’s presumption, and declared that no one could control the fiery steeds but himself. At last, the sun-god gave in to Ins son’s request. He gave him all the directions as to the route anil told him to watch his steeds and to use the whip sparingly. Finally, he poured an oil over Phaeton to protect him from the burning sun-beams; and signalled to Dawn to fling open the gates of morning. Outside, file Hours were waiting for Apollo, and got a fearful shock, when they saw Phaeton in his father’s place. For a while, all went well, but at length he became so excited about his high position in Ore heavens that he drove faster and faster. And at last he became so reckless that he lost his way. When he was trying to find it again he drove so close to the Earth that all the vegetation became shrivelled up, fountains and rivers went dry, and the people of the land over which Ire was passing were burned black. Now you know why there are-black people in the'world. Well, Jupiter, the King of the Gods, who had been asleep, was suddenly awakened by the clamour of the people who were furious at having their vegetation destroyed. Naturally, when he saw what had happened aud tlie distress that had been caused by a youth who had dared to mount the sun chariot, his anger xvas so great that he declared death was the only punishment for Phaeton. So he stalked into his arsenal and selected the deadliest thunderbolt and hurled it at Phaeton. Jupiter’s shot did not miss either, and poor Phaeton fell out of his lofty seat, burned and blackened, into a river below. A little lesson can be learned from this story. I wonder if you could write a letter telling me what the lesson is?—With love, EVANGELINE. iiiiiiiiiiwuimiiiiiiiiiiii