must not infer that the other deities of the
Finnish mythology live under a despotism.
Indeed, it is a peculiarity of the system that,
far from the minor gods being dependent on
their supreme chief, each of them is potent
in his own limited region, to an extent not
contemplated in the mythologies of Greece
and Rome. Päivä, god of the sun ; Kuu,
god of the moon ; Otava, god of the Great
Bear ; and Tähti, god of the polar star, all
go their own way, caring as little for Ukko
as if he did not exist at all. It may be
observed that the names here given signify
as well the luminaries themselves as the
deities that preside over them ; or, more
strictly speaking, signify the same objects, as
contemplated from two different points of
view. Here, as in the case of Jumala, we
find a transition from the worship of the
natural object as it is, to the worship of the
same object personified. Such transitions
are common in the history of all mythologies.
People begin by adoring the moon ; then
they worship the man in the moon.

An amusing story about a wooing expedition,
in which the sun, moon, and polar star
were suitors, is told by the Finns and the
Esthonians, who both belong to the same
race. The object of the suit was a lovely
maiden, hatched from a goose's egg (as Helen
from a swan's), and she gave the preference
to the least conspicuous luminary. To the
moon (who, as with the Germans, is masculine)
she objected that there was nothing
stable in his appearance, inasmuch as his face
was sometimes narrow and sometimes broad.
Moreover, he had a bad habit of roving about
all night, and remaining idle at home all day,
which habit was highly detrimental to the
true interests of a household. The objection
to the sun (who is masculine likewise, as
with the Greeks, but not the Germans) was
less rational, inasmuch as it referred to him
as the cause not only of heat in summer, but
also of cold in winter, and of all the variations
of the weather. The polar star she accepted,
because he always came home punctually,
and, when there, looked very dignified on the
shoulders of the Great Bear, and the back of
the Pleiades—which is somewhat difficult
astronomy.

We are not to suppose that, in consequence
of this failure, the sun and moon pass their
lives in single blessedness. On the contrary,
every one of the celestial luminaries—Great
Bear and all—is a paterfamilias, at the head
of a very grand establishment, the chief
ornament of which is a lovely daughter,
greatly skilled in the art of weaving. The
sun, moreover, rejoices in two male olive-
branches. One of these, the god of fire, is
named Panu; the other seems to be without
a name, being simply called Päivän-poika (the
son of the sun). The latter figures
advantageously in a story of Wäinämöinen, the
great hero of Finnish epic. Having caught a
fish that has dieted itself on sparks fallen
from heaven, Wäinämöinen is afraid to touch,
it with his bare fingers, when Päivän-poika
makes his appearance, and says that he is
ready to cut it up, if he can borrow the knife
belonging to his father, the sun. No sooner
are these words uttered than a knife with a
golden handle and silver blade starts from
the clouds, and Päivän-poika does his work
handsomely. All the celestial deities, it may
be observed, are of a benignant nature.
Indeed, Päivätär and Kuutar, the daughters
respectively of the sun and moon,
have been petitioned for small loans of
gold and silver ; and, on one occasion, have
been known to bestow on an indigent damsel,
the handsome present of six golden girdles,
and seven blue gowns, to say nothing of
trinkets.

The water as well as the sky was an object
of religious adoration to the ancient Finns.
At the head of the aquatic deities stands
Ahti, originally, no doubt, the water itself,
but afterwards the god of waters, who is
represented as a venerable old man, with a
beard of grass, and a garment of sea-foam.
His wealth is considered enormous, and he
has a somewhat unamiable character for
rapacity, though his heart is not altogether
inaccessible to kindly feeling. The story is
told of a shepherd-boy who, having let his
knife fall into a river, cried so loud that Ahti
came to the brink to see what was the matter,
and, on being informed of the loss, dived into
the water whence he presently re-appeared
with a knife of gold. The boy innocently
declared that this was not the lost article,
and likewise disclaimed the ownership of a
silver knife that was afterwards offered in a
similar manner. Touched by so much,
honesty, Ahti not only took a third dip, and
brought up the proper knife, but liberally
made the boy a present of the other two.
Generally, however, the wealth of Ahti was
thought to consist rather in abundance of fish
than in precious metals.

Wellamo, a stern but benevolent personage,
attired in a reedy foamy costume, is the
wife of Ahti, and there are several minor
deities of the water, who are regarded
sometimes as the children, sometimes as the
subjects, of this happy pair. Of these the most
remarkable is Pikku mies (the little man),
who, though no taller than one's thumb, is
remarkable for his strength, and wears a cap,,
boots, gloves, and girdle, all of copper, with a
copper hatchet stuck in the last, these articles
being sometimes varied by stone shoes and a
helmet hewn out of the rock. On one
occasion he beneficently used his strength to cut
down a huge oak that, to the great
inconvenience of mankind, interrupted the light
of the sun with its branches, and thus
occasioned a general darkness. When he first
rose from the surface of the sea, his diminutive
stature inspired little confidence; but he
gradually grew so tall, that, while his feet
trod the ground, his head penetrated the