{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35377/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35377","id":"gutenberg_35377","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35377","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Mythology, Greek","Mythology, Greek -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            A WONDER BOOK\n\n                                 AND\n\n                           TANGLEWOOD TALES\n\n                          FOR GIRLS AND BOYS\n\n                        BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\n    WITH PICTURES BY\n    MAXFIELD PARRISH\n\n    NEW YORK\n    DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n    MCMX\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n\n    THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: JASON AND THE TALKING OAK\n\n(From the original in the collection of Austin M. Purves, Esqu're\nPhiladelphia)]\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\nThe author has long been of opinion that many of the classical myths\nwere capable of being rendered into very capital reading for children.\nIn the little volume here offered to the public, he has worked up half a\ndozen of them, with this end in view. A great freedom of treatment was\nnecessary to his plan; but it will be observed by every one who attempts\nto render these legends malleable in his intellectual furnace, that they\nare marvellously independent of all temporary modes and circumstances.\nThey remain essentially the same, after changes that would affect the\nidentity of almost anything else.\n\nHe does not, therefore, plead guilty to a sacrilege, in having sometimes\nshaped anew, as his fancy dictated, the forms that have been hallowed by\nan antiquity of two or three thousand years. No epoch of time can claim\na copyright in these immortal fables. They seem never to have been made;\nand certainly, so long as man exists, they can never perish; but, by\ntheir indestructibility itself, they are legitimate subjects for every\nage to clothe with its own garniture of manners and sentiment, and to\nimbue with its own morality. In the present version they may have lost\nmuch of their classical aspect (or, at all events, the author has not\nbeen careful to preserve it), and have, perhaps, assumed a Gothic or\nromantic guise.\n\nIn performing this pleasant task,--for it has been really a task fit for\nhot weather, and one of the most agreeable, of a literary kind, which\nhe ever undertook,--the author has not always thought it necessary to\nwrite downward, in order to meet the comprehension of children. He has\ngenerally suffered the theme to soar, whenever such was its tendency,\nand when he himself was buoyant enough to follow without an effort.\nChildren possess an unestimated sensibility to whatever is deep or high,\nin imagination or feeling, so long as it is simple, likewise. It is only\nthe artificial and the complex that bewilder them.\n\nLENOX, _July 15, 1851_.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\nA Wonder Book for Girls and Boys\n\n\nThe Gorgon's Head\n\nThe Golden Touch\n\nThe Paradise of Children\n\nThe Three Golden Apples\n\nThe Miraculous Pitcher\n\nThe Chimaera\n\n\nTanglewood Tales\n\n\nThe Wayside--_Introductory_\n\nThe Minotaur\n\nThe Pygmies\n\nThe Dragon's Teeth\n\nCirce's Palace\n\nThe Pomegranate Seeds\n\nThe Golden Fleece\n\n\n\n\nIllustrations\n\n\nJASON AND THE TALKING OAK\n\nPANDORA\n\nATLAS\n\nBELLEROPHON BY THE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE\n\nTHE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE\n\nCADMUS SOWING THE DRAGON'S TEETH\n\nCIRCE'S PALACE\n\nPROSERPINA\n\nJASON AND HIS TEACHER\n\nTHE ARGONAUTS IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE\n\n\n\n\nA Wonder Book\n\n\n\n\nTHE GORGON'S HEAD\n\n\nTanglewood Porch\n\n_Introductory to \"The Gorgon's Head\"_\n\nBeneath the porch of the country-seat called Tanglewood, one fine\nautumnal morning, was assembled a merry party of little folks, with a\ntall youth in the midst of them. They had planned a nutting expedition,\nand were impatiently waiting for the mists to roll up the hill-slopes,\nand for the sun to pour the warmth of the Indian summer over the fields\nand pastures, and into the nooks of the many-colored woods. There was a\nprospect of as fine a day as ever gladdened the aspect of this beautiful\nand comfortable world. As yet, however, the morning mist filled up the\nwhole length and breadth of the valley, above which, on a gently sloping\neminence, the mansion stood.\n\nThis body of white vapor extended to within less than a hundred yards of\nthe house. It completely hid everything beyond that distance, except a\nfew ruddy or yellow tree-tops, which here and there emerged, and were\nglorified by the early sunshine, as was likewise the broad surface of\nthe mist. Four or five miles off to the southward rose the summit of\nMonument Mountain, and seemed to be floating on a cloud. Some fifteen\nmiles farther away, in the same direction, appeared the loftier Dome of\nTaconic, looking blue and indistinct, and hardly so substantial as the\nvapory sea that almost rolled over it. The nearer hills, which bordered\nthe valley, were half submerged, and were specked with little\ncloud-wreaths all the way to their tops. On the whole, there was so\nmuch cloud, and so little solid earth, that it had the effect of a\nvision.\n\nThe children above-mentioned, being as full of life as they could hold,\nkept overflowing from the porch of Tanglewood, and scampering along the\ngravel-walk, or rushing across the dewy herbage of the lawn. I can\nhardly tell how many of these small people there were; not less than\nnine or ten, however, nor more than a dozen, of all sorts, sizes, and\nages, whether girls or boys. They were brothers, sisters, and cousins,\ntogether with a few of their young acquaintances, who had been invited\nby Mr. and Mrs. Pringle to spend some of this delightful weather with\ntheir own children, at Tanglewood. I am afraid to tell you their names,\nor even to give them any names which other children have ever been\ncalled by; because, to my certain knowledge, authors sometimes get\nthemselves into great trouble by accidentally giving the names of real\npersons to the characters in their books. For this reason I mean to call\nthem Primrose, Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, Blue Eye, Clover,\nHuckleberry, Cowslip, Squash-Blossom, Milkweed, Plantain, and Buttercup;\nalthough, to be sure, such titles might better suit a group of fairies\nthan a company of earthly children.\n\nIt is not to be supposed that these little folks were to be permitted by\ntheir careful fathers and mothers, uncles, aunts, or grandparents, to\nstray abroad into the woods and fields, without the guardianship of some\nparticularly grave and elderly person. Oh no, indeed! In the first\nsentence of my book, you will recollect that I spoke of a tall youth,\nstanding in the midst of the children. His name--(and I shall let you\nknow his real name, because he considers it a great honor to have told\nthe stories that are here to be printed)--his name was Eustace Bright.\nHe was a student at Williams College, and had reached, I think, at this\nperiod, the venerable age of eighteen years; so that he felt quite like\na grandfather towards Periwinkle, Dandelion, Huckleberry,\nSquash-Blossom, Milkweed, and the rest, who were only half or a third as\nvenerable as he. A trouble in his eyesight (such as many students think\nit necessary to have, nowadays, in order to prove their diligence at\ntheir books) had kept him from college a week or two after the beginning\nof the term. But, for my part, I have seldom met with a pair of eyes\nthat looked as if they could see farther or better than those of Eustace\nBright.\n\nThis learned student was slender, and rather pale, as all Yankee\nstudents are; but yet of a healthy aspect, and as light and active as if\nhe had wings to his shoes. By the by, being much addicted to wading\nthrough streamlets and across meadows, he had put on cowhide boots for\nthe expedition. He wore a linen blouse, a cloth cap, and a pair of green\nspectacles, which he had assumed, probably, less for the preservation of\nhis eyes than for the dignity that they imparted to his countenance. In\neither case, however, he might as well have let them alone; for\nHuckleberry, a mischievous little elf, crept behind Eustace as he sat on\nthe steps of the porch, snatched the spectacles from his nose, and\nclapped them on her own; and as the student forgot to take them back,\nthey fell off into the grass, and lay there till the next spring.\n\nNow, Eustace Bright, you must know, had won great fame among the\nchildren, as a narrator of wonderful stories; and though he sometimes\npretended to be annoyed, when they teased him for more, and more, and\nalways for more, yet I really doubt whether he liked anything quite so\nwell as to tell them. You might have seen his eyes twinkle, therefore,\nwhen Clover, Sweet Fern, Cowslip, Buttercup, and most of their\nplaymates, besought him to relate one of his stories, while they were\nwaiting for the mist to clear up.\n\n\"Yes, Cousin Eustace,\" said Primrose, who was a bright girl of twelve,\nwith laughing eyes, and a nose that turned up a little, \"the morning is\ncertainly the best time for the stories with which you so often tire out\nour patience. We shall be in less danger of hurting your feelings, by\nfalling asleep at the most interesting points,--as little Cowslip and I\ndid last night!\"\n\n\"Naughty Primrose,\" cried Cowslip, a child of six years old; \"I did not\nfall asleep, and I only shut my eyes, so as to see a picture of what\nCousin Eustace was telling about. His stories are good to hear at night,\nbecause we can dream about them asleep; and good in the morning, too,\nbecause then we can dream about them awake. So I hope he will tell us\none this very minute.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my little Cowslip,\" said Eustace; \"certainly you shall have\nthe best story I can think of, if it were only for defending me so well\nfrom that naughty Primrose. But, children, I have already told you so\nmany fairy tales, that I doubt whether there is a single one which you\nhave not heard at least twice over. I am afraid you will fall asleep in\nreality, if I repeat any of them again.\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" cried Blue Eye, Periwinkle, Plantain, and half a dozen\nothers. \"We like a story all the better for having heard it two or three\ntimes before.\"\n\nAnd it is a truth, as regards children, that a story seems often to\ndeepen its mark in their interest, not merely by two or three, but by\nnumberless repetitions. But Eustace Bright, in the exuberance of his\nresources, scorned to avail himself of an advantage which an older\nstory-teller would have been glad to grasp at.\n\n\"It would be a great pity,\" said he, \"if a man of my learning (to say\nnothing of original fancy) could not find a new story every day, year in\nand year out, for children such as you. I will tell you one of the\nnursery tales that were made for the amusement of our great old\ngrandmother, the Earth, when she was a child in frock and pinafore.\nThere are a hundred such; and it is a wonder to me that they have not\nlong ago been put into picture-books for little girls and boys. But,\ninstead of that, old gray-bearded grandsires pore over them in musty\nvolumes of Greek, and puzzle themselves with trying to find out when,\nand how, and for what they were made.\"\n\n\"Well, well, well, well, Cousin Eustace!\" cried all the children at\nonce; \"talk no more about your stories, but begin.\"\n\n\"Sit down, then, every soul of you,\" said Eustace Bright, \"and be all as\nstill as so many mice. At the slightest interruption, whether from\ngreat, naughty Primrose, little Dandelion, or any other, I shall bite\nthe story short off between my teeth, and swallow the untold part. But,\nin the first place, do any of you know what a Gorgon is?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Primrose.\n\n\"Then hold your tongue!\" rejoined Eustace, who had rather she would have\nknown nothing about the matter. \"Hold all your tongues, and I shall tell\nyou a sweet pretty story of a Gorgon's head.\"\n\nAnd so he did, as you may begin to read on the next page. Working up his\nsophomorical erudition with a good deal of tact, and incurring great\nobligations to Professor Anthon, he, nevertheless, disregarded all\nclassical authorities, whenever the vagrant audacity of his imagination\nimpelled him to do so.\n\n\nThe Gorgon's Head\n\nPerseus was the son of Danae, who was the daughter of a king. And when\nPerseus was a very little boy, some wicked people put his mother and\nhimself into a chest, and set them afloat upon the sea. The wind blew\nfreshly, and drove the chest away from the shore, and the uneasy billows\ntossed it up and down; while Danae clasped her child closely to her\nbosom, and dreaded that some big wave would dash its foamy crest over\nthem both. The chest sailed on, however, and neither sank nor was upset;\nuntil, when night was coming, it floated so near an island that it got\nentangled in a fisherman's nets, and was drawn out high and dry upon the\nsand. The island was called Seriphus, and it was reigned over by King\nPolydectes, who happened to be the fisherman's brother.\n\nThis fisherman, I am glad to tell you, was an exceedingly humane and\nupright man. He showed great kindness to Danae and her little boy; and\ncontinued to befriend them, until Perseus had grown to be a handsome\nyouth, very strong and active, and skilful in the use of arms. Long\nbefore this time, King Polydectes had seen the two strangers--the mother\nand her child--who had come to his dominions in a floating chest. As he\nwas not good and kind, like his brother the fisherman, but extremely\nwicked, he resolved to send Perseus on a dangerous enterprise, in which\nhe would probably be killed, and then to do some great mischief to Danae\nherself. So this bad-hearted king spent a long while in considering what\nwas the most dangerous thing that a young man could possibly undertake\nto perform. At last, having hit upon an enterprise that promised to\nturn out as fatally as he desired, he sent for the youthful Perseus.\n\nThe young man came to the palace, and found the king sitting upon his\nthrone.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said King Polydectes, smiling craftily upon him, \"you are\ngrown up a fine young man. You and your good mother have received a\ngreat deal of kindness from myself, as well as from my worthy brother\nthe fisherman, and I suppose you would not be sorry to repay some of\nit.\"\n\n\"Please your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, \"I would willingly risk my life\nto do so.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" continued the king, still with a cunning smile on his\nlips, \"I have a little adventure to propose to you; and, as you are a\nbrave and enterprising youth, you will doubtless look upon it as a great\npiece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity of distinguishing\nyourself. You must know, my good Perseus, I think of getting married to\nthe beautiful Princess Hippodamia; and it is customary, on these\noccasions, to make the bride a present of some far-fetched and elegant\ncuriosity. I have been a little perplexed, I must honestly confess,\nwhere to obtain anything likely to please a princess of her exquisite\ntaste. But, this morning, I flatter myself, I have thought of precisely\nthe article.\"\n\n\"And can I assist your Majesty in obtaining it?\" cried Perseus, eagerly.\n\n\"You can, if you are as brave a youth as I believe you to be,\" replied\nKing Polydectes, with the utmost graciousness of manner. \"The bridal\ngift which I have set my heart on presenting to the beautiful Hippodamia\nis the head of the Gorgon Medusa with the snaky locks; and I depend on\nyou, my dear Perseus, to bring it to me. So, as I am anxious to settle\naffairs with the princess, the sooner you go in quest of the Gorgon, the\nbetter I shall be pleased.\"\n\n\"I will set out to-morrow morning,\" answered Perseus.\n\n\"Pray do so, my gallant youth,\" rejoined the king. \"And, Perseus, in\ncutting off the Gorgon's head, be careful to make a clean stroke, so as\nnot to injure its appearance. You must bring it home in the very best\ncondition, in order to suit the exquisite taste of the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia.\"\n\nPerseus left the palace, but was scarcely out of hearing before\nPolydectes burst into a laugh; being greatly amused, wicked king that he\nwas, to find how readily the young man fell into the snare. The news\nquickly spread abroad that Perseus had undertaken to cut off the head of\nMedusa with the snaky locks. Everybody was rejoiced; for most of the\ninhabitants of the island were as wicked as the king himself, and would\nhave liked nothing better than to see some enormous mischief happen to\nDanae and her son. The only good man in this unfortunate island of\nSeriphus appears to have been the fisherman. As Perseus walked along,\ntherefore, the people pointed after him, and made mouths, and winked to\none another, and ridiculed him as loudly as they dared.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" cried they; \"Medusa's snakes will sting him soundly!\"\n\nNow, there were three Gorgons alive at that period; and they were the\nmost strange and terrible monsters that had ever been since the world\nwas made, or that have been seen in after days, or that are likely to be\nseen in all time to come. I hardly know what sort of creature or\nhobgoblin to call them. They were three sisters, and seem to have borne\nsome distant resemblance to women, but were really a very frightful and\nmischievous species of dragon. It is, indeed, difficult to imagine what\nhideous beings these three sisters were. Why, instead of locks of hair,\nif you can believe me, they had each of them a hundred enormous snakes\ngrowing on their heads, all alive, twisting, wriggling, curling, and\nthrusting out their venomous tongues, with forked stings at the end!\nThe teeth of the Gorgons were terribly long tusks; their hands were made\nof brass; and their bodies were all over scales, which, if not iron,\nwere something as hard and impenetrable. They had wings, too, and\nexceedingly splendid ones, I can assure you; for every feather in them\nwas pure, bright, glittering, burnished gold, and they looked very\ndazzlingly, no doubt, when the Gorgons were flying about in the\nsunshine.\n\nBut when people happened to catch a glimpse of their glittering\nbrightness, aloft in the air, they seldom stopped to gaze, but ran and\nhid themselves as speedily as they could. You will think, perhaps, that\nthey were afraid of being stung by the serpents that served the Gorgons\ninstead of hair,--or of having their heads bitten off by their ugly\ntusks,--or of being torn all to pieces by their brazen claws. Well, to\nbe sure, these were some of the dangers, but by no means the greatest,\nnor the most difficult to avoid. For the worst thing about these\nabominable Gorgons was, that, if once a poor mortal fixed his eyes full\nupon one of their faces, he was certain, that very instant, to be\nchanged from warm flesh and blood into cold and lifeless stone!\n\nThus, as you will easily perceive, it was a very dangerous adventure\nthat the wicked King Polydectes had contrived for this innocent young\nman. Perseus himself, when he had thought over the matter, could not\nhelp seeing that he had very little chance of coming safely through it,\nand that he was far more likely to become a stone image than to bring\nback the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. For, not to speak of other\ndifficulties, there was one which it would have puzzled an older man\nthan Perseus to get over. Not only must he fight with and slay this\ngolden-winged, iron-scaled, long-tusked, brazen-clawed, snaky-haired\nmonster, but he must do it with his eyes shut, or, at least, without so\nmuch as a glance at the enemy with whom he was contending. Else, while\nhis arm was lifted to strike, he would stiffen into stone, and stand\nwith that uplifted arm for centuries, until time, and the wind and\nweather, should crumble him quite away. This would be a very sad thing\nto befall a young man who wanted to perform a great many brave deeds,\nand to enjoy a great deal of happiness, in this bright and beautiful\nworld.\n\nSo disconsolate did these thoughts make him, that Perseus could not bear\nto tell his mother what he had undertaken to do. He therefore took his\nshield, girded on his sword, and crossed over from the island to the\nmainland, where he sat down in a solitary place, and hardly refrained\nfrom shedding tears.\n\nBut, while he was in this sorrowful mood, he heard a voice close beside\nhim.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"why are you sad?\"\n\nHe lifted his head from his hands, in which he had hidden it, and\nbehold! all alone as Perseus had supposed himself to be, there was a\nstranger in the solitary place. It was a brisk, intelligent, and\nremarkably shrewd-looking young man, with a cloak over his shoulders, an\nodd sort of cap on his head, a strangely twisted staff in his hand, and\na short and very crooked sword hanging by his side. He was exceedingly\nlight and active in his figure, like a person much accustomed to\ngymnastic exercises, and well able to leap or run. Above all, the\nstranger had such a cheerful, knowing, and helpful aspect (though it was\ncertainly a little mischievous, into the bargain), that Perseus could\nnot help feeling his spirits grow livelier as he gazed at him. Besides,\nbeing really a courageous youth, he felt greatly ashamed that anybody\nshould have found him with tears in his eyes, like a timid little\nschool-boy, when, after all, there might be no occasion for despair. So\nPerseus wiped his eyes, and answered the stranger pretty briskly,\nputting on as brave a look as he could.\n\n\"I am not so very sad,\" said he, \"only thoughtful about an adventure\nthat I have undertaken.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" answered the stranger. \"Well, tell me all about it, and possibly\nI may be of service to you. I have helped a good many young men through\nadventures that looked difficult enough beforehand. Perhaps you may have\nheard of me. I have more names than one; but the name of Quicksilver\nsuits me as well as any other. Tell me what the trouble is, and we will\ntalk the matter over, and see what can be done.\"\n\nThe stranger's words and manner put Perseus into quite a different mood\nfrom his former one. He resolved to tell Quicksilver all his\ndifficulties, since he could not easily be worse off than he already\nwas, and, very possibly, his new friend might give him some advice that\nwould turn out well in the end. So he let the stranger know, in few\nwords, precisely what the case was,--how that King Polydectes wanted the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks as a bridal gift for the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia, and how that he had undertaken to get it for him,\nbut was afraid of being turned into stone.\n\n\"And that would be a great pity,\" said Quicksilver, with his mischievous\nsmile. \"You would make a very handsome marble statue, it is true, and it\nwould be a considerable number of centuries before you crumbled away;\nbut, on the whole, one would rather be a young man for a few years, than\na stone image for a great many.\"\n\n\"Oh, far rather!\" exclaimed Perseus, with the tears again standing in\nhis eyes. \"And, besides, what would my dear mother do, if her beloved\nson were turned into a stone?\"\n\n\"Well, well, let us hope that the affair will not turn out so very\nbadly,\" replied Quicksilver, in an encouraging tone. \"I am the very\nperson to help you, if anybody can. My sister and myself will do our\nutmost to bring you safe through the adventure, ugly as it now looks.\"\n\n\"Your sister?\" repeated Perseus.\n\n\"Yes, my sister,\" said the stranger. \"She is very wise, I promise you;\nand as for myself, I generally have all my wits about me, such as they\nare. If you show yourself bold and cautious, and follow our advice, you\nneed not fear being a stone image yet awhile. But, first of all, you\nmust polish your shield, till you can see your face in it as distinctly\nas in a mirror.\"\n\nThis seemed to Perseus rather an odd beginning of the adventure; for he\nthought it of far more consequence that the shield should be strong\nenough to defend him from the Gorgon's brazen claws, than that it should\nbe bright enough to show him the reflection of his face. However,\nconcluding that Quicksilver knew better than himself, he immediately set\nto work, and scrubbed the shield with so much diligence and good-will,\nthat it very quickly shone like the moon at harvest-time. Quicksilver\nlooked at it with a smile, and nodded his approbation. Then, taking off\nhis own short and crooked sword, he girded it about Perseus, instead of\nthe one which he had before worn.\n\n\"No sword but mine will answer your purpose,\" observed he; \"the blade\nhas a most excellent temper, and will cut through iron and brass as\neasily as through the slenderest twig. And now we will set out. The next\nthing is to find the Three Gray Women, who will tell us where to find\nthe Nymphs.\"\n\n\"The Three Gray Women!\" cried Perseus, to whom this seemed only a new\ndifficulty in the path of his adventure; \"pray who may the Three Gray\nWomen be? I never heard of them before.\"\n\n\"They are three very strange old ladies,\" said Quicksilver, laughing.\n\"They have but one eye among them, and only one tooth. Moreover, you\nmust find them out by starlight, or in the dusk of the evening; for they\nnever show themselves by the light either of the sun or moon.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Perseus, \"why should I waste my time with these Three Gray\nWomen? Would it not be better to set out at once in search of the\nterrible Gorgons?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his friend. \"There are other things to be done,\nbefore you can find your way to the Gorgons. There is nothing for it but\nto hunt up these old ladies; and when we meet with them, you may be sure\nthat the Gorgons are not a great way off. Come, let us be stirring!\"\n\nPerseus, by this time, felt so much confidence in his companion's\nsagacity, that he made no more objections, and professed himself ready\nto begin the adventure immediately. They accordingly set out, and walked\nat a pretty brisk pace; so brisk, indeed, that Perseus found it rather\ndifficult to keep up with his nimble friend Quicksilver. To say the\ntruth, he had a singular idea that Quicksilver was furnished with a pair\nof winged shoes, which, of course, helped him along marvellously. And\nthen, too, when Perseus looked sideways at him, out of the corner of his\neye, he seemed to see wings on the side of his head; although, if he\nturned a full gaze, there were no such things to be perceived, but only\nan odd kind of cap. But, at all events, the twisted staff was evidently\na great convenience to Quicksilver, and enabled him to proceed so fast,\nthat Perseus, though a remarkably active young man, began to be out of\nbreath.\n\n\"Here!\" cried Quicksilver, at last,--for he knew well enough, rogue that\nhe was, how hard Perseus found it to keep pace with him,--\"take you the\nstaff, for you need it a great deal more than I. Are there no better\nwalkers than yourself in the island of Seriphus?\"\n\n\"I could walk pretty well,\" said Perseus, glancing slyly at his\ncompanion's feet, \"if I had only a pair of winged shoes.\"\n\n\"We must see about getting you a pair,\" answered Quicksilver.\n\nBut the staff helped Perseus along so bravely, that he no longer felt\nthe slightest weariness. In fact, the stick seemed to be alive in his\nhand, and to lend some of its life to Perseus. He and Quicksilver now\nwalked onward at their ease, talking very sociably together; and\nQuicksilver told so many pleasant stories about his former adventures,\nand how well his wits had served him on various occasions, that Perseus\nbegan to think him a very wonderful person. He evidently knew the world;\nand nobody is so charming to a young man as a friend who has that kind\nof knowledge. Perseus listened the more eagerly, in the hope of\nbrightening his own wits by what he heard.\n\nAt last, he happened to recollect that Quicksilver had spoken of a\nsister, who was to lend her assistance in the adventure which they were\nnow bound upon.\n\n\"Where is she?\" he inquired. \"Shall we not meet her soon?\"\n\n\"All at the proper time,\" said his companion. \"But this sister of mine,\nyou must understand, is quite a different sort of character from myself.\nShe is very grave and prudent, seldom smiles, never laughs, and makes it\na rule not to utter a word unless she has something particularly\nprofound to say. Neither will she listen to any but the wisest\nconversation.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" ejaculated Perseus; \"I shall be afraid to say a syllable.\"\n\n\"She is a very accomplished person, I assure you,\" continued\nQuicksilver, \"and has all the arts and sciences at her fingers' ends. In\nshort, she is so immoderately wise, that many people call her wisdom\npersonified. But, to tell you the truth, she has hardly vivacity enough\nfor my taste; and I think you would scarcely find her so pleasant a\ntravelling companion as myself. She has her good points, nevertheless;\nand you will find the benefit of them, in your encounter with the\nGorgons.\"\n\nBy this time it had grown quite dusk. They were now come to a very wild\nand desert place, overgrown with shaggy bushes, and so silent and\nsolitary that nobody seemed ever to have dwelt or journeyed there. All\nwas waste and desolate, in the gray twilight, which grew every moment\nmore obscure. Perseus looked about him, rather disconsolately, and\nasked Quicksilver whether they had a great deal farther to go.\n\n\"Hist! hist!\" whispered his companion. \"Make no noise! This is just the\ntime and place to meet the Three Gray Women. Be careful that they do not\nsee you before you see them; for, though they have but a single eye\namong the three, it is as sharp-sighted as half a dozen common eyes.\"\n\n\"But what must I do,\" asked Perseus, \"when we meet them?\"\n\nQuicksilver explained to Perseus how the Three Gray Women managed with\ntheir one eye. They were in the habit, it seems, of changing it from one\nto another, as if it had been a pair of spectacles, or--which would have\nsuited them better--a quizzing-glass. When one of the three had kept the\neye a certain time, she took it out of the socket and passed it to one\nof her sisters, whose turn it might happen to be, and who immediately\nclapped it into her own head, and enjoyed a peep at the visible world.\nThus it will easily be understood that only one of the Three Gray Women\ncould see, while the other two were in utter darkness; and, moreover, at\nthe instant when the eye was passing from hand to hand, neither of the\npoor old ladies was able to see a wink. I have heard of a great many\nstrange things, in my day, and have witnessed not a few; but none, it\nseems to me, that can compare with the oddity of these Three Gray Women,\nall peeping through a single eye.\n\nSo thought Perseus, likewise, and was so astonished that he almost\nfancied his companion was joking with him, and that there were no such\nold women in the world.\n\n\"You will soon find whether I tell the truth or no,\" observed\nQuicksilver. \"Hark! hush! hist! hist! There they come, now!\"\n\nPerseus looked earnestly through the dusk of the evening, and there,\nsure enough, at no great distance off, he descried the Three Gray Women.\nThe light being so faint, he could not well make out what sort of\nfigures they were; only he discovered that they had long gray hair; and,\nas they came nearer, he saw that two of them had but the empty socket of\nan eye, in the middle of their foreheads. But, in the middle of the\nthird sister's forehead, there was a very large, bright, and piercing\neye, which sparkled like a great diamond in a ring; and so penetrating\ndid it seem to be, that Perseus could not help thinking it must possess\nthe gift of seeing in the darkest midnight just as perfectly as at\nnoonday. The sight of three persons' eyes was melted and collected into\nthat single one.\n\nThus the three old dames got along about as comfortably, upon the whole,\nas if they could all see at once. She who chanced to have the eye in her\nforehead led the other two by the hands, peeping sharply about her, all\nthe while; insomuch that Perseus dreaded lest she should see right\nthrough the thick clump of bushes behind which he and Quicksilver had\nhidden themselves. My stars! it was positively terrible to be within\nreach of so very sharp an eye!\n\nBut, before they reached the clump of bushes, one of the Three Gray\nWomen spoke.\n\n\"Sister! Sister Scarecrow!\" cried she, \"you have had the eye long\nenough. It is my turn now!\"\n\n\"Let me keep it a moment longer, Sister Nightmare,\" answered Scarecrow.\n\"I thought I had a glimpse of something behind that thick bush.\"\n\n\"Well, and what of that?\" retorted Nightmare, peevishly. \"Can't I see\ninto a thick bush as easily as yourself? The eye is mine as well as\nyours; and I know the use of it as well as you, or may be a little\nbetter. I insist upon taking a peep immediately!\"\n\nBut here the third sister, whose name was Shakejoint, began to complain,\nand said that it was her turn to have the eye, and that Scarecrow and\nNightmare wanted to keep it all to themselves. To end the dispute, old\nDame Scarecrow took the eye out of her forehead, and held it forth in\nher hand.\n\n\"Take it, one of you,\" cried she, \"and quit this foolish quarrelling.\nFor my part, I shall be glad of a little thick darkness. Take it\nquickly, however, or I must clap it into my own head again!\"\n\nAccordingly, both Nightmare and Shakejoint put out their hands, groping\neagerly to snatch the eye out of the hand of Scarecrow. But, being both\nalike blind, they could not easily find where Scarecrow's hand was; and\nScarecrow, being now just as much in the dark as Shakejoint and\nNightmare, could not at once meet either of their hands, in order to put\nthe eye into it. Thus (as you will see, with half an eye, my wise little\nauditors), these good old dames had fallen into a strange perplexity.\nFor, though the eye shone and glistened like a star, as Scarecrow held\nit out, yet the Gray Women caught not the least glimpse of its light,\nand were all three in utter darkness, from too impatient a desire to\nsee.\n\nQuicksilver was so much tickled at beholding Shakejoint and Nightmare\nboth groping for the eye, and each finding fault with Scarecrow and one\nanother, that he could scarcely help laughing aloud.\n\n\"Now is your time!\" he whispered to Perseus. \"Quick, quick! before they\ncan clap the eye into either of their heads. Rush out upon the old\nladies, and snatch it from Scarecrow's hand!\"\n\nIn an instant, while the Three Gray Women were still scolding each\nother, Perseus leaped from behind the clump of bushes, and made himself\nmaster of the prize. The marvellous eye, as he held it in his hand,\nshone very brightly, and seemed to look up into his face with a knowing\nair, and an expression as if it would have winked, had it been provided\nwith a pair of eyelids for that purpose. But the Gray Women knew nothing\nof what had happened; and, each supposing that one of her sisters was\nin possession of the eye, they began their quarrel anew. At last, as\nPerseus did not wish to put these respectable dames to greater\ninconvenience than was really necessary, he thought it right to explain\nthe matter.\n\n\"My good ladies,\" said he, \"pray do not be angry with one another. If\nanybody is in fault, it is myself; for I have the honor to hold your\nvery brilliant and excellent eye in my own hand!\"\n\n\"You! you have our eye! And who are you?\" screamed the Three Gray Women,\nall in a breath; for they were terribly frightened, of course, at\nhearing a strange voice, and discovering that their eyesight had got\ninto the hands of they could not guess whom. \"Oh, what shall we do,\nsisters? what shall we do? We are all in the dark! Give us our eye! Give\nus our one, precious, solitary eye! You have two of your own! Give us\nour eye!\"\n\n\"Tell them,\" whispered Quicksilver to Perseus, \"that they shall have\nback the eye as soon as they direct you where to find the Nymphs who\nhave the flying slippers, the magic wallet, and the helmet of darkness.\"\n\n\"My dear, good, admirable old ladies,\" said Perseus, addressing the Gray\nWomen, \"there is no occasion for putting yourselves into such a fright.\nI am by no means a bad young man. You shall have back your eye, safe and\nsound, and as bright as ever, the moment you tell me where to find the\nNymphs.\"\n\n\"The Nymphs! Goodness me! sisters, what Nymphs does he mean?\" screamed\nScarecrow. \"There are a great many Nymphs, people say; some that go a\nhunting in the woods, and some that live inside of trees, and some that\nhave a comfortable home in fountains of water. We know nothing at all\nabout them. We are three unfortunate old souls, that go wandering about\nin the dusk, and never had but one eye amongst us, and that one you\nhave stolen away. Oh, give it back, good stranger!--whoever you are,\ngive it back!\"\n\nAll this while the Three Gray Women were groping with their outstretched\nhands, and trying their utmost to get hold of Perseus. But he took good\ncare to keep out of their reach.\n\n\"My respectable dames,\" said he,--for his mother had taught him always\nto use the greatest civility,--\"I hold your eye fast in my hand, and\nshall keep it safely for you, until you please to tell me where to find\nthese Nymphs. The Nymphs, I mean, who keep the enchanted wallet, the\nflying slippers, and the what is it?--the helmet of invisibility.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us, sisters! what is the young man talking about?\" exclaimed\nScarecrow, Nightmare, and Shakejoint, one to another, with great\nappearance of astonishment. \"A pair of flying slippers, quoth he! His\nheels would quickly fly higher than his head, if he were silly enough to\nput them on. And a helmet of invisibility! How could a helmet make him\ninvisible, unless it were big enough for him to hide under it? And an\nenchanted wallet! What sort of a contrivance may that be, I wonder? No,\nno, good stranger! we can tell you nothing of these marvellous things.\nYou have two eyes of your own, and we have but a single one amongst us\nthree. You can find out such wonders better than three blind old\ncreatures, like us.\"\n\nPerseus, hearing them talk in this way, began really to think that the\nGray Women knew nothing of the matter; and, as it grieved him to have\nput them to so much trouble, he was just on the point of restoring their\neye and asking pardon for his rudeness in snatching it away. But\nQuicksilver caught his hand.\n\n\"Don't let them make a fool of you!\" said he. \"These Three Gray Women\nare the only persons in the world that can tell you where to find the\nNymphs; and, unless you get that information, you will never succeed in\ncutting off the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. Keep fast hold of\nthe eye, and all will go well.\"\n\nAs it turned out, Quicksilver was in the right. There are but few things\nthat people prize so much as they do their eyesight; and the Gray Women\nvalued their single eye as highly as if it had been half a dozen, which\nwas the number they ought to have had. Finding that there was no other\nway of recovering it, they at last told Perseus what he wanted to know.\nNo sooner had they done so, than he immediately, and with the utmost\nrespect, clapped the eye into the vacant socket in one of their\nforeheads, thanked them for their kindness, and bade them farewell.\nBefore the young man was out of hearing, however, they had got into a\nnew dispute, because he happened to have given the eye to Scarecrow, who\nhad already taken her turn of it when their trouble with Perseus\ncommenced.\n\nIt is greatly to be feared that the Three Gray Women were very much in\nthe habit of disturbing their mutual harmony by bickerings of this sort;\nwhich was the more pity, as they could not conveniently do without one\nanother, and were evidently intended to be inseparable companions. As a\ngeneral rule, I would advise all people, whether sisters or brothers,\nold or young, who chance to have but one eye amongst them, to cultivate\nforbearance, and not all insist upon peeping through it at once.\n\nQuicksilver and Perseus, in the mean time, were making the best of their\nway in quest of the Nymphs. The old dames had given them such particular\ndirections, that they were not long in finding them out. They proved to\nbe very different persons from Nightmare, Shakejoint, and Scarecrow;\nfor, instead of being old, they were young and beautiful; and instead of\none eye amongst the sisterhood, each Nymph had two exceedingly bright\neyes of her own, with which she looked very kindly at Perseus. They\nseemed to be acquainted with Quicksilver; and, when he told them the\nadventure which Perseus had undertaken, they made no difficulty about\ngiving him the valuable articles that were in their custody. In the\nfirst place, they brought out what appeared to be a small purse, made of\ndeer skin, and curiously embroidered, and bade him be sure and keep it\nsafe. This was the magic wallet. The Nymphs next produced a pair of\nshoes, or slippers, or sandals, with a nice little pair of wings at the\nheel of each.\n\n\"Put them on, Perseus,\" said Quicksilver. \"You will find yourself as\nlight-heeled as you can desire for the remainder of our journey.\"\n\nSo Perseus proceeded to put one of the slippers on, while he laid the\nother on the ground by his side. Unexpectedly, however, this other\nslipper spread its wings, fluttered up off the ground, and would\nprobably have flown away, if Quicksilver had not made a leap, and\nluckily caught it in the air.\n\n\"Be more careful,\" said he, as he gave it back to Perseus. \"It would\nfrighten the birds, up aloft, if they should see a flying slipper\namongst them.\"\n\nWhen Perseus had got on both of these wonderful slippers, he was\naltogether too buoyant to tread on earth. Making a step or two, lo and\nbehold! upward he popped into the air, high above the heads of\nQuicksilver and the Nymphs, and found it very difficult to clamber down\nagain. Winged slippers, and all such high-flying contrivances, are\nseldom quite easy to manage until one grows a little accustomed to them.\nQuicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity, and told\nhim that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait for the\ninvisible helmet.\n\nThe good-natured Nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving\nplumes, all in readiness to put upon his head. And now there happened\nabout as wonderful an incident as anything that I have yet told you. The\ninstant before the helmet was put on, there stood Perseus, a beautiful\nyoung man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked sword by\nhis side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm,--a figure that\nseemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious light. But\nwhen the helmet had descended over his white brow, there was no longer\nany Perseus to be seen! Nothing but empty air! Even the helmet, that\ncovered him with its invisibility, had vanished!\n\n\"Where are you, Perseus?\" asked Quicksilver.\n\n\"Why, here, to be sure!\" answered Perseus, very quietly, although his\nvoice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere. \"Just where I\nwas a moment ago. Don't you see me?\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" answered his friend. \"You are hidden under the helmet.\nBut, if I cannot see you, neither can the Gorgons. Follow me, therefore,\nand we will try your dexterity in using the winged slippers.\"\n\nWith these words, Quicksilver's cap spread its wings, as if his head\nwere about to fly away from his shoulders; but his whole figure rose\nlightly into the air, and Perseus followed. By the time they had\nascended a few hundred feet, the young man began to feel what a\ndelightful thing it was to leave the dull earth so far beneath him, and\nto be able to flit about like a bird.\n\nIt was now deep night. Perseus looked upward, and saw the round, bright,\nsilvery moon, and thought that he should desire nothing better than to\nsoar up thither, and spend his life there. Then he looked downward\nagain, and saw the earth, with its seas and lakes, and the silver\ncourses of its rivers, and its snowy mountain-peaks, and the breadth of\nits fields, and the dark cluster of its woods, and its cities of white\nmarble; and, with the moonshine sleeping over the whole scene, it was as\nbeautiful as the moon or any star could be. And, among other objects, he\nsaw the island of Seriphus, where his dear mother was. Sometimes he and\nQuicksilver approached a cloud, that, at a distance, looked as if it\nwere made of fleecy silver; although, when they plunged into it, they\nfound themselves chilled and moistened with gray mist. So swift was\ntheir flight, however, that, in an instant, they emerged from the cloud\ninto the moonlight again. Once, a high-soaring eagle flew right against\nthe invisible Perseus. The bravest sights were the meteors, that gleamed\nsuddenly out, as if a bonfire had been kindled in the sky, and made the\nmoonshine pale for as much as a hundred miles around them.\n\nAs the two companions flew onward, Perseus fancied that he could hear\nthe rustle of a garment close by his side; and it was on the side\nopposite to the one where he beheld Quicksilver, yet only Quicksilver\nwas visible.\n\n\"Whose garment is this,\" inquired Perseus, \"that keeps rustling close\nbeside me in the breeze?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is my sister's!\" answered Quicksilver. \"She is coming along with\nus, as I told you she would. We could do nothing without the help of my\nsister. You have no idea how wise she is. She has such eyes, too! Why,\nshe can see you, at this moment, just as distinctly as if you were not\ninvisible; and I'll venture to say, she will be the first to discover\nthe Gorgons.\"\n\nBy this time, in their swift voyage through the air, they had come\nwithin sight of the great ocean, and were soon flying over it. Far\nbeneath them, the waves tossed themselves tumultuously in mid-sea, or\nrolled a white surf-line upon the long beaches, or foamed against the\nrocky cliffs, with a roar that was thunderous, in the lower world;\nalthough it became a gentle murmur, like the voice of a baby half\nasleep, before it reached the ears of Perseus. Just then a voice spoke\nin the air close by him. It seemed to be a woman's voice, and was\nmelodious, though not exactly what might be called sweet, but grave and\nmild.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"there are the Gorgons.\"\n\n\"Where?\" exclaimed Perseus. \"I cannot see them.\"\n\n\"On the shore of that island beneath you,\" replied the voice. \"A\npebble, dropped from your hand, would strike in the midst of them.\"\n\n\"I told you she would be the first to discover them,\" said Quicksilver\nto Perseus. \"And there they are!\"\n\nStraight downward, two or three thousand feet below him, Perseus\nperceived a small island, with the sea breaking into white foam all\naround its rocky shore, except on one side, where there was a beach of\nsnowy sand. He descended towards it, and, looking earnestly at a cluster\nor heap of brightness, at the foot of a precipice of black rocks,\nbehold, there were the terrible Gorgons! They lay fast asleep, soothed\nby the thunder of the sea; for it required a tumult that would have\ndeafened everybody else to lull such fierce creatures into slumber. The\nmoonlight glistened on their steely scales, and on their golden wings,\nwhich drooped idly over the sand. Their brazen claws, horrible to look\nat, were thrust out, and clutched the wave-beaten fragments of rock,\nwhile the sleeping Gorgons dreamed of tearing some poor mortal all to\npieces. The snakes that served them instead of hair seemed likewise to\nbe asleep; although, now and then, one would writhe, and lift its head,\nand thrust out its forked tongue, emitting a drowsy hiss, and then let\nitself subside among its sister snakes.\n\nThe Gorgons were more like an awful, gigantic kind of insect,--immense,\ngolden-winged beetles, or dragon-flies, or things of that sort,--at once\nugly and beautiful,--than like anything else; only that they were a\nthousand and a million times as big. And, with all this, there was\nsomething partly human about them, too. Luckily for Perseus, their faces\nwere completely hidden from him by the posture in which they lay; for,\nhad he but looked one instant at them, he would have fallen heavily out\nof the air, an image of senseless stone.\n\n\"Now,\" whispered Quicksilver, as he hovered by the side of\nPerseus,--\"now is your time to do the deed! Be quick; or, if one of the\nGorgons should awake, you are too late!\"\n\n\"Which shall I strike at?\" asked Perseus, drawing his sword and\ndescending a little lower. \"They all three look alike. All three have\nsnaky locks. Which of the three is Medusa?\"\n\nIt must be understood that Medusa was the only one of these\ndragon-monsters whose head Perseus could possibly cut off. As for the\nother two, let him have the sharpest sword that ever was forged, and he\nmight have hacked away by the hour together, without doing them the\nleast harm.\n\n\"Be cautious,\" said the calm voice which had before spoken to him. \"One\nof the Gorgons is stirring in her sleep, and is just about to turn over.\nThat is Medusa. Do not look at her! The sight would turn you to stone!\nLook at the reflection of her face and figure in the bright mirror of\nyour shield.\"\n\nPerseus now understood Quicksilver's motive for so earnestly exhorting\nhim to polish his shield. In its surface he could safely look at the\nreflection of the Gorgon's face. And there it was,--that terrible\ncountenance,--mirrored in the brightness of the shield, with the\nmoonlight falling over it, and displaying all its horror. The snakes,\nwhose venomous natures could not altogether sleep, kept twisting\nthemselves over the forehead. It was the fiercest and most horrible face\nthat ever was seen or imagined, and yet with a strange, fearful, and\nsavage kind of beauty in it. The eyes were closed, and the Gorgon was\nstill in a deep slumber; but there was an unquiet expression disturbing\nher features, as if the monster was troubled with an ugly dream. She\ngnashed her white tusks, and dug into the sand with her brazen claws.\n\nThe snakes, too, seemed to feel Medusa's dream, and to be made more\nrestless by it. They twined themselves into tumultuous knots, writhed\nfiercely, and uplifted a hundred hissing heads, without opening their\neyes.\n\n\"Now, now!\" whispered Quicksilver, who was growing impatient. \"Make a\ndash at the monster!\"\n\n\"But be calm,\" said the grave, melodious voice, at the young man's side.\n\"Look in your shield, as you fly downward, and take care that you do not\nmiss your first stroke.\"\n\nPerseus flew cautiously downward, still keeping his eyes on Medusa's\nface, as reflected in his shield. The nearer he came, the more terrible\ndid the snaky visage and metallic body of the monster grow. At last,\nwhen he found himself hovering over her within arm's length, Perseus\nuplifted his sword, while, at the same instant, each separate snake upon\nthe Gorgon's head stretched threateningly upward, and Medusa unclosed\nher eyes. But she awoke too late. The sword was sharp; the stroke fell\nlike a lightning-flash; and the head of the wicked Medusa tumbled from\nher body!\n\n\"Admirably done!\" cried Quicksilver. \"Make haste, and clap the head into\nyour magic wallet.\"\n\nTo the astonishment of Perseus, the small, embroidered wallet, which he\nhad hung about his neck, and which had hitherto been no bigger than a\npurse, grew all at once large enough to contain Medusa's head. As quick\nas thought, he snatched it up, with the snakes still writhing upon it,\nand thrust it in.\n\n\"Your task is done,\" said the calm voice. \"Now fly; for the other\nGorgons will do their utmost to take vengeance for Medusa's death.\"\n\nIt was, indeed, necessary to take flight; for Perseus had not done the\ndeed so quietly but that the clash of his sword, and the hissing of the\nsnakes, and the thump of Medusa's head as it tumbled upon the sea-beaten\nsand, awoke the other two monsters. There they sat, for an instant,\nsleepily rubbing their eyes with their brazen fingers, while all the\nsnakes on their heads reared themselves on end with surprise, and with\nvenomous malice against they knew not what. But when the Gorgons saw\nthe scaly carcass of Medusa, headless, and her golden wings all\nruffled, and half spread out on the sand, it was really awful to hear\nwhat yells and screeches they set up. And then the snakes! They sent\nforth a hundred-fold hiss, with one consent, and Medusa's snakes\nanswered them out of the magic wallet.\n\nNo sooner were the Gorgons broad awake than they hurtled upward into the\nair, brandishing their brass talons, gnashing their horrible tusks, and\nflapping their huge wings so wildly, that some of the golden feathers\nwere shaken out, and floated down upon the shore. And there, perhaps,\nthose very feathers lie scattered, till this day. Up rose the Gorgons,\nas I tell you, staring horribly about, in hopes of turning somebody to\nstone. Had Perseus looked them in the face, or had he fallen into their\nclutches, his poor mother would never have kissed her boy again! But he\ntook good care to turn his eyes another way; and, as he wore the helmet\nof invisibility, the Gorgons knew not in what direction to follow him;\nnor did he fail to make the best use of the winged slippers, by soaring\nupward a perpendicular mile or so. At that height, when the screams of\nthose abominable creatures sounded faintly beneath him, he made a\nstraight course for the island of Seriphus, in order to carry Medusa's\nhead to King Polydectes.\n\nI have no time to tell you of several marvellous things that befell\nPerseus, on his way homeward; such as his killing a hideous sea-monster,\njust as it was on the point of devouring a beautiful maiden; nor how he\nchanged an enormous giant into a mountain of stone, merely by showing\nhim the head of the Gorgon. If you doubt this latter story, you may make\na voyage to Africa, some day or other, and see the very mountain, which\nis still known by the ancient giant's name.\n\nFinally, our brave Perseus arrived at the island, where he expected to\nsee his dear mother. But, during his absence, the wicked king had\ntreated Danae so very ill that she was compelled to make her escape,\nand had taken refuge in a temple, where some good old priests were\nextremely kind to her. These praise-worthy priests, and the kind-hearted\nfisherman, who had first shown hospitality to Danae and little Perseus\nwhen he found them afloat in the chest, seem to have been the only\npersons on the island who cared about doing right. All the rest of the\npeople, as well as King Polydectes himself, were remarkably ill-behaved,\nand deserved no better destiny than that which was now to happen.\n\nNot finding his mother at home, Perseus went straight to the palace, and\nwas immediately ushered into the presence of the king. Polydectes was by\nno means rejoiced to see him; for he had felt almost certain, in his own\nevil mind, that the Gorgons would have torn the poor young man to\npieces, and have eaten him up, out of the way. However, seeing him\nsafely returned, he put the best face he could upon the matter and asked\nPerseus how he had succeeded.\n\n\"Have you performed your promise?\" inquired he. \"Have you brought me the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks? If not, young man, it will cost you\ndear; for I must have a bridal present for the beautiful Princess\nHippodamia, and there is nothing else that she would admire so much.\"\n\n\"Yes, please your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, in a quiet way, as if it\nwere no very wonderful deed for such a young man as he to perform. \"I\nhave brought you the Gorgon's head, snaky locks and all!\"\n\n\"Indeed! Pray let me see it,\" quoth King Polydectes. \"It must be a very\ncurious spectacle, if all that travellers tell about it be true!\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is in the right,\" replied Perseus. \"It is really an object\nthat will be pretty certain to fix the regards of all who look at it.\nAnd, if your Majesty think fit, I would suggest that a holiday be\nproclaimed, and that all your Majesty's subjects be summoned to behold\nthis wonderful curiosity. Few of them, I imagine, have seen a Gorgon's\nhead before, and perhaps never may again!\"\n\nThe king well knew that his subjects were an idle set of reprobates, and\nvery fond of sight-seeing, as idle persons usually are. So he took the\nyoung man's advice, and sent out heralds and messengers, in all\ndirections, to blow the trumpet at the street-corners, and in the\nmarket-places, and wherever two roads met, and summon everybody to\ncourt. Thither, accordingly, came a great multitude of good-for-nothing\nvagabonds, all of whom, out of pure love of mischief, would have been\nglad if Perseus had met with some ill-hap in his encounter with the\nGorgons. If there were any better people in the island (as I really hope\nthere may have been, although the story tells nothing about any such),\nthey stayed quietly at home, minding their business, and taking care of\ntheir little children. Most of the inhabitants, at all events, ran as\nfast as they could to the palace, and shoved, and pushed, and elbowed\none another, in their eagerness to get near a balcony, on which Perseus\nshowed himself, holding the embroidered wallet in his hand.\n\nOn a platform, within full view of the balcony, sat the mighty King\nPolydectes, amid his evil counsellors, and with his flattering courtiers\nin a semicircle round about him. Monarch, counsellors, courtiers, and\nsubjects, all gazed eagerly towards Perseus.\n\n\"Show us the head! Show us the head!\" shouted the people; and there was\na fierceness in their cry as if they would tear Perseus to pieces,\nunless he should satisfy them with what he had to show. \"Show us the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks!\"\n\nA feeling of sorrow and pity came over the youthful Perseus.\n\n\"O King Polydectes,\" cried he, \"and ye many people, I am very loath to\nshow you the Gorgon's head!\"\n\n\"Ah, the villain and coward!\" yelled the people, more fiercely than\nbefore. \"He is making game of us! He has no Gorgon's head! Show us the\nhead, if you have it, or we will take your own head for a football!\"\n\nThe evil counsellors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the\ncourtiers murmured, with one consent, that Perseus had shown disrespect\nto their royal lord and master; and the great King Polydectes himself\nwaved his hand, and ordered him, with the stern, deep voice of\nauthority, on his peril, to produce the head.\n\n\"Show me the Gorgon's head, or I will cut off your own!\"\n\nAnd Perseus sighed.\n\n\"This instant,\" repeated Polydectes, \"or you die!\"\n\n\"Behold it, then!\" cried Perseus, in a voice like the blast of a\ntrumpet.\n\nAnd, suddenly holding up the head, not an eyelid had time to wink before\nthe wicked King Polydectes, his evil counsellors, and all his fierce\nsubjects were no longer anything but the mere images of a monarch and\nhis people. They were all fixed, forever, in the look and attitude of\nthat moment! At the first glimpse of the terrible head of Medusa, they\nwhitened into marble! And Perseus thrust the head back into his wallet,\nand went to tell his dear mother that she need no longer be afraid of\nthe wicked King Polydectes.\n\n\nTanglewood Porch\n\n_After the Story_\n\n\"Was not that a very fine story?\" asked Eustace.\n\n\"Oh yes, yes!\" cried Cowslip, clapping her hands.\n\n\"And those funny old women, with only one eye amongst them! I never\nheard of anything so strange.\"\n\n\"As to their one tooth, which they shifted about,\" observed Primrose,\n\"there was nothing so very wonderful in that. I suppose it was a false\ntooth. But think of your turning Mercury into Quicksilver, and talking\nabout his sister! You are too ridiculous!\"\n\n\"And was she not his sister?\" asked Eustace Bright. \"If I had thought of\nit sooner, I would have described her as a maiden lady, who kept a pet\nowl!\"\n\n\"Well, at any rate,\" said Primrose, \"your story seems to have driven\naway the mist.\"\n\nAnd, indeed, while the tale was going forward, the vapors had been quite\nexhaled from the landscape. A scene was now disclosed which the\nspectators might almost fancy as having been created since they had last\nlooked in the direction where it lay. About half a mile distant, in the\nlap of the valley, now appeared a beautiful lake, which reflected a\nperfect image of its own wooded banks, and of the summits of the more\ndistant hills. It gleamed in glassy tranquillity, without the trace of a\nwinged breeze on any part of its bosom. Beyond its farther shore was\nMonument Mountain, in a recumbent position, stretching almost across the\nvalley. Eustace Bright compared it to a huge, headless sphinx, wrapped\nin a Persian shawl; and, indeed, so rich and diversified was the\nautumnal foliage of its woods, that the simile of the shawl was by no\nmeans too high-colored for the reality. In the lower ground, between\nTanglewood and the lake, the clumps of trees and borders of woodland\nwere chiefly golden-leaved or dusky brown, as having suffered more from\nfrost than the foliage on the hill-sides.\n\nOver all this scene there was a genial sunshine, intermingled with a\nslight haze, which made it unspeakably soft and tender. Oh, what a day\nof Indian summer was it going to be! The children snatched their\nbaskets, and set forth, with hop, skip, and jump, and all sorts of\nfrisks and gambols; while Cousin Eustace proved his fitness to preside\nover the party, by outdoing all their antics, and performing several new\ncapers, which none of them could ever hope to imitate. Behind went a\ngood old dog, whose name was Ben. He was one of the most respectable and\nkind-hearted of quadrupeds, and probably felt it to be his duty not to\ntrust the children away from their parents without some better guardian\nthan this feather-brained Eustace Bright.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\n\nShadow Brook\n\n_Introductory to \"The Golden Touch\"_\n\nAt noon, our juvenile party assembled in a dell, through the depths of\nwhich ran a little brook. The dell was narrow, and its steep sides, from\nthe margin of the stream upward, were thickly set with trees, chiefly\nwalnuts and chestnuts, among which grew a few oaks and maples. In the\nsummer time, the shade of so many clustering branches, meeting and\nintermingling across the rivulet, was deep enough to produce a noontide\ntwilight. Hence came the name of Shadow Brook. But now, ever since\nautumn had crept into this secluded place, all the dark verdure was\nchanged to gold, so that it really kindled up the dell, instead of\nshading it. The bright yellow leaves, even had it been a cloudy day,\nwould have seemed to keep the sunlight among them; and enough of them\nhad fallen to strew all the bed and margin of the brook with sunlight,\ntoo. Thus the shady nook, where summer had cooled herself, was now the\nsunniest spot anywhere to be found.\n\nThe little brook ran along over its pathway of gold, here pausing to\nform a pool, in which minnows were darting to and fro; and then it\nhurried onward at a swifter pace, as if in haste to reach the lake; and,\nforgetting to look whither it went, it tumbled over the root of a tree,\nwhich stretched quite across its current. You would have laughed to hear\nhow noisily it babbled about this accident. And even after it had run\nonward, the brook still kept talking to itself, as if it were in a\nmaze. It was wonder-smitten, I suppose, at finding its dark dell so\nilluminated, and at hearing the prattle and merriment of so many\nchildren. So it stole away as quickly as it could, and hid itself in the\nlake.\n\nIn the dell of Shadow Brook, Eustace Bright and his little friends had\neaten their dinner. They had brought plenty of good things from\nTanglewood, in their baskets, and had spread them out on the stumps of\ntrees, and on mossy trunks, and had feasted merrily, and made a very\nnice dinner indeed. After it was over, nobody felt like stirring.\n\n\"We will rest ourselves here,\" said several of the children, \"while\nCousin Eustace tells us another of his pretty stories.\"\n\nCousin Eustace had a good right to be tired, as well as the children,\nfor he had performed great feats on that memorable forenoon. Dandelion,\nClover, Cowslip, and Buttercup were almost most persuaded that he had\nwinged slippers, like those which the Nymphs gave Perseus; so often had\nthe student shown himself at the tip-top of a nut-tree, when only a\nmoment before he had been standing on the ground. And then, what showers\nof walnuts had he sent rattling down upon their heads, for their busy\nlittle hands to gather into the baskets! In short, he had been as active\nas a squirrel or a monkey, and now, flinging himself down on the yellow\nleaves, seemed inclined to take a little rest.\n\nBut children have no mercy nor consideration for anybody's weariness;\nand if you had but a single breath left, they would ask you to spend it\nin telling them a story.\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Cowslip, \"that was a very nice story of the\nGorgon's Head. Do you think you could tell us another as good?\"\n\n\"Yes, child,\" said Eustace, pulling the brim of his cap over his eyes,\nas if preparing for a nap. \"I can tell you a dozen, as good or better,\nif I choose.\"\n\n\"O Primrose and Periwinkle, do you hear what he says?\" cried Cowslip,\ndancing with delight. \"Cousin Eustace is going to tell us a dozen better\nstories than that about the Gorgon's Head!\"\n\n\"I did not promise you even one, you foolish little Cowslip!\" said\nEustace, half pettishly. \"However, I suppose you must have it. This is\nthe consequence of having earned a reputation! I wish I were a great\ndeal duller than I am, or that I had never shown half the bright\nqualities with which nature has endowed me; and then I might have my nap\nout, in peace and comfort!\"\n\nBut Cousin Eustace, as I think I have hinted before, was as fond of\ntelling his stories as the children of hearing them. His mind was in a\nfree and happy state, and took delight in its own activity, and scarcely\nrequired any external impulse to set it at work.\n\nHow different is this spontaneous play of the intellect from the trained\ndiligence of maturer years, when toil has perhaps grown easy by long\nhabit, and the day's work may have become essential to the day's\ncomfort, although the rest of the matter has bubbled away! This remark,\nhowever, is not meant for the children to hear.\n\nWithout further solicitation, Eustace Bright proceeded to tell the\nfollowing really splendid story. It had come into his mind as he lay\nlooking upward into the depths of a tree, and observing how the touch of\nAutumn had transmuted every one of its green leaves into what resembled\nthe purest gold. And this change, which we have all of us witnessed, is\nas wonderful as anything that Eustace told about in the story of Midas.\n\n\nThe Golden Touch\n\nOnce upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose\nname was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself\never heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have entirely\nforgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to\ncall her Marygold.\n\nThis King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world.\nHe valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that\nprecious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the\none little maiden who played so merrily around her father's footstool.\nBut the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek\nfor wealth. He thought, foolish man! that the best thing he could\npossibly do for this dear child would be to bequeath her the immensest\npile of yellow, glistening coin, that had ever been heaped together\nsince the world was made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his\ntime to this one purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at\nthe gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold,\nand that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. When little\nMarygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he\nused to say, \"Poh, poh, child! If these flowers were as golden as they\nlook, they would be worth the plucking!\"\n\nAnd yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed of\nthis insane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for\nflowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and\nbeautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt.\nThese roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and\nas fragrant, as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them,\nand inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it was\nonly to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of the\ninnumerable rose-petals were a thin plate of gold. And though he once\nwas fond of music (in spite of an idle story about his ears, which were\nsaid to resemble those of an ass), the only music for poor Midas, now,\nwas the chink of one coin against another.\n\nAt length, as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take\ncare to grow wiser and wiser, Midas had got to be so exceedingly\nunreasonable, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object\nthat was not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large\nportion of every day in a dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at\nthe basement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this\ndismal hole--for it was little better than a dungeon--Midas betook\nhimself, whenever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, after\ncarefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold\ncup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of\ngold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of the room into the\none bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window. He\nvalued the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treasure would not\nshine without its help. And then would he reckon over the coins in the\nbag; toss up the bar, and catch it as it came down; sift the gold-dust\nthrough his fingers; look at the funny image of his own face, as\nreflected in the burnished circumference of the cup; and whisper to\nhimself, \"O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man art thou!\" But it\nwas laughable to see how the image of his face kept grinning at him, out\nof the polished surface of the cup. It seemed to be aware of his\nfoolish behavior, and to have a naughty inclination to make fun of him.\n\nMidas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so\nhappy as he might be. The very tip-top of enjoyment would never be\nreached, unless the whole world were to become his treasure-room, and be\nfilled with yellow metal which should be all his own.\n\nNow, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in\nthe old, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things came\nto pass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to happen in\nour own day and country. And, on the other hand, a great many things\ntake place nowadays, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at which\nthe people of old times would have stared their eyes out. On the whole,\nI regard our own times as the strangest of the two; but, however that\nmay be, I must go on with my story.\n\nMidas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, one day, as usual, when\nhe perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking suddenly\nup, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, standing in the\nbright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy\nface. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow\ntinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help\nfancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind\nof golden radiance in it. Certainly, although his figure intercepted the\nsunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures\nthan before. Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were\nlighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles\nof fire.\n\nAs Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and that\nno mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure-room, he, of\ncourse, concluded that his visitor must be something more than mortal.\nIt is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when the\nearth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the\nresort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to\ninterest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children,\nhalf playfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings before now,\nand was not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger's aspect,\nindeed, was so good-humored and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would\nhave been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief. It was\nfar more probable that he came to do Midas a favor. And what could that\nfavor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?\n\nThe stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous smile had\nglistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again\nto Midas.\n\n\"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!\" he observed. \"I doubt whether any\nother four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived\nto pile up in this room.\"\n\n\"I have done pretty well,--pretty well,\" answered Midas, in a\ndiscontented tone. \"But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you\nconsider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one\ncould live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"Then you are not satisfied?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"And pray what would satisfy you?\" asked the stranger. \"Merely for the\ncuriosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.\"\n\nMidas paused and meditated. He felt a presentiment that this stranger,\nwith such a golden lustre in his good-humored smile, had come hither\nwith both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes.\nNow, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and\nobtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossible, thing it might come\ninto his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and thought, and\nheaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without\nbeing able to imagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred\nto King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which\nhe loved so much.\n\nRaising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.\n\n\"Well, Midas,\" observed his visitor, \"I see that you have at length hit\nupon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.\"\n\n\"It is only this,\" replied Midas. \"I am weary of collecting my treasures\nwith so much trouble, and beholding the heap so diminutive, after I have\ndone my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold!\"\n\nThe stranger's smile grew so very broad, that it seemed to fill the room\nlike an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the\nyellow autumnal leaves--for so looked the lumps and particles of\ngold--lie strewn in the glow of light.\n\n\"The Golden Touch!\" exclaimed he. \"You certainly deserve credit, friend\nMidas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you quite\nsure that this will satisfy you?\"\n\n\"How could it fail?\" said Midas.\n\n\"And will you never regret the possession of it?\"\n\n\"What could induce me?\" asked Midas. \"I ask nothing else, to render me\nperfectly happy.\"\n\n\"Be it as you wish, then,\" replied the stranger, waving his hand in\ntoken of farewell. \"To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted\nwith the Golden Touch.\"\n\nThe figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas\ninvoluntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one\nyellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the\nprecious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.\n\nWhether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say. Asleep\nor awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child's, to\nwhom a beautiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any\nrate, day had hardly peeped over the hills, when King Midas was broad\nawake, and, stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects\nthat were within reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch\nhad really come, according to the stranger's promise. So he laid his\nfinger on a chair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was\ngrievously disappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the\nsame substance as before. Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had\nonly dreamed about the lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had\nbeen making game of him. And what a miserable affair would it be, if,\nafter all his hopes, Midas must content himself with what little gold he\ncould scrape together by ordinary means, instead of creating it by a\ntouch!\n\nAll this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak\nof brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it.\nHe lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his\nhopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam\nshone through the window, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It\nseemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather\na singular way on the white covering of the bed. Looking more closely,\nwhat was his astonishment and delight, when he found that this linen\nfabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest\nand brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first\nsunbeam!\n\nMidas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room,\ngrasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one of\nthe bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He\npulled aside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of\nthe wonders which he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his\nhand,--a mass of gold. He took up a book from the table. At his first\ntouch, it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and\ngilt-edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays; but, on running his\nfingers through the leaves, behold! it was a bundle of thin golden\nplates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible. He\nhurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a\nmagnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and\nsoftness, although it burdened him a little with its weight. He drew out\nhis handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That was\nlikewise gold, with the dear child's neat and pretty stitches running\nall along the border, in gold thread!\n\nSomehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King\nMidas. He would rather that his little daughter's handiwork should have\nremained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his\nhand.\n\nBut it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now took\nhis spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, in order that\nhe might see more distinctly what he was about. In those days,\nspectacles for common people had not been invented, but were already\nworn by kings; else, how could Midas have had any? To his great\nperplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, he discovered that\nhe could not possibly see through them. But this was the most natural\nthing in the world; for, on taking them off, the transparent crystals\nturned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of course, were worthless\nas spectacles, though valuable as gold. It struck Midas as rather\ninconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich\nenough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.\n\n\"It is no great matter, nevertheless,\" said he to himself, very\nphilosophically. \"We cannot expect any great good, without its being\naccompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth the\nsacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one's very\neyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little\nMarygold will soon be old enough to read to me.\"\n\nWise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune, that the palace\nseemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went down\nstairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the staircase\nbecame a bar of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it, in his\ndescent. He lifted the door-latch (it was brass only a moment ago, but\ngolden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the garden. Here,\nas it happened, he found a great number of beautiful roses in full\nbloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very\ndelicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate\nblush was one of the fairest sights in the world; so gentle, so modest,\nand so full of sweet tranquillity, did these roses seem to be.\n\nBut Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his\nway of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains\nin going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most\nindefatigably; until every individual flower and bud, and even the worms\nat the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time this\ngood work was completed, King Midas was summoned to breakfast; and as\nthe morning air had given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back\nto the palace.\n\nWhat was usually a king's breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do\nnot know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my belief,\nhowever, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot\ncakes, some nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes, fresh boiled\neggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk\nfor his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set\nbefore a king; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas could not have\nhad a better.\n\nLittle Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered her\nto be called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child's coming,\nin order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really\nloved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning, on\naccount of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great\nwhile before he heard her coming along the passageway crying bitterly.\nThis circumstance surprised him, because Marygold was one of the\ncheerfullest little people whom you would see in a summer's day, and\nhardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her\nsobs, he determined to put little Marygold into better spirits, by an\nagreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he touched his\ndaughter's bowl (which was a China one, with pretty figures all around\nit), and transmuted it to gleaming gold.\n\nMeanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and\nshowed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart\nwould break.\n\n\"How now, my little lady!\" cried Midas. \"Pray what is the matter with\nyou, this bright morning?\"\n\nMarygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand, in\nwhich was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" exclaimed her father. \"And what is there in this\nmagnificent golden rose to make you cry?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear father!\" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let\nher; \"it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As\nsoon as I was dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for\nyou; because I know you like them, and like them the better when\ngathered by your little daughter. But, oh dear, dear me! What do you\nthink has happened? Such a misfortune! All the beautiful roses, that\nsmelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and\nspoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no\nlonger any fragrance! What can have been the matter with them?\"\n\n\"Poh, my dear little girl,--pray don't cry about it!\" said Midas, who\nwas ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so\ngreatly afflicted her. \"Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will\nfind it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last\nhundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a day.\"\n\n\"I don't care for such roses as this!\" cried Marygold, tossing it\ncontemptuously away. \"It has no smell, and the hard petals prick my\nnose!\"\n\nThe child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief for\nthe blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful\ntransmutation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for\nMarygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer\nfigures, and strange trees and houses, that were painted on the\ncircumference of the bowl; and these ornaments were now entirely lost in\nthe yellow hue of the metal.\n\nMidas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of\ncourse, the coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took it\nup, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it was\nrather an extravagant style of splendor, in a king of his simple habits,\nto breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled with the\ndifficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and the kitchen\nwould no longer be a secure place of deposit for articles so valuable as\ngolden bowls and coffee-pots.\n\nAmid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and,\nsipping it, was astonished to perceive that, the instant his lips\ntouched the liquid, it became molten gold, and, the next moment,\nhardened into a lump!\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.\n\n\"What is the matter, father?\" asked little Marygold, gazing at him, with\nthe tears still standing in her eyes.\n\n\"Nothing, child, nothing!\" said Midas. \"Eat your milk, before it gets\nquite cold.\"\n\nHe took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of\nexperiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was\nimmediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a\ngold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep\nin glass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a\nmetallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the\nnicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires;\nits fins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of\nthe fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely\nfried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as\nyou may suppose; only King Midas, just at that moment, would much rather\nhave had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable\nimitation of one.\n\n\"I don't quite see,\" thought he to himself, \"how I am to get any\nbreakfast!\"\n\nHe took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it, when,\nto his cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been of the\nwhitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say the\ntruth, if it had really been a hot Indian cake, Midas would have prized\nit a good deal more than he now did, when its solidity and increased\nweight made him too bitterly sensible that it was gold. Almost in\ndespair, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent\na change similar to those of the trout and the cake. The egg, indeed,\nmight have been mistaken for one of those which the famous goose, in\nthe story-book, was in the habit of laying; but King Midas was the only\ngoose that had had anything to do with the matter.\n\n\"Well, this is a quandary!\" thought he, leaning back in his chair, and\nlooking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread\nand milk with great satisfaction. \"Such a costly breakfast before me,\nand nothing that can be eaten!\"\n\nHoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what he now felt\nto be a considerable inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a hot\npotato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in a\nhurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his mouth\nfull, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his tongue\nthat he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began to dance and\nstamp about the room, both with pain and affright.\n\n\"Father, dear father!\" cried little Marygold, who was a very\naffectionate child, \"pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your\nmouth?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear child,\" groaned Midas, dolefully, \"I don't know what is to\nbecome of your poor father!\"\n\nAnd, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable\ncase in all your lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that\ncould be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely\ngood for nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crust of\nbread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose\ndelicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be\ndone? Already, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be\nless so by dinner-time? And how ravenous would be his appetite for\nsupper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of indigestible\ndishes as those now before him! How many days, think you, would he\nsurvive a continuance of this rich fare?\n\nThese reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt\nwhether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world, or\neven the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So\nfascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he would\nstill have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a\nconsideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's\nvictuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions of\nmoney (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon up) for\nsome fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee!\n\n\"It would be quite too dear,\" thought Midas.\n\nNevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his\nsituation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our\npretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing at\nher father, and trying, with all the might of her little wits, to find\nout what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful\nimpulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, and, running to\nMidas, threw her arms affectionately about his knees. He bent down and\nkissed her. He felt that his little daughter's love was worth a thousand\ntimes more than he had gained by the Golden Touch.\n\n\"My precious, precious Marygold!\" cried he.\n\nBut Marygold made no answer.\n\nAlas, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger\nbestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a\nchange had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as it\nhad been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow tear-drops\ncongealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same\ntint. Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within\nher father's encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune! The victim of his\ninsatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no\nlonger, but a golden statue!\n\nYes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and pity,\nhardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woful sight that\never mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold were there;\neven the beloved little dimple remained in her golden chin. But, the\nmore perfect was the resemblance, the greater was the father's agony at\nbeholding this golden image, which was all that was left him of a\ndaughter. It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt\nparticularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight in\ngold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And now, at last,\nwhen it was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart,\nthat loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up\nbetwixt the earth and sky!\n\nIt would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the\nfulness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and\nbemoan himself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor\nyet to look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the image,\nhe could not possibly believe that she was changed to gold. But,\nstealing another glance, there was the precious little figure, with a\nyellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and tender,\nthat it seemed as if that very expression must needs soften the gold,\nand make it flesh again. This, however, could not be. So Midas had only\nto wring his hands, and to wish that he were the poorest man in the wide\nworld, if the loss of all his wealth might bring back the faintest\nrose-color to his dear child's face.\n\nWhile he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld a stranger\nstanding near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for\nhe recognized the same figure which had appeared to him, the day before,\nin the treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of\nthe Golden Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a smile, which\nseemed to shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and gleamed on\nlittle Marygold's image, and on the other objects that had been\ntransmuted by the touch of Midas.\n\n\"Well, friend Midas,\" said the stranger, \"pray how do you succeed with\nthe Golden Touch?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"I am very miserable,\" said he.\n\n\"Very miserable, indeed!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"And how happens that?\nHave I not faithfully kept my promise with you? Have you not everything\nthat your heart desired?\"\n\n\"Gold is not everything,\" answered Midas. \"And I have lost all that my\nheart really cared for.\"\n\n\"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?\" observed the\nstranger. \"Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is\nreally worth the most,--the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of\nclear cold water?\"\n\n\"O blessed water!\" exclaimed Midas. \"It will never moisten my parched\nthroat again!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" continued the stranger, \"or a crust of bread?\"\n\n\"A piece of bread,\" answered Midas, \"is worth all the gold on earth!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" asked the stranger, \"or your own little Marygold,\nwarm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago?\"\n\n\"Oh my child, my dear child!\" cried poor Midas, wringing his hands. \"I\nwould not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the power of\nchanging this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold!\"\n\n\"You are wiser than you were, King Midas!\" said the stranger, looking\nseriously at him. \"Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely\nchanged from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be\ndesperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that the\ncommonest things, such as lie within everybody's grasp, are more\nvaluable than the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle after.\nTell me, now, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden\nTouch?\"\n\n\"It is hateful to me!\" replied Midas.\n\nA fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; for it,\ntoo, had become gold. Midas shuddered.\n\n\"Go, then,\" said the stranger, \"and plunge into the river that glides\npast the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water,\nand sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again\nfrom gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and\nsincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has\noccasioned.\"\n\nKing Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger\nhad vanished.\n\nYou will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great\nearthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched\nit), and hastening to the river-side. As he scampered along, and forced\nhis way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvellous to see how\nthe foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there,\nand nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in,\nwithout waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.\n\n\"Poof! poof! poof!\" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the\nwater. \"Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have\nquite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!\"\n\nAs he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to\nsee it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which\nit had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change\nwithin himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out\nof his bosom. No doubt, his heart had been gradually losing its human\nsubstance, and transmuting itself into insensible metal, but had now\nsoftened back again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the\nbank of the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed\nto find that the delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of\nundergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had,\ntherefore, really been removed from him.\n\nKing Midas hastened back to the palace; and, I suppose, the servants\nknew not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so\ncarefully bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water,\nwhich was to undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more\nprecious to Midas than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The\nfirst thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by\nhandfuls over the golden figure of little Marygold.\n\nNo sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the\nrosy color came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began to\nsneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping\nwet, and her father still throwing more water over her!\n\n\"Pray do not, dear father!\" cried she. \"See how you have wet my nice\nfrock, which I put on only this morning!\"\n\nFor Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor\ncould she remember anything that had happened since the moment when she\nran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.\n\nHer father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very\nfoolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser\nhe had now grown. For this purpose, he led little Marygold into the\ngarden, where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the\nrose-bushes, and with such good effect that above five thousand roses\nrecovered their beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however,\nwhich, as long as he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Golden\nTouch. One was, that the sands of the river sparkled like gold; the\nother, that little Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had\nnever observed in it before she had been transmuted by the effect of his\nkiss. This change of hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's\nhair richer than in her babyhood.\n\nWhen King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold's\nchildren on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvellous story,\npretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their\nglossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich\nshade of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.\n\n\"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks,\" quoth King Midas,\ndiligently trotting the children all the while, \"ever since that\nmorning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!\"\n\n\nShadow Brook\n\n_After the Story_\n\n\"Well, children,\" inquired Eustace, who was very fond of eliciting a\ndefinite opinion from his auditors, \"did you ever, in all your lives,\nlisten to a better story than this of 'The Golden Touch'?\"\n\n\"Why, as to the story of King Midas,\" said saucy Primrose, \"it was a\nfamous one thousands of years before Mr. Eustace Bright came into the\nworld, and will continue to be so as long after he quits it. But some\npeople have what we may call 'The Leaden Touch,' and make everything\ndull and heavy that they lay their fingers upon.\"\n\n\"You are a smart child, Primrose, to be not yet in your teens,\" said\nEustace, taken rather aback by the piquancy of her criticism. \"But you\nwell know, in your naughty little heart, that I have burnished the old\ngold of Midas all over anew, and have made it shine as it never shone\nbefore. And then that figure of Marygold! Do you perceive no nice\nworkmanship in that? And how finely I have brought out and deepened the\nmoral! What say you, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, Clover, Periwinkle? Would\nany of you, after hearing this story, be so foolish as to desire the\nfaculty of changing things to gold?\"\n\n\"I should like,\" said Periwinkle, a girl of ten, \"to have the power of\nturning everything to gold with my right forefinger; but, with my left\nforefinger, I should want the power of changing it back again, if the\nfirst change did not please me. And I know what I would do, this very\nafternoon!\"\n\n\"Pray tell me,\" said Eustace.\n\n\"Why,\" answered Periwinkle, \"I would touch every one of these golden\nleaves on the trees with my left forefinger, and make them all green\nagain; so that we might have the summer back at once, with no ugly\nwinter in the mean time.\"\n\n\"O Periwinkle!\" cried Eustace Bright, \"there you are wrong, and would do\na great deal of mischief. Were I Midas, I would make nothing else but\njust such golden days as these over and over again, all the year\nthroughout. My best thoughts always come a little too late. Why did not\nI tell you how old King Midas came to America, and changed the dusky\nautumn, such as it is in other countries, into the burnished beauty\nwhich it here puts on? He gilded the leaves of the great volume of\nNature.\"\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Sweet Fern, a good little boy, who was always\nmaking particular inquiries about the precise height of giants and the\nlittleness of fairies, \"how big was Marygold, and how much did she weigh\nafter she was turned to gold?\"\n\n\"She was about as tall as you are,\" replied Eustace, \"and, as gold is\nvery heavy, she weighed at least two thousand pounds, and might have\nbeen coined into thirty or forty thousand gold dollars. I wish Primrose\nwere worth half as much. Come, little people, let us clamber out of the\ndell, and look about us.\"\n\nThey did so. The sun was now an hour or two beyond its noontide mark,\nand filled the great hollow of the valley with its western radiance, so\nthat it seemed to be brimming with mellow light, and to spill it over\nthe surrounding hill-sides, like golden wine out of a bowl. It was such\na day that you could not help saying of it, \"There never was such a day\nbefore!\" although yesterday was just such a day, and to-morrow will be\njust such another. Ah, but there are very few of them in a twelvemonth's\ncircle! It is a remarkable peculiarity of these October days, that each\nof them seems to occupy a great deal of space, although the sun rises\nrather tardily at that season of the year, and goes to bed, as little\nchildren ought, at sober six o'clock, or even earlier. We cannot,\ntherefore, call the days long; but they appear, somehow or other, to\nmake up for their shortness by their breadth; and when the cool night\ncomes, we are conscious of having enjoyed a big armful of life, since\nmorning.\n\n\"Come, children, come!\" cried Eustace Bright. \"More nuts, more nuts,\nmore nuts! Fill all your baskets; and, at Christmas time, I will crack\nthem for you, and tell you beautiful stories!\"\n\nSo away they went; all of them in excellent spirits, except little\nDandelion, who, I am sorry to tell you, had been sitting on a\nchestnut-bur, and was stuck as full as a pincushion of its prickles.\nDear me, how uncomfortably he must have felt!\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n\n\nTanglewood Play-Room\n\n_Introductory to \"The Paradise of Children\"_\n\nThe golden days of October passed away, as so many other Octobers have,\nand brown November likewise, and the greater part of chill December,\ntoo. At last came merry Christmas, and Eustace Bright along with it,\nmaking it all the merrier by his presence. And, the day after his\narrival from college, there came a mighty snow-storm. Up to this time,\nthe winter had held back, and had given us a good many mild days, which\nwere like smiles upon its wrinkled visage. The grass had kept itself\ngreen, in sheltered places, such as the nooks of southern hill-slopes,\nand along the lee of the stone fences. It was but a week or two ago, and\nsince the beginning of the month, that the children had found a\ndandelion in bloom, on the margin of Shadow Brook, where it glides out\nof the dell.\n\nBut no more green grass and dandelions now. This was such a snow-storm!\nTwenty miles of it might have been visible at once, between the windows\nof Tanglewood and the dome of Taconic, had it been possible to see so\nfar among the eddying drifts that whitened all the atmosphere. It seemed\nas if the hills were giants, and were flinging monstrous handfuls of\nsnow at one another, in their enormous sport. So thick were the\nfluttering snow-flakes, that even the trees, midway down the valley,\nwere hidden by them the greater part of the time. Sometimes, it is\ntrue, the little prisoners of Tanglewood could discern a dim outline of\nMonument Mountain, and the smooth whiteness of the frozen lake at its\nbase, and the black or gray tracts of woodland in the nearer landscape.\nBut these were merely peeps through the tempest.\n\nNevertheless, the children rejoiced greatly in the snow-storm. They had\nalready made acquaintance with it, by tumbling heels over head into its\nhighest drifts, and flinging snow at one another, as we have just\nfancied the Berkshire mountains to be doing. And now they had come back\nto their spacious play-room, which was as big as the great drawing-room,\nand was lumbered with all sorts of playthings, large and small. The\nbiggest was a rocking-horse, that looked like a real pony; and there was\na whole family of wooden, waxen, plaster, and china dolls, besides\nrag-babies; and blocks enough to build Bunker Hill Monument, and\nnine-pins, and balls, and humming tops, and battledores, and\ngrace-sticks, and skipping-ropes, and more of such valuable property\nthan I could tell of in a printed page. But the children liked the\nsnow-storm better than them all. It suggested so many brisk enjoyments\nfor to-morrow, and all the remainder of the winter. The sleigh-ride; the\nslides down hill into the valley; the snow-images that were to be shaped\nout; the snow-fortresses that were to be built; and the snowballing to\nbe carried on!\n\nSo the little folks blessed the snow-storm, and were glad to see it come\nthicker and thicker, and watched hopefully the long drift that was\npiling itself up in the avenue, and was already higher than any of their\nheads.\n\n\"Why, we shall be blocked up till spring!\" cried they, with the hugest\ndelight. \"What a pity that the house is too high to be quite covered up!\nThe little red house, down yonder, will be buried up to its eaves.\"\n\n\"You silly children, what do you want of more snow?\" asked Eustace,\nwho, tired of some novel that he was skimming through, had strolled into\nthe play-room. \"It has done mischief enough already, by spoiling the\nonly skating that I could hope for through the winter. We shall see\nnothing more of the lake till April; and this was to have been my first\nday upon it! Don't you pity me, Primrose?\"\n\n\"Oh, to be sure!\" answered Primrose, laughing. \"But, for your comfort,\nwe will listen to another of your old stories, such as you told us under\nthe porch, and down in the hollow, by Shadow Brook. Perhaps I shall like\nthem better now, when there is nothing to do, than while there were nuts\nto be gathered, and beautiful weather to enjoy.\"\n\nHereupon, Periwinkle, Clover, Sweet Fern, and as many others of the\nlittle fraternity and cousinhood as were still at Tanglewood, gathered\nabout Eustace, and earnestly besought him for a story. The student\nyawned, stretched himself, and then, to the vast admiration of the small\npeople, skipped three times back and forth over the top of a chair, in\norder, as he explained to them, to set his wits in motion.\n\n\"Well, well, children,\" said he, after these preliminaries, \"since you\ninsist, and Primrose has set her heart upon it, I will see what can be\ndone for you. And, that you may know what happy days there were before\nsnow-storms came into fashion, I will tell you a story of the oldest of\nall old times, when the world was as new as Sweet Fern's bran-new\nhumming-top. There was then but one season in the year, and that was the\ndelightful summer; and but one age for mortals, and that was childhood.\"\n\n\"I never heard of that before,\" said Primrose.\n\n\"Of course, you never did,\" answered Eustace. \"It shall be a story of\nwhat nobody but myself ever dreamed of,--a Paradise of children,--and\nhow, by the naughtiness of just such a little imp as Primrose here, it\nall came to nothing.\"\n\nSo Eustace Bright sat down in the chair which he had just been skipping\nover, took Cowslip upon his knee, ordered silence throughout the\nauditory, and began a story about a sad naughty child, whose name was\nPandora, and about her playfellow Epimetheus. You may read it, word for\nword, in the pages that come next.\n\n\nThe Paradise of Children\n\nLong, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was\na child, named Epimetheus, who never had either father or mother; and,\nthat he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and motherless\nlike himself, was sent from a far country, to live with him, and be his\nplayfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora.\n\nThe first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where\nEpimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which\nshe put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this,--\n\n\"Epimetheus, what have you in that box?\"\n\n\"My dear little Pandora,\" answered Epimetheus, \"that is a secret, and\nyou must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was\nleft here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it contains.\"\n\n\"But who gave it to you?\" asked Pandora. \"And where did it come from?\"\n\n\"That is a secret, too,\" replied Epimetheus.\n\n\"How provoking!\" exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. \"I wish the great\nugly box were out of the way!\"\n\n\"Oh come, don't think of it any more,\" cried Epimetheus. \"Let us run out\nof doors, and have some nice play with the other children.\"\n\nIt is thousands of years since Epimetheus and Pandora were alive; and\nthe world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it was\nin their time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed no fathers and\nmothers to take care of the children; because there was no danger, nor\ntrouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was always\nplenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted his dinner, he found it\ngrowing on a tree; and, if he looked at the tree in the morning, he\ncould see the expanding blossom of that night's supper; or, at eventide,\nhe saw the tender bud of to-morrow's breakfast. It was a very pleasant\nlife indeed. No labor to be done, no tasks to be studied; nothing but\nsports and dances, and sweet voices of children talking, or carolling\nlike birds, or gushing out in merry laughter, throughout the livelong\nday.\n\nWhat was most wonderful of all, the children never quarrelled among\nthemselves; neither had they any crying fits; nor, since time first\nbegan, had a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart into a\ncorner, and sulked. Oh, what a good time was that to be alive in? The\ntruth is, those ugly little winged monsters, called Troubles, which are\nnow almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never yet been seen on the\nearth. It is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a child\nhad ever experienced was Pandora's vexation at not being able to\ndiscover the secret of the mysterious box.\n\nThis was at first only the faint shadow of a Trouble; but, every day, it\ngrew more and more substantial, until, before a great while, the cottage\nof Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than those of the other\nchildren.\n\n\"Whence can the box have come?\" Pandora continually kept saying to\nherself and to Epimetheus. \"And what in the world can be inside of it?\"\n\n\"Always talking about this box!\" said Epimetheus, at last; for he had\ngrown extremely tired of the subject. \"I wish, dear Pandora, you would\ntry to talk of something else. Come, let us go and gather some ripe\nfigs, and eat them under the trees, for our supper. And I know a vine\nthat has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.\"\n\n\"Always talking about grapes and figs!\" cried Pandora, pettishly.\n\n[Illustration: PANDORA]\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child, like\na multitude of children in those days, \"let us run out and have a merry\ntime with our playmates.\"\n\n\"I am tired of merry times, and don't care if I never have any more!\"\nanswered our pettish little Pandora. \"And, besides, I never do have any.\nThis ugly box! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the time. I\ninsist upon your telling me what is inside of it.\"\n\n\"As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know!\" replied\nEpimetheus, getting a little vexed. \"How, then, can I tell you what is\ninside?\"\n\n\"You might open it,\" said Pandora, looking sideways at Epimetheus, \"and\nthen we could see for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Pandora, what are you thinking of?\" exclaimed Epimetheus.\n\nAnd his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box,\nwhich had been confided to him on the condition of his never opening it,\nthat Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more. Still, however,\nshe could not help thinking and talking about the box.\n\n\"At least,\" said she, \"you can tell me how it came here.\"\n\n\"It was left at the door,\" replied Epimetheus, \"just before you came, by\na person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly\nforbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an odd kind of a\ncloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so\nthat it looked almost as if it had wings.\"\n\n\"What sort of a staff had he?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!\" cried Epimetheus. \"It was\nlike two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally\nthat I, at first, thought the serpents were alive.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Pandora, thoughtfully. \"Nobody else has such a\nstaff. It was Quicksilver; and he brought me hither, as well as the box.\nNo doubt he intended it for me; and, most probably, it contains pretty\ndresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or\nsomething very nice for us both to eat!\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" answered Epimetheus, turning away. \"But until Quicksilver\ncomes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift the\nlid of the box.\"\n\n\"What a dull boy he is!\" muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the\ncottage. \"I do wish he had a little more enterprise!\"\n\nFor the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without\nasking Pandora to accompany him. He went to gather figs and grapes by\nhimself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society\nthan his little playfellow's. He was tired to death of hearing about the\nbox, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the\nmessenger's name, had left it at some other child's door, where Pandora\nwould never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as she did babble\nabout this one thing! The box, the box, and nothing but the box! It\nseemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage were not big\nenough to hold it, without Pandora's continually stumbling over it, and\nmaking Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising all four of\ntheir shins.\n\nWell, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his\nears from morning till night; especially as the little people of the\nearth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that they\nknew not how to deal with them. Thus, a small vexation made as much\ndisturbance then, as a far bigger one would in our own times.\n\nAfter Epimetheus was gone, Pandora stood gazing at the box. She had\ncalled it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she had\nsaid against it, it was positively a very handsome article of furniture,\nand would have been quite an ornament to any room in which it should be\nplaced. It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark and rich\nveins spreading over its surface, which was so highly polished that\nlittle Pandora could see her face in it. As the child had no other\nlooking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on this\naccount.\n\nThe edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful skill.\nAround the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and the\nprettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a profusion of\nflowers and foliage; and these various objects were so exquisitely\nrepresented, and were wrought together in such harmony, that flowers,\nfoliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a wreath of mingled\nbeauty. But here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved\nfoliage, Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so\nlovely, or something or other that was disagreeable, and which stole the\nbeauty out of all the rest. Nevertheless, on looking more closely, and\ntouching the spot with her finger, she could discover nothing of the\nkind. Some face, that was really beautiful, had been made to look ugly\nby her catching a sideway glimpse at it.\n\nThe most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief,\nin the centre of the lid. There was nothing else, save the dark, smooth\nrichness of the polished wood, and this one face in the centre, with a\ngarland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this face a\ngreat many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked,\nor be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The features,\nindeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression, which\nlooked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips, and\nutter itself in words.\n\nHad the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this:\n\n\"Do not be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening the box?\nNever mind that poor, simple Epimetheus! You are wiser than he, and have\nten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not find\nsomething very pretty!\"\n\nThe box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fastened; not by a lock, nor\nby any other such contrivance, but by a very intricate knot of gold\ncord. There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning. Never\nwas a knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which\nroguishly defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. And yet,\nby the very difficulty that there was in it, Pandora was the more\ntempted to examine the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or three\ntimes, already, she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between\nher thumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.\n\n\"I really believe,\" said she to herself, \"that I begin to see how it was\ndone. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again, after undoing it. There\nwould be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not blame me for\nthat. I need not open the box, and should not, of course, without the\nfoolish boy's consent, even if the knot were untied.\"\n\nIt might have been better for Pandora if she had had a little work to\ndo, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly\nthinking of this one subject. But children led so easy a life, before\nany Troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal too\nmuch leisure. They could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among\nthe flower-shrubs, or at blind-man's-buff with garlands over their eyes,\nor at whatever other games had been found out, while Mother Earth was in\nher babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the real play. There was\nabsolutely nothing to do. A little sweeping and dusting about the\ncottage, I suppose, and the gathering of fresh flowers (which were only\ntoo abundant everywhere), and arranging them in vases,--and poor little\nPandora's day's work was over. And then, for the rest of the day, there\nwas the box!\n\nAfter all, I am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her in\nits way. It supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of, and\nto talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen! When she was in\ngood-humor, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and the\nrich border of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it. Or,\nif she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or kick it\nwith her naughty little foot. And many a kick did the box--(but it was a\nmischievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it got)--many a kick\ndid it receive. But, certain it is, if it had not been for the box, our\nactive-minded little Pandora would not have known half so well how to\nspend her time as she now did.\n\nFor it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside. What\ncould it be, indeed? Just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your wits\nwould be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as you might\nhave reason to suppose, contained something new and pretty for your\nChristmas or New-Year's gifts. Do you think that you should be less\ncurious than Pandora? If you were left alone with the box, might you not\nfeel a little tempted to lift the lid? But you would not do it. Oh, fie!\nNo, no! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it would be so very\nhard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one peep! I know not\nwhether Pandora expected any toys; for none had yet begun to be made,\nprobably, in those days, when the world itself was one great plaything\nfor the children that dwelt upon it. But Pandora was convinced that\nthere was something very beautiful and valuable in the box; and\ntherefore she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any of these little\ngirls, here around me, would have felt. And, possibly, a little more so;\nbut of that I am not quite so certain.\n\nOn this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking\nabout, her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that, at\nlast, she approached the box. She was more than half determined to open\nit, if she could. Ah, naughty Pandora!\n\nFirst, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy; quite too heavy for\nthe slender strength of a child, like Pandora. She raised one end of the\nbox a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a pretty\nloud thump. A moment afterwards, she almost fancied that she heard\nsomething stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely as\npossible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be a kind of\nstifled murmur, within! Or was it merely the singing in Pandora's ears?\nOr could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not quite\nsatisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at all\nevents, her curiosity was stronger than ever.\n\nAs she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.\n\n\"It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,\" said\nPandora to herself. \"But I think I could untie it nevertheless. I am\nresolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.\"\n\nSo she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its\nintricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it, or\nquite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in\nattempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sunshine came through the\nopen window; as did likewise the merry voices of the children, playing\nat a distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus among them. Pandora\nstopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was! Would it not be wiser,\nif she were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about\nthe box, but run and join her little playfellows, and be happy?\n\nAll this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with\nthe knot; and happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the lid\nof the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at her.\n\n\"That face looks very mischievous,\" thought Pandora. \"I wonder whether\nit smiles because I am doing wrong! I have the greatest mind in the\nworld to run away!\"\n\nBut just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a\ntwist, which produced a wonderful result. The gold cord untwined itself,\nas if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.\n\n\"This is the strangest thing I ever knew!\" said Pandora. \"What will\nEpimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?\"\n\nShe made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it\nquite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that she\ncould not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into\none another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of\nthe knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. Nothing was\nto be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as it was until\nEpimetheus should come in.\n\n\"But,\" said Pandora, \"when he finds the knot untied, he will know that I\nhave done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked into\nthe box?\"\n\nAnd then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since she\nwould be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just as well\ndo so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You should\nhave thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone what\nwas wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus would have said or\nbelieved. And so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the lid of\nthe box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if she had\nnot seemed to hear, more distinctly than before, the murmur of small\nvoices within. She could not tell whether it was fancy or no; but there\nwas quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear,--or else it was her\ncuriosity that whispered,--\n\n\"Let us out, dear Pandora,--pray let us out! We will be such nice pretty\nplayfellows for you! Only let us out!\"\n\n\"What can it be?\" thought Pandora. \"Is there something alive in the box?\nWell!--yes!--I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep; and\nthen the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot possibly\nbe any harm in just one little peep!\"\n\nBut it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.\n\nThis was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell\nwith him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did\nnot partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on\nother days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus\nhad a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs); or, if ripe at\nall, they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. There was no\nmirth in his heart, such as usually made his voice gush out, of its own\naccord, and swell the merriment of his companions. In short, he grew so\nuneasy and discontented, that the other children could not imagine what\nwas the matter with Epimetheus. Neither did he himself know what ailed\nhim, any better than they did. For you must recollect that, at the time\nwe are speaking of, it was everybody's nature, and constant habit, to be\nhappy. The world had not yet learned to be otherwise. Not a single soul\nor body, since these children were first sent to enjoy themselves on the\nbeautiful earth, had ever been sick or out of sorts.\n\nAt length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the\nplay, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in a\nhumor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her pleasure,\nhe gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which he meant to\nput upon her head. The flowers were very lovely,--roses, and lilies, and\norange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail of fragrance\nbehind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the wreath was put\ntogether with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a boy.\nThe fingers of little girls, it has always appeared to me, are the\nfittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it, in those days,\nrather better than they can now.\n\nAnd here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in\nthe sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun.\nBut, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to\nintercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.\n\nHe entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,\nand fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be\naware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his\ntreading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he\npleased,--as heavily as a grown man,--as heavily, I was going to say, as\nan elephant,--without much probability of Pandora's hearing his\nfootsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his\nentering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and\nwas on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld her.\nIf he had cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her hand, and\nthe fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.\n\nBut Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his\nown share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that Pandora\nwas resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow\nshould not be the only wise person in the cottage. And if there were\nanything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to\nhimself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora about restraining\nher curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly\nas much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame Pandora for what\nhappened, we must not forget to shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise.\n\nAs Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for\nthe black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have\nburied it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low growling\nand muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But\nPandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and\nlooked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures\nbrushed past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same\ninstant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as\nif he were in pain.\n\n\"Oh, I am stung!\" cried he. \"I am stung! Naughty Pandora! why have you\nopened this wicked box?\"\n\nPandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see\nwhat had befallen Epimetheus. The thunder-cloud had so darkened the room\nthat she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she heard a\ndisagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic\nmosquitoes, or those insects which we call dor-bugs, and pinching-dogs,\nwere darting about. And, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the\nimperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats'\nwings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings\nin their tails. It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus. Nor was\nit a great while before Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain\nand affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub\nabout it. An odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and\nwould have stung her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not run\nand brushed it away.\n\nNow, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had made\ntheir escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the whole\nfamily of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions; there were a great\nmany species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty\nSorrows; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful\nshapes; there were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be of any use\nto talk about. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls\nand bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given\nto Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely, in order that the happy\nchildren of the world might never be molested by them. Had they been\nfaithful to their trust, all would have gone well. No grown person would\never have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear,\nfrom that hour until this moment.\n\nBut--and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a\ncalamity to the whole world--by Pandora's lifting the lid of that\nmiserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing\nher, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem\nvery likely to be driven away in a hurry. For it was impossible, as you\nwill easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarm in\ntheir own little cottage. On the contrary, the first thing that they did\nwas to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of\nthem; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all abroad, and so\npestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none of\nthem so much as smiled for many days afterwards. And, what was very\nsingular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth, not one of which\nhad hitherto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a\nday or two. The children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in their\nchildhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and\nmaidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they\ndreamed of such a thing.\n\nMeanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus,\nremained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung, and\nwere in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to them,\nbecause it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since the\nworld began. Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could\nhave no idea what it meant. Besides all this, they were in exceedingly\nbad humor, both with themselves and with one another. In order to\nindulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with\nhis back towards Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and\nrested her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was crying\nbitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.\n\nSuddenly there was a gentle little tap on the inside of the lid.\n\n\"What can that be?\" cried Pandora, lifting her head.\n\nBut either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of\nhumor to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.\n\n\"You are very unkind,\" said Pandora, sobbing anew, \"not to speak to me!\"\n\nAgain the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand,\nknocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.\n\"Who are you, inside of this naughty box?\"\n\nA sweet little voice spoke from within,--\n\n\"Only lift the lid, and you shall see.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, \"I have had enough\nof lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and\nthere you shall stay! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters\nalready flying about the world. You need never think that I shall be so\nfoolish as to let you out!\"\n\nShe looked towards Epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he\nwould commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered that\nshe was wise a little too late.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the sweet little voice again, \"you had much better let me\nout. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their\ntails. They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at\nonce, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty\nPandora! I am sure you will let me out!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that\nmade it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice\nasked. Pandora's heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word that\ncame from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner,\nhad turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than\nbefore.\n\n\"My dear Epimetheus,\" cried Pandora, \"have you heard this little voice?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure I have,\" answered he, but in no very good-humor as yet.\n\"And what of it?\"\n\n\"Shall I lift the lid again?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said Epimetheus. \"You have done so much mischief\nalready, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other\nTrouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can\nmake no very great difference.\"\n\n\"You might speak a little more kindly!\" murmured Pandora, wiping her\neyes.\n\n\"Ah, naughty boy!\" cried the little voice within the box, in an arch and\nlaughing tone. \"He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear Pandora,\nlift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only let me have\nsome fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are not quite so\ndismal as you think them!\"\n\n\"Epimetheus,\" exclaimed Pandora, \"come what may, I am resolved to open\nthe box!\"\n\n\"And, as the lid seems very heavy,\" cried Epimetheus, running across the\nroom, \"I will help you!\"\n\nSo, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew a\nsunny and smiling little personage, and hovered about the room, throwing\na light wherever she went. Have you never made the sunshine dance into\ndark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking-glass? Well, so\nlooked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger, amid the\ngloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the least touch\nof her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had stung him, and\nimmediately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the\nforehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.\n\nAfter performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered\nsportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them,\nthat they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened\nthe box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a\nprisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.\n\n\"Pray, who are you, beautiful creature?\" inquired Pandora.\n\n\"I am to be called Hope!\" answered the sunshiny figure. \"And because I\nam such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box, to make amends\nto the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was destined to\nbe let loose among them. Never fear! we shall do pretty well in spite of\nthem all.\"\n\n\"Your wings are colored like the rainbow!\" exclaimed Pandora. \"How very\nbeautiful!\"\n\n\"Yes, they are like the rainbow,\" said Hope, \"because, glad as my nature\nis, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles.\"\n\n\"And will you stay with us,\" asked Epimetheus, \"forever and ever?\"\n\n\"As long as you need me,\" said Hope, with her pleasant smile,--\"and that\nwill be as long as you live in the world,--I promise never to desert\nyou. There may come times and seasons, now and then, when you will think\nthat I have utterly vanished. But again, and again, and again, when\nperhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my wings on\nthe ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and I know something\nvery good and beautiful that is to be given you hereafter!\"\n\n\"Oh tell us,\" they exclaimed,--\"tell us what it is!\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.\n\"But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on\nthis earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.\"\n\n\"We do trust you!\" cried Epimetheus and Pandora, both in one breath.\n\nAnd so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope,\nthat has since been alive. And to tell you the truth, I cannot help\nbeing glad--(though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing for\nher to do)--but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora peeped\ninto the box. No doubt--no doubt--the Troubles are still flying about\nthe world, and have increased in multitude, rather than lessened, and\nare a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their\ntails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel them more, as I grow\nolder. But then that lovely and lightsome little figure of Hope! What in\nthe world could we do without her? Hope spiritualizes the earth; Hope\nmakes it always new; and, even in the earth's best and brightest aspect,\nHope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter!\n\n\nTanglewood Play-Room\n\n_After the Story_\n\n\"Primrose,\" asked Eustace, pinching her ear, \"how do you like my little\nPandora? Don't you think her the exact picture of yourself? But you\nwould not have hesitated half so long about opening the box.\"\n\n\"Then I should have been well punished for my naughtiness,\" retorted\nPrimrose, smartly; \"for the first thing to pop out, after the lid was\nlifted, would have been Mr. Eustace Bright, in the shape of a Trouble.\"\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Sweet Fern, \"did the box hold all the trouble\nthat has ever come into the world?\"\n\n\"Every mite of it!\" answered Eustace. \"This very snow-storm, which has\nspoiled my skating, was packed up there.\"\n\n\"And how big was the box?\" asked Sweet Fern.\n\n\"Why, perhaps three feet long,\" said Eustace, \"two feet wide, and two\nfeet and a half high.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the child, \"you are making fun of me, Cousin Eustace! I know\nthere is not trouble enough in the world to fill such a great box as\nthat. As for the snow-storm, it is no trouble at all, but a pleasure; so\nit could not have been in the box.\"\n\n\"Hear the child!\" cried Primrose, with an air of superiority. \"How\nlittle he knows about the troubles of this world! Poor fellow! He will\nbe wiser when he has seen as much of life as I have.\"\n\nSo saying, she began to skip the rope.\n\nMeantime, the day was drawing towards its close. Out of doors the scene\ncertainly looked dreary. There was a gray drift, far and wide, through\nthe gathering twilight; the earth was as pathless as the air; and the\nbank of snow over the steps of the porch proved that nobody had entered\nor gone out for a good many hours past. Had there been only one child at\nthe window of Tanglewood, gazing at this wintry prospect, it would\nperhaps have made him sad. But half a dozen children together, though\nthey cannot quite turn the world into a paradise, may defy old Winter\nand all his storms to put them out of spirits. Eustace Bright, moreover,\non the spur of the moment, invented several new kinds of play, which\nkept them all in a roar of merriment till bedtime, and served for the\nnext stormy day besides.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n\n\nTanglewood Fireside\n\n_Introductory to \"The Three Golden Apples\"_\n\nThe snow-storm lasted another day; but what became of it afterwards, I\ncannot possibly imagine. At any rate, it entirely cleared away during\nthe night; and when the sun arose the next morning, it shone brightly\ndown on as bleak a tract of hill-country, here in Berkshire, as could be\nseen anywhere in the world. The frostwork had so covered the\nwindow-panes that it was hardly possible to get a glimpse at the scenery\noutside. But, while waiting for breakfast, the small populace of\nTanglewood had scratched peep-holes with their finger-nails, and saw\nwith vast delight that--unless it were one or two bare patches on a\nprecipitous hill-side, or the gray effect of the snow, intermingled with\nthe black pine forest--all nature was as white as a sheet. How\nexceedingly pleasant! And, to make it all the better, it was cold enough\nto nip one's nose short off! If people have but life enough in them to\nbear it, there is nothing that so raises the spirits, and makes the\nblood ripple and dance so nimbly, like a brook down the slope of a hill,\nas a bright, hard frost.\n\nNo sooner was breakfast over, than the whole party, well muffled in furs\nand woollens, floundered forth into the midst of the snow. Well, what a\nday of frosty sport was this! They slid down hill into the valley, a\nhundred times, nobody knows how far; and, to make it all the merrier,\nupsetting their sledges, and tumbling head over heels, quite as often\nas they came safely to the bottom. And, once, Eustace Bright took\nPeriwinkle, Sweet Fern, and Squash-Blossom, on the sledge with him, by\nway of insuring a safe passage; and down they went, full speed. But,\nbehold, half-way down, the sledge hit against a hidden stump, and flung\nall four of its passengers into a heap; and, on gathering themselves up,\nthere was no little Squash-Blossom to be found! Why, what could have\nbecome of the child? And while they were wondering and staring about, up\nstarted Squash-Blossom out of a snow-bank, with the reddest face you\never saw, and looking as if a large scarlet flower had suddenly sprouted\nup in midwinter. Then there was a great laugh.\n\nWhen they had grown tired of sliding down hill, Eustace set the children\nto digging a cave in the biggest snow-drift that they could find.\nUnluckily, just as it was completed, and the party had squeezed\nthemselves into the hollow, down came the roof upon their heads, and\nburied every soul of them alive! The next moment, up popped all their\nlittle heads out of the ruins, and the tall student's head in the midst\nof them, looking hoary and venerable with the snow-dust that had got\namongst his brown curls. And then, to punish Cousin Eustace for advising\nthem to dig such a tumble-down cavern, the children attacked him in a\nbody, and so bepelted him with snowballs that he was fain to take to his\nheels.\n\nSo he ran away, and went into the woods, and thence to the margin of\nShadow Brook, where he could hear the streamlet grumbling along, under\ngreat overhanging banks of snow and ice, which would scarcely let it see\nthe light of day. There were adamantine icicles glittering around all\nits little cascades. Thence he strolled to the shore of the lake, and\nbeheld a white, untrodden plain before him, stretching from his own feet\nto the foot of Monument Mountain. And, it being now almost sunset,\nEustace thought that he had never beheld anything so fresh and\nbeautiful as the scene. He was glad that the children were not with him;\nfor their lively spirits and tumble-about activity would quite have\nchased away his higher and graver mood, so that he would merely have\nbeen merry (as he had already been, the whole day long), and would not\nhave known the loveliness of the winter sunset among the hills.\n\nWhen the sun was fairly down, our friend Eustace went home to eat his\nsupper. After the meal was over, he betook himself to the study, with a\npurpose, I rather imagine, to write an ode, or two or three sonnets, or\nverses of some kind or other, in praise of the purple and golden clouds\nwhich he had seen around the setting sun. But, before he had hammered\nout the very first rhyme, the door opened, and Primrose and Periwinkle\nmade their appearance.\n\n\"Go away, children! I can't be troubled with you now!\" cried the\nstudent, looking over his shoulder, with the pen between his fingers.\n\"What in the world do you want here? I thought you were all in bed!\"\n\n\"Hear him, Periwinkle, trying to talk like a grown man!\" said Primrose.\n\"And he seems to forget that I am now thirteen years old, and may sit up\nalmost as late as I please. But, Cousin Eustace, you must put off your\nairs, and come with us to the drawing-room. The children have talked so\nmuch about your stories, that my father wishes to hear one of them, in\norder to judge whether they are likely to do any mischief.\"\n\n\"Poh, poh, Primrose!\" exclaimed the student, rather vexed. \"I don't\nbelieve I can tell one of my stories in the presence of grown people.\nBesides, your father is a classical scholar; not that I am much afraid\nof his scholarship, neither, for I doubt not it is as rusty as an old\ncase-knife by this time. But then he will be sure to quarrel with the\nadmirable nonsense that I put into these stories, out of my own head,\nand which makes the great charm of the matter for children, like\nyourself. No man of fifty, who has read the classical myths in his\nyouth, can possibly understand my merit as a reinventor and improver of\nthem.\"\n\n\"All this may be very true,\" said Primrose, \"but come you must! My\nfather will not open his book, nor will mamma open the piano, till you\nhave given us some of your nonsense, as you very correctly call it. So\nbe a good boy, and come along.\"\n\nWhatever he might pretend, the student was rather glad than otherwise,\non second thoughts, to catch at the opportunity of proving to Mr.\nPringle what an excellent faculty he had in modernizing the myths of\nancient times. Until twenty years of age, a young man may, indeed, be\nrather bashful about showing his poetry and his prose; but, for all\nthat, he is pretty apt to think that these very productions would place\nhim at the tip-top of literature, if once they could be known.\nAccordingly, without much more resistance, Eustace suffered Primrose and\nPeriwinkle to drag him into the drawing-room.\n\nIt was a large, handsome apartment, with a semicircular window at one\nend, in the recess of which stood a marble copy of Greenough's Angel and\nChild. On one side of the fireplace there were many shelves of books,\ngravely but richly bound. The white light of the astral-lamp, and the\nred glow of the bright coal-fire, made the room brilliant and cheerful;\nand before the fire, in a deep arm-chair, sat Mr. Pringle, looking just\nfit to be seated in such a chair, and in such a room. He was a tall and\nquite a handsome gentleman, with a bald brow; and was always so nicely\ndressed, that even Eustace Bright never liked to enter his presence\nwithout at least pausing at the threshold to settle his shirt-collar.\nBut now, as Primrose had hold of one of his hands, and Periwinkle of the\nother, he was forced to make his appearance with a rough-and-tumble sort\nof look, as if he had been rolling all day in a snow-bank. And so he\nhad.\n\nMr. Pringle turned towards the student benignly enough, but in a way\nthat made him feel how uncombed and unbrushed he was, and how uncombed\nand unbrushed, likewise, were his mind and thoughts.\n\n\"Eustace,\" said Mr. Pringle, with a smile, \"I find that you are\nproducing a great sensation among the little public of Tanglewood, by\nthe exercise of your gifts of narrative. Primrose here, as the little\nfolks choose to call her, and the rest of the children, have been so\nloud in praise of your stories, that Mrs. Pringle and myself are really\ncurious to hear a specimen. It would be so much the more gratifying to\nmyself, as the stories appear to be an attempt to render the fables of\nclassical antiquity into the idiom of modern fancy and feeling. At\nleast, so I judge from a few of the incidents which have come to me at\nsecond hand.\"\n\n\"You are not exactly the auditor that I should have chosen, sir,\"\nobserved the student, \"for fantasies of this nature.\"\n\n\"Possibly not,\" replied Mr. Pringle. \"I suspect, however, that a young\nauthor's most useful critic is precisely the one whom he would be least\napt to choose. Pray oblige me, therefore.\"\n\n\"Sympathy, methinks, should have some little share in the critic's\nqualifications,\" murmured Eustace Bright. \"However, sir, if you will\nfind patience, I will find stories. But be kind enough to remember that\nI am addressing myself to the imagination and sympathies of the\nchildren, not to your own.\"\n\nAccordingly, the student snatched hold of the first theme which\npresented itself. It was suggested by a plate of apples that he happened\nto spy on the mantelpiece.\n\n\nThe Three Golden Apples\n\nDid you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the\nHesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price, by\nthe bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of\nnowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit\non a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those\napples exists any longer.\n\nAnd, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of\nthe Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted\nwhether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon\ntheir branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have\nseen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to\nstories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when they\nshould be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver\nthing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of\nthem returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder\nthat they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that there was\na dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of which\nwere always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.\n\nIn my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a\nsolid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed\nthat would be another matter. There might then have been some sense in\ntrying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.\n\nBut, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young\npersons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the\ngarden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a\nhero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the\nworld. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering\nthrough the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and\na bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of\nthe biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he\nhimself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous,\nand noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.\nAs he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the\nright road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew\nanything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed\nat the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.\n\nSo he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at\nlast, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women\nsat twining wreaths of flowers.\n\n\"Can you tell me, pretty maidens,\" asked the stranger, \"whether this is\nthe right way to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nThe young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the\nflowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. And there seemed\nto be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the\nflowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter\nfragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been\ngrowing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger's question,\nthey dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with\nastonishment.\n\n\"The garden of the Hesperides!\" cried one. \"We thought mortals had been\nweary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,\nadventurous traveller, what do you want there?\"\n\n[Illustration: ATLAS]\n\n\"A certain king, who is my cousin,\" replied he, \"has ordered me to get\nhim three of the golden apples.\"\n\n\"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,\" observed\nanother of the damsels, \"desire to obtain them for themselves, or to\npresent them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this\nking, your cousin, so very much?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" replied the stranger, sighing. \"He has often been severe\nand cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.\"\n\n\"And do you know,\" asked the damsel who had first spoken, \"that a\nterrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden\napple-tree?\"\n\n\"I know it well,\" answered the stranger, calmly. \"But, from my cradle\nupwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with\nserpents and dragons.\"\n\nThe young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's\nskin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and\nthey whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who\nmight reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other\nmen. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if he\npossessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a\nmonster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to\nsee this brave and handsome traveller attempt what was so very\ndangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the\ndragon's hundred ravenous mouths.\n\n\"Go back,\" cried they all,--\"go back to your own home! Your mother,\nbeholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she\ndo more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the\ngolden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not wish\nthe dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!\"\n\nThe stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He\ncarelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay\nhalf buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow, the\ngreat rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger no more\neffort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one of the\nyoung maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.\n\n\"Do you not believe,\" said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,\n\"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred heads?\"\n\nThen he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or\nas much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first\ncradled in a warrior's brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense\nserpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to\ndevour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the\nfierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death.\nWhen he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as\nthe one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The\nnext thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of\nmonster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and\nexceedingly sharp teeth in every one.\n\n\"But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,\" observed one of the\ndamsels, \"has a hundred heads!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" replied the stranger, \"I would rather fight two such\ndragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two\nothers grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that\ncould not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long\nafter it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where it\nis doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra's body, and its eight\nother heads, will never do any further mischief.\"\n\nThe damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had\nbeen preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might\nrefresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in\nhelping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would\nput a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful\nto eat alone.\n\nThe traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag, for\na twelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had at\nlast caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he had\nfought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had\nput them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly\nfigures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to\nhimself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.\n\n\"Do you call that a wonderful exploit?\" asked one of the young maidens,\nwith a smile. \"Any clown in the country has done as much!\"\n\n\"Had it been an ordinary stable,\" replied the stranger, \"I should not\nhave mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have\ntaken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of\nturning the channel of a river through the stable-door. That did the\nbusiness in a very short time!\"\n\nSeeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how\nhe had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and\nlet him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had\nconquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,\nlikewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta's enchanted girdle, and had\ngiven it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.\n\n\"Was it the girdle of Venus,\" inquired the prettiest of the damsels,\n\"which makes women beautiful?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the stranger. \"It had formerly been the sword-belt of\nMars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous.\"\n\n\"An old sword-belt!\" cried the damsel, tossing her head. \"Then I should\nnot care about having it!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said the stranger.\n\nGoing on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as\nstrange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,\nthe six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure, as\nyou may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or\nsnow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking\nalong together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was no\nmore than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming. But it\nwas only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six legs!\n\nSix legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very\nqueer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather!\n\nWhen the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked\naround at the attentive faces of the maidens.\n\n\"Perhaps you may have heard of me before,\" said he, modestly. \"My name\nis Hercules!\"\n\n\"We had already guessed it,\" replied the maidens; \"for your wonderful\ndeeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any\nlonger, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the\nHesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!\"\n\nThen they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty\nshoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with\nroses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it\nabout with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not\na finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all\nlike a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced\naround him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and\ngrew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules.\n\nAnd Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know\nthat these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had\ncost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was not\nsatisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy\nof so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure\nto be undertaken.\n\n\"Dear maidens,\" said he, when they paused to take breath, \"now that you\nknow my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the\nHesperides?\"\n\n\"Ah! must you go so soon?\" they exclaimed. \"You--that have performed so\nmany wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content\nyourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?\"\n\nHercules shook his head.\n\n\"I must depart now,\" said he.\n\n\"We will then give you the best directions we can,\" replied the damsels.\n\"You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and compel him\nto inform you where the golden apples are to be found.\"\n\n\"The Old One!\" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. \"And, pray,\nwho may the Old One be?\"\n\n\"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!\" answered one of the damsels.\n\"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we do\nnot think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have\nsea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old\nMan of the Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and knows all about the\ngarden of the Hesperides; for it is situated in an island which he is\noften in the habit of visiting.\"\n\nHercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met\nwith. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their\nkindness,--for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the\nlovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances\nwherewith they had done him honor,--and he thanked them, most of all,\nfor telling him the right way,--and immediately set forth upon his\njourney.\n\nBut, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.\n\n\"Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him!\" cried she, smiling,\nand lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. \"Do not be\nastonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will\ntell you what you wish to know.\"\n\nHercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens\nresumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked about\nthe hero, long after he was gone.\n\n\"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,\" said they, \"when\nhe returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon\nwith a hundred heads.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and\nthrough the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and\nsplintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of\nthe giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to\nfight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.\nAnd so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he\nalmost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting\nidle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always is with\npersons who are destined to perform great things. What they have already\ndone seems less than nothing. What they have taken in hand to do seems\nworth toil, danger, and life itself.\n\nPersons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been\naffrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a\nsingle blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and the\nbroad boughs came rustling and crashing down.\n\nHastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and by\nheard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased his\nspeed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled\nthemselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one end\nof the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green\nshrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and\nbeautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with\nsweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of\nthe cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old\nman, fast asleep!\n\nBut was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it\nlooked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be\nsome kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and arms\nthere were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and\nweb-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of\na greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea-weed than of\nan ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been\nlong tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with\nbarnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up\nfrom the very deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man would have\nput you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar! But Hercules, the instant\nhe set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could be no\nother than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.\n\nYes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable maidens\nhad talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of\nfinding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe towards him, and\ncaught him by the arm and leg.\n\n\"Tell me,\" cried he, before the Old One was well awake, \"which is the\nway to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nAs you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright.\nBut his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of\nHercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to\ndisappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the\nfore and hind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag\ndisappeared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and\nscreaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the bird\ncould not get away. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly\nthree-headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped\nfiercely at the hands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let\nhim go. In another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should\nappear but Geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at Hercules with\nfive of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But\nHercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a huge snake, like\none of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a\nhundred times as big; and it twisted and twined about the hero's neck\nand body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly\njaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was really a very terrible\nspectacle! But Hercules was no whit disheartened, and squeezed the great\nsnake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.\n\nYou must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally\nlooked so much like the wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the\npower of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly\nseized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such\nsurprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero\nwould be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old\nOne would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea,\nwhence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in\norder to answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine people out of a\nhundred, I suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the\nvery first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at\nonce. For, one of the hardest things in this world is, to see the\ndifference between real dangers and imaginary ones.\n\nBut, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so\nmuch the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no\nsmall torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure.\nSo there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of personage,\nwith something like a tuft of sea-weed at his chin.\n\n\"Pray, what do you want with me?\" cried the Old One, as soon as he could\ntake breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many\nfalse shapes. \"Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go, this moment, or\nI shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!\"\n\n\"My name is Hercules!\" roared the mighty stranger. \"And you will never\nget out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the garden of\nthe Hesperides!\"\n\nWhen the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with\nhalf an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he\nwanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must\nrecollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other sea-faring people. Of\ncourse, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the wonderful\nthings that he was constantly performing, in various parts of the earth,\nand how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook. He\ntherefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how to find\nthe garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many\ndifficulties which must be overcome, before he could arrive thither.\n\n\"You must go on, thus and thus,\" said the Old Man of the Sea, after\ntaking the points of the compass, \"till you come in sight of a very tall\ngiant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he happens\nto be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of the\nHesperides lies.\"\n\n\"And if the giant happens not to be in the humor,\" remarked Hercules,\nbalancing his club on the tip of his finger, \"perhaps I shall find means\nto persuade him!\"\n\nThanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having\nsqueezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a\ngreat many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing,\nif I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.\n\nIt was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a\nprodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature, that,\nevery time he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever\nhe had been before. His name was Antaeus. You may see, plainly enough,\nthat it was a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow; for,\nas often as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger,\nfiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than if his enemy had let him\nalone. Thus, the harder Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the\nfurther he seemed from winning the victory. I have sometimes argued with\nsuch people, but never fought with one. The only way in which Hercules\nfound it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting Antaeus off his\nfeet into the air, and squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him,\nuntil, finally, the strength was quite squeezed out of his enormous\nbody.\n\nWhen this affair was finished, Hercules continued his travels, and went\nto the land of Egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have been\nput to death, if he had not slain the king of the country, and made his\nescape. Passing through the deserts of Africa, and going as fast as he\ncould, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean. And here,\nunless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his\njourney must needs be at an end.\n\nNothing was before him, save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.\nBut, suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a\ngreat way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed very\nbrightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk of the\nsun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently drew\nnearer; for, at every instant, this wonderful object became larger and\nmore lustrous. At length, it had come so nigh that Hercules discovered\nit to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or burnished brass.\nHow it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can tell you. There it\nwas, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it\nup and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without\never throwing their spray over the brim.\n\n\"I have seen many giants, in my time,\" thought Hercules, \"but never one\nthat would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!\"\n\nAnd, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large--as\nlarge--but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it was.\nTo speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great mill-wheel;\nand, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving surges more\nlightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves tumbled it onward,\nuntil it grazed against the shore, within a short distance of the spot\nwhere Hercules was standing.\n\nAs soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not\ngone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty well\nhow to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little out of\nthe common rule. It was just as clear as daylight that this marvellous\ncup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hitherward, in\norder to carry Hercules across the sea, on his way to the garden of the\nHesperides. Accordingly, without a moment's delay, he clambered over\nthe brim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading out his lion's\nskin, he proceeded to take a little repose. He had scarcely rested,\nuntil now, since he bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the\nriver. The waves dashed, with a pleasant and ringing sound, against the\ncircumference of the hollow cup; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the\nmotion was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules into an\nagreeable slumber.\n\nHis nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to graze\nagainst a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and\nreverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times as\nloudly as ever you heard a church-bell. The noise awoke Hercules, who\ninstantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he was.\nHe was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across a great\npart of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed to be an\nisland. And, on that island, what do you think he saw?\n\nNo; you will never guess it, not if you were to try fifty thousand\ntimes! It positively appears to me that this was the most marvellous\nspectacle that had ever been seen by Hercules, in the whole course of\nhis wonderful travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than the\nhydra with nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut\noff; greater than the six-legged man-monster; greater than Antaeus;\ngreater than anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since\nthe days of Hercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld, by\ntravellers in all time to come. It was a giant!\n\nBut such an intolerably big giant! A giant as tall as a mountain; so\nvast a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle, and\nhung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge eyes,\nso that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in which he was\nvoyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great hands\nand appeared to support the sky, which, so far as Hercules could discern\nthrough the clouds, was resting upon his head! This does really seem\nalmost too much to believe.\n\nMeanwhile, the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally touched\nthe strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from before the\ngiant's visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its enormous features;\neyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth\nof the same width. It was a countenance terrible from its enormity of\nsize, but disconsolate and weary, even as you may see the faces of many\npeople, nowadays, who are compelled to sustain burdens above their\nstrength. What the sky was to the giant, such are the cares of earth to\nthose who let themselves be weighed down by them. And whenever men\nundertake what is beyond the just measure of their abilities, they\nencounter precisely such a doom as had befallen this poor giant.\n\nPoor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient\nforest had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees, of\nsix or seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced\nthemselves between his toes.\n\nThe giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and,\nperceiving Hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder,\nproceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.\n\n\"Who are you, down at my feet there? And whence do you come, in that\nlittle cup?\"\n\n\"I am Hercules!\" thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or\nquite as loud as the giant's own. \"And I am seeking for the garden of\nthe Hesperides!\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. \"That is a\nwise adventure, truly!\"\n\n\"And why not?\" cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant's\nmirth. \"Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!\"\n\nJust at this time, while they were talking together, some black clouds\ngathered about the giant's middle, and burst into a tremendous storm of\nthunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules found it\nimpossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant's immeasurable legs\nwere to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and, now\nand then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a volume\nof mist. He seemed to be speaking, most of the time; but his big, deep,\nrough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thunder-claps, and\nrolled away over the hills, like them. Thus, by talking out of season,\nthe foolish giant expended an incalculable quantity of breath, to no\npurpose; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly as he.\n\nAt last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it had come. And there\nagain was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the\npleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it\nagainst the background of the sullen thunderclouds. So far above the\nshower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the\nrain-drops!\n\nWhen the giant could see Hercules still standing on the sea-shore, he\nroared out to him anew.\n\n\"I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold the sky upon\nmy head!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" answered Hercules. \"But, can you show me the way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides?\"\n\n\"What do you want there?\" asked the giant.\n\n\"I want three of the golden apples,\" shouted Hercules, \"for my cousin,\nthe king.\"\n\n\"There is nobody but myself,\" quoth the giant, \"that can go to the\ngarden of the Hesperides, and gather the golden apples. If it were not\nfor this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a\ndozen steps across the sea, and get them for you.\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" replied Hercules. \"And cannot you rest the sky upon\na mountain?\"\n\n\"None of them are quite high enough,\" said Atlas, shaking his head.\n\"But, if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one,\nyour head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be a\nfellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your\nshoulders, while I do your errand for you?\"\n\nHercules, as you must be careful to remember, was a remarkably strong\nman; and though it certainly requires a great deal of muscular power to\nuphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of such an\nexploit, he was the one. Nevertheless, it seemed so difficult an\nundertaking, that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.\n\n\"Is the sky very heavy?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Why, not particularly so, at first,\" answered the giant, shrugging his\nshoulders. \"But it gets to be a little burdensome, after a thousand\nyears!\"\n\n\"And how long a time,\" asked the hero, \"will it take you to get the\ngolden apples?\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be done in a few moments,\" cried Atlas. \"I shall take ten\nor fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again before\nyour shoulders begin to ache.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered Hercules, \"I will climb the mountain behind you\nthere, and relieve you of your burden.\"\n\nThe truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered that\nhe should be doing the giant a favor, by allowing him this opportunity\nfor a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would be still more for\nhis own glory, if he could boast of upholding the sky, than merely to do\nso ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a hundred heads.\nAccordingly, without more words, the sky was shifted from the shoulders\nof Atlas, and placed upon those of Hercules.\n\nWhen this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did\nwas to stretch himself; and you may imagine what a prodigious spectacle\nhe was then. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of the forest\nthat had grown up around it; then, the other. Then, all at once, he\nbegan to caper, and leap, and dance, for joy at his freedom; flinging\nhimself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering down again\nwith a shock that made the earth tremble. Then he laughed--Ho! ho!\nho!--with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the mountains, far and\nnear, as if they and the giant had been so many rejoicing brothers. When\nhis joy had a little subsided, he stepped into the sea; ten miles at the\nfirst stride, which brought him midleg deep; and ten miles at the\nsecond, when the water came just above his knees; and ten miles more at\nthe third, by which he was immersed nearly to his waist. This was the\ngreatest depth of the sea.\n\nHercules watched the giant, as he still went onward; for it was really a\nwonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles off,\nhalf hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and misty,\nand blue, as a distant mountain. At last the gigantic shape faded\nentirely out of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he should\ndo, in case Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were to be\nstung to death by the dragon with the hundred heads, which guarded the\ngolden apples of the Hesperides. If any such misfortune were to happen,\nhow could he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by, its weight began\nalready to be a little irksome to his head and shoulders.\n\n\"I really pity the poor giant,\" thought Hercules. \"If it wearies me so\nmuch in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand years!\"\n\nO my sweet little people, you have no idea what a weight there was in\nthat same blue sky, which looks so soft and aerial above our heads! And\nthere, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill and watery\nclouds, and the blazing sun, all taking their turns to make Hercules\nuncomfortable! He began to be afraid that the giant would never come\nback. He gazed wistfully at the world beneath him, and acknowledged to\nhimself that it was a far happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the\nfoot of a mountain, than to stand on its dizzy summit, and bear up the\nfirmament with his might and main. For, of course, as you will easily\nunderstand, Hercules had an immense responsibility on his mind, as well\nas a weight on his head and shoulders. Why, if he did not stand\nperfectly still, and keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be\nput ajar! Or, after nightfall, a great many of the stars might be\nloosened from their places, and shower down, like fiery rain, upon the\npeople's heads! And how ashamed would the hero be, if, owing to his\nunsteadiness beneath its weight, the sky should crack, and show a great\nfissure quite across it!\n\nI know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld the\nhuge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the sea.\nAt his nearer approach, Atlas held up his hand, in which Hercules could\nperceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins, all\nhanging from one branch.\n\n\"I am glad to see you again,\" shouted Hercules, when the giant was\nwithin hearing. \"So you have got the golden apples?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" answered Atlas; \"and very fair apples they are.\nI took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah! it is a\nbeautiful spot, that garden of the Hesperides. Yes; and the dragon with\na hundred heads is a sight worth any man's seeing. After all, you had\nbetter have gone for the apples yourself.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied Hercules. \"You have had a pleasant ramble, and have\ndone the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for your\ntrouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and am rather in\nhaste,--and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden\napples,--will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders\nagain?\"\n\n\"Why, as to that,\" said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the\nair twenty miles high, or thereabouts and catching them as they came\ndown,--\"as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little\nunreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your cousin,\nmuch quicker than you could? As his majesty is in such a hurry to get\nthem, I promise you to take my longest strides. And, besides, I have no\nfancy for burdening myself with the sky, just now.\"\n\nHere Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders.\nIt being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble out\nof their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in affright, thinking\nthat the sky might be going to fall next.\n\n\"Oh, that will never do!\" cried Giant Atlas, with a great roar of\nlaughter. \"I have not let fall so many stars within the last five\ncenturies. By the time you have stood there as long as I did, you will\nbegin to learn patience!\"\n\n\"What!\" shouted Hercules, very wrathfully, \"do you intend to make me\nbear this burden forever?\"\n\n\"We will see about that, one of these days,\" answered the giant. \"At all\nevents, you ought not to complain, if you have to bear it the next\nhundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while\nlonger, in spite of the back-ache. Well, then, after a thousand years,\nif I happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again. You\nare certainly a very strong man, and can never have a better opportunity\nto prove it. Posterity will talk of you, I warrant it!\"\n\n\"Pish! a fig for its talk!\" cried Hercules, with another hitch of his\nshoulders. \"Just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you? I\nwant to make a cushion of my lion's skin, for the weight to rest upon.\nIt really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so\nmany centuries as I am to stand here.\"\n\n\"That's no more than fair, and I'll do it!\" quoth the giant; for he had\nno unkind feeling towards Hercules, and was merely acting with a too\nselfish consideration of his own ease. \"For just five minutes, then,\nI'll take back the sky. Only for five minutes, recollect! I have no idea\nof spending another thousand years as I spent the last. Variety is the\nspice of life, say I.\"\n\nAh, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant! He threw down the golden\napples, and received back the sky, from the head and shoulders of\nHercules, upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked\nup the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins,\nand straightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the\nslightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed after\nhim to come back. Another forest sprang up around his feet, and grew\nancient there; and again might be seen oak-trees, of six or seven\ncenturies old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.\n\nAnd there stands the giant to this day; or, at any rate, there stands a\nmountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the thunder\nrumbles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of Giant\nAtlas, bellowing after Hercules!\n\n\nTanglewood Fireside\n\n_After the Story_\n\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" demanded Sweet Fern, who had been sitting at the\nstory-teller's feet, with his mouth wide open, \"exactly how tall was\nthis giant?\"\n\n\"O Sweet Fern, Sweet Fern!\" cried the student, \"do you think I was\nthere, to measure him with a yard-stick? Well, if you must know to a\nhair's-breadth, I suppose he might be from three to fifteen miles\nstraight upward, and that he might have seated himself on Taconic, and\nhad Monument Mountain for a footstool.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" ejaculated the good little boy, with a contented sort of a\ngrunt, \"that was a giant, sure enough! And how long was his little\nfinger?\"\n\n\"As long as from Tanglewood to the lake,\" said Eustace.\n\n\"Sure enough, that was a giant!\" repeated Sweet Fern, in an ecstasy at\nthe precision of these measurements. \"And how broad, I wonder, were the\nshoulders of Hercules?\"\n\n\"That is what I have never been able to find out,\" answered the student.\n\"But I think they must have been a great deal broader than mine, or than\nyour father's, or than almost any shoulders which one sees nowadays.\"\n\n\"I wish,\" whispered Sweet Fern, with his mouth close to the student's\near, \"that you would tell me how big were some of the oak-trees that\ngrew between the giant's toes.\"\n\n\"They were bigger,\" said Eustace, \"than the great chestnut-tree which\nstands beyond Captain Smith's house.\"\n\n\"Eustace,\" remarked Mr. Pringle, after some deliberation, \"I find it\nimpossible to express such an opinion of this story as will be likely to\ngratify, in the smallest degree, your pride of authorship. Pray let me\nadvise you never more to meddle with a classical myth. Your imagination\nis altogether Gothic, and will inevitably Gothicize everything that you\ntouch. The effect is like bedaubing a marble statue with paint. This\ngiant, now! How can you have ventured to thrust his huge,\ndisproportioned mass among the seemly outlines of Grecian fable, the\ntendency of which is to reduce even the extravagant within limits, by\nits pervading elegance?\"\n\n\"I described the giant as he appeared to me,\" replied the student,\nrather piqued. \"And, sir, if you would only bring your mind into such a\nrelation with these fables as is necessary in order to remodel them, you\nwould see at once that an old Greek had no more exclusive right to them\nthan a modern Yankee has. They are the common property of the world, and\nof all time. The ancient poets remodelled them at pleasure, and held\nthem plastic in their hands; and why should they not be plastic in my\nhands as well?\"\n\nMr. Pringle could not forbear a smile.\n\n\"And besides,\" continued Eustace, \"the moment you put any warmth of\nheart, any passion or affection, any human or divine morality, into a\nclassic mould, you make it quite another thing from what it was before.\nMy own opinion is, that the Greeks, by taking possession of these\nlegends (which were the immemorial birthright of mankind), and putting\nthem into shapes of indestructible beauty, indeed, but cold and\nheartless, have done all subsequent ages an incalculable injury.\"\n\n\"Which you, doubtless, were born to remedy,\" said Mr. Pringle, laughing\noutright. \"Well, well, go on; but take my advice, and never put any of\nyour travesties on paper. And, as your next effort, what if you should\ntry your hand on some one of the legends of Apollo?\"\n\n\"Ah, sir, you propose it as an impossibility,\" observed the student,\nafter a moment's meditation; \"and, to be sure, at first thought, the\nidea of a Gothic Apollo strikes one rather ludicrously. But I will turn\nover your suggestion in my mind, and do not quite despair of success.\"\n\nDuring the above discussion, the children (who understood not a word of\nit) had grown very sleepy, and were now sent off to bed. Their drowsy\nbabble was heard, ascending the staircase, while a northwest-wind roared\nloudly among the tree-tops of Tanglewood, and played an anthem around\nthe house. Eustace Bright went back to the study, and again endeavored\nto hammer out some verses, but fell asleep between two of the rhymes.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n\nThe Hill-Side\n\n_Introductory to \"The Miraculous Pitcher\"_\n\nAnd when, and where, do you think we find the children next? No longer\nin the winter-time, but in the merry month of May. No longer in\nTanglewood play-room, or at Tanglewood fireside, but more than half-way\nup a monstrous hill, or a mountain, as perhaps it would be better\npleased to have us call it. They had set out from home with the mighty\npurpose of climbing this high hill, even to the very tip-top of its bald\nhead. To be sure, it was not quite so high as Chimborazo, or Mont Blanc,\nand was even a good deal lower than old Graylock. But, at any rate, it\nwas higher than a thousand ant-hillocks, or a million of mole-hills;\nand, when measured by the short strides of little children, might be\nreckoned a very respectable mountain.\n\nAnd was Cousin Eustace with the party? Of that you may be certain; else\nhow could the book go on a step further? He was now in the middle of the\nspring vacation, and looked pretty much as we saw him four or five\nmonths ago, except that, if you gazed quite closely at his upper lip,\nyou could discern the funniest little bit of a mustache upon it. Setting\naside this mark of mature manhood, you might have considered Cousin\nEustace just as much a boy as when you first became acquainted with him.\nHe was as merry, as playful, as good-humored, as light of foot and of\nspirits, and equally a favorite with the little folks, as he had always\nbeen. This expedition up the mountain was entirely of his contrivance.\nAll the way up the steep ascent, he had encouraged the elder children\nwith his cheerful voice; and when Dandelion, Cowslip, and Squash-Blossom\ngrew weary, he had lugged them along, alternately, on his back. In this\nmanner, they had passed through the orchards and pastures on the lower\npart of the hill, and had reached the wood, which extends thence towards\nits bare summit.\n\nThe month of May, thus far, had been more amiable than it often is, and\nthis was as sweet and genial a day as the heart of man or child could\nwish. In their progress up the hill, the small people had found enough\nof violets, blue and white, and some that were as golden as if they had\nthe touch of Midas on them. That sociablest of flowers, the little\nHoustonia, was very abundant. It is a flower that never lives alone, but\nwhich loves its own kind, and is always fond of dwelling with a great\nmany friends and relatives around it. Sometimes you see a family of\nthem, covering a space no bigger than the palm of your hand; and\nsometimes a large community, whitening a whole tract of pasture, and all\nkeeping one another in cheerful heart and life.\n\nWithin the verge of the wood there were columbines, looking more pale\nthan red, because they were so modest, and had thought proper to seclude\nthemselves too anxiously from the sun. There were wild geraniums, too,\nand a thousand white blossoms of the strawberry. The trailing arbutus\nwas not yet quite out of bloom; but it hid its precious flowers under\nthe last year's withered forest-leaves, as carefully as a mother-bird\nhides its little young ones. It knew, I suppose, how beautiful and\nsweet-scented they were. So cunning was their concealment, that the\nchildren sometimes smelt the delicate richness of their perfume before\nthey knew whence it proceeded.\n\nAmid so much new life, it was strange and truly pitiful to behold, here\nand there, in the fields and pastures, the hoary periwigs of dandelions\nthat had already gone to seed. They had done with summer before the\nsummer came. Within those small globes of winged seeds it was autumn\nnow!\n\nWell, but we must not waste our valuable pages with any more talk about\nthe spring-time and wild flowers. There is something, we hope, more\ninteresting to be talked about. If you look at the group of children,\nyou may see them all gathered around Eustace Bright, who, sitting on the\nstump of a tree, seems to be just beginning a story. The fact is, the\nyounger part of the troop have found out that it takes rather too many\nof their short strides to measure the long ascent of the hill. Cousin\nEustace, therefore, has decided to leave Sweet Fern, Cowslip,\nSquash-Blossom, and Dandelion, at this point, midway up, until the\nreturn of the rest of the party from the summit. And because they\ncomplain a little, and do not quite like to stay behind, he gives them\nsome apples out of his pocket, and proposes to tell them a very pretty\nstory. Hereupon they brighten up, and change their grieved looks into\nthe broadest kind of smiles.\n\nAs for the story, I was there to hear it, hidden behind a bush, and\nshall tell it over to you in the pages that come next.\n\n\nThe Miraculous Pitcher\n\nOne evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his old wife Baucis sat\nat their cottage-door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They had\nalready eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend a quiet\nhour or two before bedtime. So they talked together about their garden,\nand their cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered over\nthe cottage-wall, and on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple.\nBut the rude shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs, in the\nvillage near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was\nhardly possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak.\n\n\"Ah, wife,\" cried Philemon, \"I fear some poor traveller is seeking\nhospitality among our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him food\nand lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is!\"\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" answered old Baucis, \"I do wish our neighbors felt a\nlittle more kindness for their fellow-creatures. And only think of\nbringing up their children in this naughty way, and patting them on the\nhead when they fling stones at strangers!\"\n\n\"Those children will never come to any good,\" said Philemon, shaking his\nwhite head. \"To tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some\nterrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village, unless\nthey mend their manners. But, as for you and me, so long as Providence\naffords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any poor,\nhomeless stranger, that may come along and need it.\"\n\n\"That's right, husband!\" said Baucis. \"So we will!\"\n\nThese old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work pretty\nhard for a living. Old Philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while\nBaucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a little butter and\ncheese with their cow's milk, or doing one thing and another about the\ncottage. Their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, and vegetables,\nwith sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and now and then a\nbunch of grapes, that had ripened against the cottage wall. But they\nwere two of the kindest old people in the world, and would cheerfully\nhave gone without their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of\ntheir brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of honey, to the\nweary traveller who might pause before their door. They felt as if such\nguests had a sort of holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to treat\nthem better and more bountifully than their own selves.\n\nTheir cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a\nvillage, which lay in a hollow valley, that was about half a mile in\nbreadth. This valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had probably\nbeen the bed of a lake. There, fishes had glided to and fro in the\ndepths, and water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and hills\nhad seen their reflected images in the broad and peaceful mirror. But,\nas the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built houses on\nit, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the ancient\nlake, except a very small brook, which meandered through the midst of\nthe village, and supplied the inhabitants with water. The valley had\nbeen dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up, and grown great and\nhigh, and perished with old age, and been succeeded by others, as tall\nand stately as the first. Never was there a prettier or more fruitful\nvalley. The very sight of the plenty around them should have made the\ninhabitants kind and gentle, and ready to show their gratitude to\nProvidence by doing good to their fellow-creatures.\n\nBut, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not\nworthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently.\nThey were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for\nthe poor, nor sympathy with the homeless. They would only have laughed,\nhad anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to one\nanother, because there is no other method of paying the debt of love and\ncare which all of us owe to Providence. You will hardly believe what I\nam going to tell you. These naughty people taught their children to be\nno better than themselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of\nencouragement, when they saw the little boys and girls run after some\npoor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelting him with stones. They\nkept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show\nhimself in the village street, this pack of disagreeable curs scampered\nto meet him, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth. Then they would\nseize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it happened; and if he\nwere ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object before he\nhad time to run away. This was a very terrible thing to poor travellers,\nas you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble,\nor lame, or old. Such persons (if they once knew how badly these unkind\npeople, and their unkind children and curs, were in the habit of\nbehaving) would go miles and miles out of their way, rather than try to\npass through the village again.\n\nWhat made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons\ncame in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their\nservants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil\nand obsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They would take off\ntheir hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the children\nwere rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for\nthe dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master\ninstantly beat him with a club, and tied him up without any supper. This\nwould have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers cared\nmuch about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and nothing\nwhatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar and the\nprince.\n\nSo now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he\nheard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the\nfarther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din, which\nlasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth of the\nvalley.\n\n\"I never heard the dogs so loud!\" observed the good old man.\n\n\"Nor the children so rude!\" answered his good old wife.\n\nThey sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came\nnearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which\ntheir cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot. Close\nbehind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A little\nfarther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries, and\nflung stones at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or twice,\nthe younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active figure)\nturned about and drove back the dogs with a staff which he carried in\nhis hand. His companion, who was a very tall person, walked calmly\nalong, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or the\npack of curs, whose manners the children seemed to imitate.\n\nBoth of the travellers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they\nmight not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's\nlodging. And this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had\nallowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely.\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said Philemon to Baucis, \"let us go and meet these poor\npeople. No doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the hill.\"\n\n\"Go you and meet them,\" answered Baucis, \"while I make haste within\ndoors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper. A\ncomfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising\ntheir spirits.\"\n\nAccordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Philemon, on his part, went\nforward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there\nwas no need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest\ntone imaginable,--\n\n\"Welcome, strangers! welcome!\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way,\nnotwithstanding his weariness and trouble. \"This is quite another\ngreeting than we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why do you\nlive in such a bad neighborhood?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smile, \"Providence\nput me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I may make you\nwhat amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbors.\"\n\n\"Well said, old father!\" cried the traveller, laughing; \"and, if the\ntruth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends. Those\nchildren (the little rascals!) have bespattered us finely with their\nmud-balls; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged\nenough already. But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I\nthink you may have heard him yelp, even thus far off.\"\n\nPhilemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would\nyou have fancied, by the traveller's look and manner, that he was weary\nwith a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough treatment\nat the end of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of\ncap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. Though it\nwas a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely\nabout him, perhaps because his under garments were shabby. Philemon\nperceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was\nnow growing dusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the sharpest,\nhe could not precisely tell in what the strangeness consisted. One\nthing, certainly, seemed queer. The traveller was so wonderfully light\nand active, that it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the\nground of their own accord, or could only be kept down by an effort.\n\n\"I used to be light-footed, in my youth,\" said Philemon to the\ntraveller. \"But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.\"\n\n\"There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,\" answered the\nstranger; \"and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.\"\n\nThis staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever\nbeheld. It was made of olivewood, and had something like a little pair\nof wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented\nas twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully\nexecuted that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather\ndim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and\ntwisting.\n\n\"A curious piece of work, sure enough!\" said he. \"A staff with wings! It\nwould be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride\nof!\"\n\nBy this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage door.\n\n\"Friends,\" said the old man, \"sit down and rest yourselves here on this\nbench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper.\nWe are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have in the\ncupboard.\"\n\nThe younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his\nstaff fall, as he did so. And here happened something rather\nmarvellous, though trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up from\nthe ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of wings,\nit half hopped, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of the\ncottage. There it stood quite still, except that the snakes continued to\nwriggle. But, in my private opinion, old Philemon's eyesight had been\nplaying him tricks again.\n\nBefore he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his attention\nfrom the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.\n\n\"Was there not,\" asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of voice,\n\"a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands\nyonder village?\"\n\n\"Not in my day, friend,\" answered Philemon; \"and yet I am an old man, as\nyou see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now,\nand the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst of\nthe valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it otherwise,\nso far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same, when old\nPhilemon shall be gone and forgotten!\"\n\n\"That is more than can be safely foretold,\" observed the stranger; and\nthere was something very stern in his deep voice. He shook his head,\ntoo, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement.\n\"Since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections\nand sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be\nrippling over their dwellings again!\"\n\nThe traveller looked so stern, that Philemon was really almost\nfrightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed\nsuddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a\nroll as of thunder in the air.\n\nBut, in a moment afterwards, the stranger's face became so kindly and\nmild that the old man quite forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could\nnot help feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary\npersonage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly and to be\njourneying on foot. Not that Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise,\nor any character of that sort; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who\nwent about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly\nobjects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom. This idea\nappeared the more probable, because, when Philemon raised his eyes to\nthe stranger's face, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look,\nthan he could have studied out in a lifetime.\n\nWhile Baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk\nvery sociably with Philemon. The younger, indeed, was extremely\nloquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old\nman continually burst out a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest\nfellow whom he had seen for many a day.\n\n\"Pray, my young friend,\" said he, as they grew familiar together, \"what\nmay I call your name?\"\n\n\"Why, I am very nimble, as you see,\" answered the traveller. \"So, if you\ncall me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well.\"\n\n\"Quicksilver? Quicksilver?\" repeated Philemon, looking in the\ntraveller's face, to see if he were making fun of him. \"It is a very odd\nname! And your companion there? Has he as strange a one?\"\n\n\"You must ask the thunder to tell it you!\" replied Quicksilver, putting\non a mysterious look. \"No other voice is loud enough.\"\n\nThis remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused\nPhilemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on\nventuring to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his\nvisage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever sat so\nhumbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it was with\ngravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly moved to tell\nhim everything which he had most at heart. This is always the feeling\nthat people have, when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend\nall their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.\n\nBut Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many\nsecrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the\nevents of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been\na score of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself had\ndwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by\nhonest labor, always poor, but still contented. He told what excellent\nbutter and cheese Baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he\nraised in his garden. He said, too, that, because they loved one another\nso very much, it was the wish of both that death might not separate\nthem, but that they should die, as they had lived, together.\n\nAs the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made\nits expression as sweet as it was grand.\n\n\"You are a good old man,\" said he to Philemon, \"and you have a good old\nwife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted.\"\n\nAnd it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a\nbright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.\n\nBaucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make\napologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her\nguests.\n\n\"Had we known you were coming,\" said she, \"my good man and myself would\nhave gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper.\nBut I took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and our last\nloaf is already half eaten. Ah me! I never feel the sorrow of being\npoor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door.\"\n\n\"All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,\" replied\nthe elder stranger, kindly. \"An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works\nmiracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to\nnectar and ambrosia.\"\n\n\"A welcome you shall have,\" cried Baucis, \"and likewise a little honey\nthat we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast!\" exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing,\n\"an absolute feast! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at\nit! I think I never felt hungrier in my life.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us!\" whispered Baucis to her husband. \"If the young man has\nsuch a terrible appetite, I am afraid there will not be half enough\nsupper!\"\n\nThey all went into the cottage.\n\nAnd now, my little auditors, shall I tell you something that will make\nyou open your eyes very wide? It is really one of the oddest\ncircumstances in the whole story. Quicksilver's staff, you recollect,\nhad set itself up against the wall of the cottage. Well; when its master\nentered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what should it do\nbut immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping and fluttering\nup the door steps! Tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen floor; nor\ndid it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity\nand decorum, beside Quicksilver's chair. Old Philemon, however, as well\nas his wife, was so taken up in attending to their guests, that no\nnotice was given to what the staff had been about.\n\nAs Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry\ntravellers. In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf,\nwith a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the\nother. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests.\nA moderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a\ncorner of the board; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and set them\nbefore the strangers, only a little milk remained in the bottom of the\npitcher. Alas! it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds\nitself pinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances. Poor Baucis kept\nwishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were possible,\nby so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper.\n\nAnd, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help\nwishing that their appetites had not been quite so large. Why, at their\nvery first sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the milk in\ntheir two bowls, at a draught.\n\n\"A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,\" said\nQuicksilver. \"The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear people,\" answered Baucis, in great confusion, \"I am so\nsorry and ashamed! But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in\nthe pitcher. O husband! husband! why didn't we go without our supper?\"\n\n\"Why, it appears to me,\" cried Quicksilver, starting up from table and\ntaking the pitcher by the handle, \"it really appears to me that matters\nare not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is certainly more milk\nin the pitcher.\"\n\nSo saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to fill,\nnot only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the pitcher,\nthat was supposed to be almost empty. The good woman could scarcely\nbelieve her eyes. She had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and\nhad peeped in afterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set\nit down upon the table.\n\n\"But I am old,\" thought Baucis to herself, \"and apt to be forgetful. I\nsuppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot\nhelp being empty now, after filling the bowls twice over.\"\n\n\"What excellent milk!\" observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the contents\nof the second bowl. \"Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask\nyou for a little more.\"\n\nNow Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that\nQuicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had\npoured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl. Of course,\nthere could not possibly be any left. However, in order to let him know\nprecisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture\nas if pouring milk into Quicksilver's bowl, but without the remotest\nidea that any milk would stream forth. What was her surprise, therefore,\nwhen such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, that it was\nimmediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the table! The two\nsnakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but neither Baucis\nnor Philemon happened to observe this circumstance) stretched out their\nheads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.\n\nAnd then what a delicious fragrance the milk had! It seemed as if\nPhilemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage\nthat could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish that each of you,\nmy beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at\nsupper-time!\n\n\"And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,\" said Quicksilver,\n\"and a little of that honey!\"\n\nBaucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and\nher husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be\npalatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of\nthe oven. Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it\nmore delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that\nit was a loaf of her own kneading and baking. Yet, what other loaf could\nit possibly be?\n\nBut, oh the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to\ndescribe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its color was that of the\npurest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a thousand\nflowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to\nseek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds. The wonder\nis, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so delicious fragrance and\nimmortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their\nhive in Philemon's garden. Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.\nThe perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that,\nhad you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low\nceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbor, with\ncelestial honeysuckles creeping over it.\n\nAlthough good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but\nthink that there was something rather out of the common way, in all that\nhad been going on. So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and\nlaying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by\nPhilemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.\n\n\"Did you ever hear the like?\" asked she.\n\n\"No, I never did,\" answered Philemon, with a smile. \"And I rather think,\nmy dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream. If I\nhad poured out the milk, I should have seen through the business at\nonce. There happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you\nthought,--that is all.\"\n\n\"Ah, husband,\" said Baucis, \"say what you will these are very uncommon\npeople.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied Philemon, still smiling, \"perhaps they are. They\ncertainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily\nglad to see them making so comfortable a supper.\"\n\nEach of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.\nBaucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of\nopinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each\nseparate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice. It\nwas entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been\nproduced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage\nwall.\n\n\"Very admirable grapes these!\" observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed one\nafter another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. \"Pray, my\ngood host, whence did you gather them?\"\n\n\"From my own vine,\" answered Philemon. \"You may see one of its branches\ntwisting across the window, yonder. But wife and I never thought the\ngrapes very fine ones.\"\n\n\"I never tasted better,\" said the guest. \"Another cup of this delicious\nmilk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince.\"\n\nThis time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for\nhe was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels\nwhich Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old wife was\nincapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she\nsupposed to be true; but this was so very singular a case, that he\nwanted to see into it with his own eyes. On taking up the pitcher,\ntherefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied that it\ncontained not so much as a single drop. All at once, however, he beheld\na little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher,\nand speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant\nmilk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the\nmiraculous pitcher from his hand.\n\n\"Who are ye, wonder-working strangers!\" cried he, even more bewildered\nthan his wife had been.\n\n\"Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends,\" replied the elder\ntraveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and\nawe-inspiring in it. \"Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your\npitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for\nthe needy wayfarer!\"\n\nThe supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their\nplace of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with them a\nlittle longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their\ndelight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and\nmore abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller had inspired them\nwith such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions. And when\nPhilemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a\nfountain of milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter\npersonage pointed to his staff.\n\n\"There is the whole mystery of the affair,\" quoth Quicksilver; \"and if\nyou can make it out, I'll thank you to let me know. I can't tell what to\nmake of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this;\nsometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If\nI had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched!\"\n\nHe said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather\nfancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his\nheels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old\ncouple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the\nevening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They had\ngiven up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed for\nthemselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their\nown hearts.\n\nThe old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the\nstrangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to\ndepart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,\nuntil Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,\nperhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast. The guests, however,\nseemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their journey\nbefore the heat of the day should come on. They, therefore, persisted in\nsetting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to walk forth\nwith them a short distance, and show them the road which they were to\ntake.\n\nSo they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old\nfriends. It was very remarkable, indeed, how familiar the old couple\ninsensibly grew with the elder traveller, and how their good and simple\nspirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the\nillimitable ocean. And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick,\nlaughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but\npeeped into their minds, before they suspected it themselves. They\nsometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so\nquick-witted, and also that he would fling away his staff, which looked\nso mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing about it.\nBut then, again, Quicksilver showed himself so very good-humored, that\nthey would have been rejoiced to keep him in their cottage, staff,\nsnakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.\n\n\"Ah me! Well-a-day!\" exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little\nway from their door. \"If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing it\nis to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their dogs,\nand never allow their children to fling another stone.\"\n\n\"It is a sin and shame for them to behave so,--that it is!\" cried good\nold Baucis, vehemently. \"And I mean to go this very day, and tell some\nof them what naughty people they are!\"\n\n\"I fear,\" remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, \"that you will find none\nof them at home.\"\n\nThe elder traveller's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and\nawful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon\ndared to speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, as if they\nhad been gazing at the sky.\n\n\"When men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a\nbrother,\" said the traveller, in tones so deep that they sounded like\nthose of an organ, \"they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was\ncreated as the abode of a great human brotherhood!\"\n\n\"And, by the by, my dear old people,\" cried Quicksilver, with the\nliveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, \"where is this same\nvillage that you talk about? On which side of us does it lie? Methinks I\ndo not see it hereabouts.\"\n\nPhilemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset, only\nthe day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the\nclumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing\nin it, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and prosperity. But\nwhat was their astonishment! There was no longer any appearance of a\nvillage! Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had\nceased to have existence. In its stead, they beheld the broad, blue\nsurface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the valley from brim\nto brim, and reflected the surrounding hills in its bosom with as\ntranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the creation of the\nworld. For an instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth. Then, a\nlittle breeze sprang up, and caused the water to dance, glitter, and\nsparkle in the early sunbeams, and to dash, with a pleasant rippling\nmurmur, against the hither shore.\n\nThe lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were greatly\nperplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming about a\nvillage having lain there. But, the next moment, they remembered the\nvanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far\ntoo distinctly for a dream. The village had been there yesterday, and\nnow was gone!\n\n\"Alas!\" cried these kind-hearted old people, \"what has become of our\npoor neighbors?\"\n\n\"They exist no longer as men and women,\" said the elder traveller, in\nhis grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a\ndistance. \"There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs;\nfor they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the\nexercise of kindly affections between man and man. They retained no\nimage of the better life in their bosoms; therefore, the lake, that was\nof old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the sky!\"\n\n\"And as for those foolish people,\" said Quicksilver, with his\nmischievous smile, \"they are all transformed to fishes. There needed but\nlittle change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the\ncoldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind Mother Baucis, whenever\nyou or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can\nthrow in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbors!\"\n\n\"All,\" cried Baucis, shuddering, \"I would not, for the world, put one of\nthem on the gridiron!\"\n\n\"No,\" added Philemon, making a wry face, \"we could never relish them!\"\n\n\"As for you, good Philemon,\" continued the elder traveller,--\"and you,\nkind Baucis,--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much\nheartfelt hospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger,\nthat the milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown\nloaf and the honey were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, at\nyour board, off the same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus.\nYou have done well, my dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever\nfavor you have most at heart, and it is granted.\"\n\nPhilemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then,--I know not which\nof the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both\ntheir hearts.\n\n\"Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same\ninstant, when we die! For we have always loved one another!\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. \"Now, look\ntowards your cottage!\"\n\nThey did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of\nwhite marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their\nhumble residence had so lately stood!\n\n\"There is your home,\" said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them\nboth. \"Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace as freely as in the\npoor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening.\"\n\nThe old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! neither he\nnor Quicksilver was there.\n\nSo Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and\nspent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making\neverybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way. The\nmilk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvellous quality\nof being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an\nhonest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this\npitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid\nthat ever ran down his throat. But, if a cross and disagreeable\ncurmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage\ninto a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk!\n\nThus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew\nolder and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there came a\nsummer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their appearance,\nas on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their\npleasant faces, to invite the guests of over-night to breakfast. The\nguests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace,\nand all to no purpose. But, after a great deal of perplexity, they\nespied, in front of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could\nremember to have seen there the day before. Yet there they stood, with\ntheir roots fastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage\novershadowing the whole front of the edifice. One was an oak, and the\nother a linden-tree. Their boughs--it was strange and beautiful to\nsee--were intertwined together, and embraced one another, so that each\ntree seemed to live in the other tree's bosom much more than in its own.\n\nWhile the guests were marvelling how these trees, that must have\nrequired at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and\nvenerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their\nintermingled boughs astir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in\nthe air, as if the two mysterious trees were speaking.\n\n\"I am old Philemon!\" murmured the oak.\n\n\"I am old Baucis!\" murmured the linden-tree.\n\nBut, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at\nonce,--\"Philemon! Baucis! Baucis! Philemon!\"--as if one were both and\nboth were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart.\nIt was plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed\ntheir age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or\nso, Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden-tree. And oh, what a\nhospitable shade did they fling around them. Whenever a wayfarer paused\nbeneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head,\nand wondered how the sound should so much resemble words like these:--\n\n\"Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome!\"\n\nAnd some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old\nPhilemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where,\nfor a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty\nused to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out of the\nmiraculous pitcher.\n\nAnd I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!\n\nThe Hill-Side\n\n_After the Story_\n\n\"How much did the pitcher hold?\" asked Sweet Fern. \"It did not hold\nquite a quart,\" answered the student; \"but you might keep pouring milk\nout of it, till you should fill a hogshead, if you pleased. The truth\nis, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at midsummer,--which is\nmore than can be said of yonder rill, that goes babbling down the\nhill-side.\"\n\n\"And what has become of the pitcher now?\" inquired the little boy.\n\n\"It was broken, I am sorry to say, about twenty-five thousand years\nago,\" replied Cousin Eustace. \"The people mended it as well as they\ncould, but, though it would hold milk pretty well, it was never\nafterwards known to fill itself of its own accord. So, you see, it was\nno better than any other cracked earthen pitcher.\"\n\n\"What a pity!\" cried all the children at once.\n\nThe respectable dog Ben had accompanied the party, as did likewise a\nhalf-grown Newfoundland puppy, who went by the name of Bruin, because he\nwas just as black as a bear. Ben, being elderly, and of very circumspect\nhabits, was respectfully requested, by Cousin Eustace, to stay behind\nwith the four little children, in order to keep them out of mischief. As\nfor black Bruin, who was himself nothing but a child, the student\nthought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play with the\nother children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling and\ntumbling down the hill. Advising Cowslip, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, and\nSquash-Blossom to sit pretty still, in the spot where he left them, the\nstudent, with Primrose and the elder children, began to ascend, and were\nsoon out of sight among the trees.\n\n\nTHE CHIMAERA\n\n\nBald-Summit\n\n_Introductory to \"The Chimaera\"_\n\nUpward, along the steep and wooded hill-side, went Eustace Bright and\nhis companions. The trees were not yet in full leaf, but had budded\nforth sufficiently to throw an airy shadow, while the sunshine filled\nthem with green light. There were moss-grown rocks, half hidden among\nthe old, brown, fallen leaves; there were rotten tree-trunks, lying at\nfull length where they had long ago fallen; there were decayed boughs,\nthat had been shaken down by the wintry gales, and were scattered\neverywhere about. But still, though these things looked so aged, the\naspect of the wood was that of the newest life; for, whichever way you\nturned your eyes, something fresh and green was springing forth, so as\nto be ready for the summer.\n\nAt last, the young people reached the upper verge of the wood, and found\nthemselves almost at the summit of the hill. It was not a peak, nor a\ngreat round ball, but a pretty wide plain, or table-land, with a house\nand barn upon it, at some distance. That house was the home of a\nsolitary family; and often-times the clouds, whence fell the rain, and\nwhence the snow-storm drifted down into the valley, hung lower than this\nbleak and lonely dwelling-place.\n\nOn the highest point of the hill was a heap of stones, in the centre of\nwhich was stuck a long pole, with a little flag fluttering at the end of\nit. Eustace led the children thither, and bade them look around, and\nsee how large a tract of our beautiful world they could take in at a\nglance. And their eyes grew wider as they looked.\n\nMonument Mountain, to the southward, was still in the centre of the\nscene, but seemed to have sunk and subsided, so that it was now but an\nundistinguished member of a large family of hills. Beyond it, the\nTaconic range looked higher and bulkier than before. Our pretty lake was\nseen, with all its little bays and inlets; and not that alone, but two\nor three new lakes were opening their blue eyes to the sun. Several\nwhite villages, each with its steeple, were scattered about in the\ndistance. There were so many farm-houses, with their acres of woodland,\npasture, mowing-fields, and tillage, that the children could hardly make\nroom in their minds to receive all these different objects. There, too,\nwas Tanglewood, which they had hitherto thought such an important apex\nof the world. It now occupied so small a space, that they gazed far\nbeyond it, and on either side, and searched a good while with all their\neyes, before discovering whereabout it stood.\n\nWhite, fleecy clouds were hanging in the air, and threw the dark spots\nof their shadow here and there over the landscape. But, by and by, the\nsunshine was where the shadow had been, and the shadow was somewhere\nelse.\n\nFar to the westward was a range of blue mountains, which Eustace Bright\ntold the children were the Catskills. Among those misty hills, he said,\nwas a spot where some old Dutchmen were playing an everlasting game of\nnine-pins, and where an idle fellow, whose name was Rip Van Winkle, had\nfallen asleep, and slept twenty years at a stretch. The children eagerly\nbesought Eustace to tell them all about this wonderful affair. But the\nstudent replied that the story had been told once already, and better\nthan it ever could be told again; and that nobody would have a right to\nalter a word of it, until it should have grown as old as \"The Gorgon's\nHead,\" and \"The Three Golden Apples,\" and the rest of those miraculous\nlegends.\n\n\"At least,\" said Periwinkle, \"while we rest ourselves here, and are\nlooking about us, you can tell us another of your own stories.\"\n\n\"Yes, Cousin Eustace,\" cried Primrose, \"I advise you to tell us a story\nhere. Take some lofty subject or other, and see if your imagination will\nnot come up to it. Perhaps the mountain air may make you poetical, for\nonce. And no matter how strange and wonderful the story may be, now that\nwe are up among the clouds, we can believe anything.\"\n\n\"Can you believe,\" asked Eustace, \"that there was once a winged horse?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said saucy Primrose; \"but I am afraid you will never be able to\ncatch him.\"\n\n\"For that matter, Primrose,\" rejoined the student, \"I might possibly\ncatch Pegasus, and get upon his back, too, as well as a dozen other\nfellows that I know of. At any rate, here is a story about him; and, of\nall places in the world, it ought certainly to be told upon a\nmountain-top.\"\n\nSo, sitting on the pile of stones, while the children clustered\nthemselves at its base, Eustace fixed his eyes on a white cloud that was\nsailing by, and began as follows.\n\n\nThe Chimaera\n\nOnce, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell you\nabout happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain gushed out\nof a hill-side, in the marvellous land of Greece. And, for aught I know,\nafter so many thousand years, it is still gushing out of the very\nselfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain, welling\nfreshly forth and sparkling adown the hill-side, in the golden sunset,\nwhen a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its margin. In his\nhand he held a bridle, studded with brilliant gems, and adorned with a\ngolden bit. Seeing an old man, and another of middle age, and a little\nboy, near the fountain, and likewise a maiden, who was dipping up some\nof the water in a pitcher, he paused, and begged that he might refresh\nhimself with a draught.\n\n\"This is very delicious water,\" he said to the maiden as he rinsed and\nfilled her pitcher, after drinking out of it. \"Will you be kind enough\nto tell me whether the fountain has any name?\"\n\n\"Yes; it is called the Fountain of Pirene,\" answered the maiden; and\nthen she added, \"My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain was\nonce a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows of the\nhuntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the water, which\nyou find so cool and sweet, is the sorrow of that poor mother's heart!\"\n\n\"I should not have dreamed,\" observed the young stranger, \"that so clear\na well-spring, with its gush and gurgle, and its cheery dance out of the\nshade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in its bosom! And\nthis, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for telling me its\nname. I have come from a far-away country to find this very spot.\"\n\nA middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of the\nspring) stared hard at young Bellerophon, and at the handsome bridle\nwhich he carried in his hand.\n\n\"The water-courses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the\nworld,\" remarked he, \"if you come so far only to find the Fountain of\nPirene. But, pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle in\nyour hand; and a very pretty one it is with that double row of bright\nstones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are much to\nbe pitied for losing him.\"\n\n\"I have lost no horse,\" said Bellerophon, with a smile. \"But I happen to\nbe seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed me,\nmust be found hereabouts, if anywhere. Do you know whether the winged\nhorse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used to do in\nyour forefathers' days?\"\n\nBut then the country fellow laughed.\n\nSome of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus\nwas a snow-white steed, with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most of\nhis time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild, and as swift,\nand as buoyant, in his flight through the air, as any eagle that ever\nsoared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in the world. He\nhad no mate; he never had been backed or bridled by a master; and, for\nmany a long year, he led a solitary and a happy life.\n\nOh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as\nhe did, on a lofty mountain-top, and passing the greater part of the day\nin the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.\nWhenever he was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the\nsunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged\nto the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among\nour mists and vapors, and was seeking his way back again. It was very\npretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright cloud, and\nbe lost in it, for a moment or two, and then break forth from the other\nside. Or, in a sullen rain-storm, when there was a gray pavement of\nclouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that the winged\nhorse descended right through it, and the glad light of the upper region\nwould gleam after him. In another instant, it is true, both Pegasus and\nthe pleasant light would be gone away together. But any one that was\nfortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt cheerful the whole\nday afterwards, and as much longer as the storm lasted.\n\nIn the summer-time, and in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often\nalighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would\ngallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fleetly as the wind. Oftener\nthan in any other place, he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene,\ndrinking the delicious water, or rolling himself upon the soft grass of\nthe margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his food), he\nwould crop a few of the clover-blossoms that happened to be sweetest.\n\nTo the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had\nbeen in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful, and retained\ntheir faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse at the\nbeautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom seen.\nIndeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within half an\nhour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not\nbelieve that there was any such creature in existence. The country\nfellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those\nincredulous persons.\n\nAnd that was the reason why he laughed.\n\n\"Pegasus, indeed!\" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat\nnose could be turned up,--\"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why,\nfriend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?\nCould he drag the plough so well, think you? To be sure, there might be\na little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how would a man like\nto see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him\nup above the clouds, when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I\ndon't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a\nhorse-fowl made!\"\n\n\"I have some reason to think otherwise,\" said Bellerophon, quietly.\n\nAnd then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff, and\nlistening very attentively, with his head stretched forward, and one\nhand at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been getting\nrather deaf.\n\n\"And what say you, venerable sir?\" inquired he. \"In your younger days, I\nshould imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!\"\n\n\"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!\" said the aged man. \"When I\nwas a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a\nhorse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to\nthink, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever\nsaw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the\ntruth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I\nwas quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof-tramps round about the\nbrink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof-marks; and so\nmight some other horse.\"\n\n\"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?\" asked Bellerophon of the\ngirl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went on.\n\"You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes are very\nbright.\"\n\n\"Once I thought I saw him,\" replied the maiden, with a smile and a\nblush. \"It was either Pegasus, or a large white bird, a very great way\nup in the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain with\nmy pitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as\nthat was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it\nstartled me, nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my\npitcher.\"\n\n\"That was truly a pity!\" said Bellerophon.\n\nAnd he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the\nstory, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at\nstrangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.\n\n\"Well, my little fellow,\" cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of\nhis curls, \"I suppose you have often seen the winged horse.\"\n\n\"That I have,\" answered the child, very readily. \"I saw him yesterday,\nand many times before.\"\n\n\"You are a fine little man!\" said Bellerophon, drawing the child closer\nto him. \"Come, tell me all about it.\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied the child, \"I often come here to sail little boats in the\nfountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And sometimes,\nwhen I look down into the water, I see the image of the winged horse, in\nthe picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would come down, and\ntake me on his back, and let me ride him up to the moon! But, if I so\nmuch as stir to look at him, he flies far away out of sight.\"\n\nAnd Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of\nPegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so\nmelodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only in\ncart-horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful things of\nhis youth.\n\nTherefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many days\nafterwards. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at the sky,\nor else down into the water, hoping forever that he should see either\nthe reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvellous reality. He\nheld the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit, always ready in\nhis hand. The rustic people, who dwelt in the neighborhood, and drove\ntheir cattle to the fountain to drink, would often laugh at poor\nBellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty severely to task. They told\nhim that an able-bodied young man, like himself, ought to have better\nbusiness than to be wasting his time in such an idle pursuit. They\noffered to sell him a horse, if he wanted one; and when Bellerophon\ndeclined the purchase, they tried to drive a bargain with him for his\nfine bridle.\n\nEven the country boys thought him so very foolish, that they used to\nhave a great deal of sport about him, and were rude enough not to care a\nfig, although Bellerophon saw and heard it. One little urchin, for\nexample, would play Pegasus, and cut the oddest imaginable capers, by\nway of flying; while one of his schoolfellows would scamper after him,\nholding forth a twist of bulrushes, which was intended to represent\nBellerophon's ornamental bridle. But the gentle child, who had seen the\npicture of Pegasus in the water, comforted the young stranger more than\nall the naughty boys could torment him. The dear little fellow, in his\nplay-hours, often sat down beside him, and, without speaking a word,\nwould look down into the fountain and up towards the sky, with so\ninnocent a faith, that Bellerophon could not help feeling encouraged.\n\nNow you will, perhaps, wish to be told why it was that Bellerophon had\nundertaken to catch the winged horse. And we shall find no better\nopportunity to speak about this matter than while he is waiting for\nPegasus to appear.\n\nIf I were to relate the whole of Bellerophon's previous adventures, they\nmight easily grow into a very long story. It will be quite enough to\nsay, that, in a certain country of Asia, a terrible monster, called a\nChimaera, had made its appearance, and was doing more mischief than could\nbe talked about between now and sunset. According to the best accounts\nwhich I have been able to obtain, this Chimaera was nearly, if not quite,\nthe ugliest and most poisonous creature, and the strangest and\nunaccountablest, and the hardest to fight with, and the most difficult\nto run away from, that ever came out of the earth's inside. It had a\ntail like a boa-constrictor; its body was like I do not care what; and\nit had three separate heads, one of which was a lion's, the second a\ngoat's, and the third an abominably great snake's. And a hot blast of\nfire came flaming out of each of its three mouths! Being an earthly\nmonster, I doubt whether it had any wings; but, wings or no, it ran like\na goat and a lion, and wriggled along like a serpent, and thus contrived\nto make about as much speed as all the three together.\n\n[Illustration: BELLEROPHON BY THE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE]\n\nOh, the mischief, and mischief, and mischief that this naughty creature\ndid! With its flaming breath, it could set a forest on fire, or burn up\na field of grain, or, for that matter, a village, with all its fences\nand houses. It laid waste the whole country round about, and used to eat\nup people and animals alive, and cook them afterwards in the burning\noven of its stomach. Mercy on us, little children, I hope neither you\nnor I will ever happen to meet a Chimaera!\n\nWhile the hateful beast (if a beast we can anywise call it) was doing\nall these horrible things, it so chanced that Bellerophon came to that\npart of the world, on a visit to the king. The king's name was Iobates,\nand Lycia was the country which he ruled over. Bellerophon was one of\nthe bravest youths in the world, and desired nothing so much as to do\nsome valiant and beneficent deed, such as would make all mankind admire\nand love him. In those days, the only way for a young man to distinguish\nhimself was by fighting battles, either with the enemies of his country,\nor with wicked giants, or with troublesome dragons, or with wild beasts,\nwhen he could find nothing more dangerous to encounter. King Iobates,\nperceiving the courage of his youthful visitor, proposed to him to go\nand fight the Chimaera, which everybody else was afraid of, and which,\nunless it should be soon killed, was likely to convert Lycia into a\ndesert. Bellerophon hesitated not a moment, but assured the king that he\nwould either slay this dreaded Chimaera, or perish in the attempt.\n\nBut, in the first place, as the monster was so prodigiously swift, he\nbethought himself that he should never win the victory by fighting on\nfoot. The wisest thing he could do, therefore, was to get the very best\nand fleetest horse that could anywhere be found. And what other horse,\nin all the world, was half so fleet as the marvellous horse Pegasus, who\nhad wings as well as legs, and was even more active in the air than on\nthe earth? To be sure, a great many people denied that there was any\nsuch horse with wings, and said that the stories about him were all\npoetry and nonsense. But, wonderful as it appeared, Bellerophon believed\nthat Pegasus was a real steed, and hoped that he himself might be\nfortunate enough to find him; and, once fairly mounted on his back, he\nwould be able to fight the Chimaera at better advantage.\n\nAnd this was the purpose with which he had travelled from Lycia to\nGreece, and had brought the beautifully ornamented bridle in his hand.\nIt was an enchanted bridle. If he could only succeed in putting the\ngolden bit into the mouth of Pegasus, the winged horse would be\nsubmissive, and would own Bellerophon for his master, and fly\nwhithersoever he might choose to turn the rein.\n\nBut, indeed, it was a weary and anxious time, while Bellerophon waited\nand waited for Pegasus, in hopes that he would come and drink at the\nFountain of Pirene. He was afraid lest King Iobates should imagine that\nhe had fled from the Chimaera. It pained him, too, to think how much\nmischief the monster was doing, while he himself, instead of fighting\nwith it, was compelled to sit idly poring over the bright waters of\nPirene, as they gushed out of the sparkling sand. And as Pegasus came\nthither so seldom in these latter years, and scarcely alighted there\nmore than once in a lifetime, Bellerophon feared that he might grow an\nold man, and have no strength left in his arms nor courage in his heart,\nbefore the winged horse would appear. Oh, how heavily passes the time,\nwhile an adventurous youth is yearning to do his part in life, and to\ngather in the harvest of his renown! How hard a lesson it is to wait!\nOur life is brief, and how much of it is spent in teaching us only this!\n\nWell was it for Bellerophon that the gentle child had grown so fond of\nhim, and was never weary of keeping him company. Every morning the child\ngave him a new hope to put in his bosom, instead of yesterday's withered\none.\n\n\"Dear Bellerophon,\" he would cry, looking up hopefully into his face, \"I\nthink we shall see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd, at length, if it had not been for the little boy's unwavering\nfaith, Bellerophon would have given up all hope, and would have gone\nback to Lycia, and have done his best to slay the Chimaera without the\nhelp of the winged horse. And in that case poor Bellerophon would at\nleast have been terribly scorched by the creature's breath, and would\nmost probably have been killed and devoured. Nobody should ever try to\nfight an earth-born Chimaera, unless he can first get upon the back of an\naerial steed.\n\nOne morning the child spoke to Bellerophon even more hopefully than\nusual.\n\n\"Dear, dear Bellerophon,\" cried he, \"I know not why it is, but I feel as\nif we should certainly see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd all that day he would not stir a step from Bellerophon's side; so\nthey ate a crust of bread together, and drank some of the water of the\nfountain. In the afternoon, there they sat, and Bellerophon had thrown\nhis arm around the child, who likewise had put one of his little hands\ninto Bellerophon's. The latter was lost in his own thoughts, and was\nfixing his eyes vacantly on the trunks of the trees that overshadowed\nthe fountain, and on the grapevines that clambered up among their\nbranches. But the gentle child was gazing down into the water; he was\ngrieved, for Bellerophon's sake, that the hope of another day should be\ndeceived, like so many before it; and two or three quiet tear-drops fell\nfrom his eyes, and mingled with what were said to be the many tears of\nPirene, when she wept for her slain children.\n\nBut, when he least thought of it, Bellerophon felt the pressure of the\nchild's little hand, and heard a soft, almost breathless, whisper.\n\n\"See there, dear Bellerophon! There is an image in the water!\"\n\nThe young man looked down into the dimpling mirror of the fountain, and\nsaw what he took to be the reflection of a bird which seemed to be\nflying at a great height in the air, with a gleam of sunshine on its\nsnowy or silvery wings.\n\n\"What a splendid bird it must be!\" said he. \"And how very large it\nlooks, though it must really be flying higher than the clouds!\"\n\n\"It makes me tremble!\" whispered the child. \"I am afraid to look up into\nthe air! It is very beautiful, and yet I dare only look at its image in\nthe water. Dear Bellerophon, do you not see that it is no bird? It is\nthe winged horse Pegasus!\"\n\nBellerophon's heart began to throb! He gazed keenly upward, but could\nnot see the winged creature, whether bird or horse; because, just then,\nit had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud. It was but a\nmoment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly down out\nof the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the earth.\nBellerophon caught the child in his arms, and shrank back with him, so\nthat they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which grew all\naround the fountain. Not that he was afraid of any harm, but he dreaded\nlest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far away, and\nalight in some inaccessible mountain-top. For it was really the winged\nhorse. After they had expected him so long, he was coming to quench his\nthirst with the water of Pirene.\n\nNearer and nearer came the aerial wonder, flying in great circles, as\nyou may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus, in\nthose wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower still,\nas he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of him, the\nmore beautiful he was, and the more marvellous the sweep of his silvery\nwings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend the grass\nabout the fountain, or imprint a hoof-tramp in the sand of its margin,\nhe alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink. He drew in the\nwater, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil pauses of enjoyment;\nand then another draught, and another, and another. For, nowhere in the\nworld, or up among the clouds, did Pegasus love any water as he loved\nthis of Pirene. And when his thirst was slaked, he cropped a few of the\nhoney-blossoms of the clover, delicately tasting them, but not caring to\nmake a hearty meal, because the herbage, just beneath the clouds, on the\nlofty sides of Mount Helicon, suited his palate better than this\nordinary grass.\n\nAfter thus drinking to his heart's content, and in his dainty fashion,\ncondescending to take a little food, the winged horse began to caper to\nand fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and sport. There\nnever was a more playful creature made than this very Pegasus. So there\nhe frisked, in a way that it delights me to think about, fluttering his\ngreat wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and running little races,\nhalf on earth and half in air, and which I know not whether to call a\nflight or a gallop. When a creature is perfectly able to fly, he\nsometimes chooses to run, just for the pastime of the thing; and so did\nPegasus, although it cost him some little trouble to keep his hoofs so\nnear the ground. Bellerophon, meanwhile, holding the child's hand,\npeeped forth from the shrubbery, and thought that never was any sight\nso beautiful as this, nor ever a horse's eyes so wild and spirited as\nthose of Pegasus. It seemed a sin to think of bridling him and riding on\nhis back.\n\nOnce or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his\nears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly\nsuspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing\nno sound, he soon began his antics again.\n\nAt length,--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious,--Pegasus\nfolded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too\nfull of aerial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon\nrolled over on his back, with his four slender legs in the air. It was\nbeautiful to see him, this one solitary creature, whose mate had never\nbeen created, but who needed no companion, and, living a great many\nhundred years, was as happy as the centuries were long. The more he did\nsuch things as mortal horses are accustomed to do, the less earthly and\nthe more wonderful he seemed. Bellerophon and the child almost held\ntheir breath, partly from a delightful awe, but still more because they\ndreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send him up, with the\nspeed of an arrow-flight, into the farthest blue of the sky.\n\nFinally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus turned\nhimself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out his fore\nlegs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who had guessed\nthat he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and leaped\nastride of his back.\n\nYes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!\n\nBut what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt the\nweight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he had\ntime to draw a breath, Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet\naloft, and still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and\ntrembled with terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he\nplunged into the cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little\nwhile before, Bellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very\npleasant spot. Then again, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot\ndown like a thunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his\nrider headlong against a rock. Then he went through about a thousand of\nthe wildest caprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird or a\nhorse.\n\nI cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and\nsideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on a\nwreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out his\nheels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his wings\npointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the earth, he\nturned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where his head\nshould have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky, instead of\nup. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in the face,\nwith fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to bite him.\nHe fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver feathers was\nshaken out, and floating earthward, was picked up by the child, who kept\nit as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and Bellerophon.\n\nBut the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever\ngalloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the\ngolden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No\nsooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had\ntaken food, all his life, out of Bellerophon's hand. To speak what I\nreally feel, it was almost a sadness to see so wild a creature grow\nsuddenly so tame. And Pegasus seemed to feel it so, likewise. He looked\nround to Bellerophon, with the tears in his beautiful eyes, instead of\nthe fire that so recently flashed from them. But when Bellerophon patted\nhis head, and spoke a few authoritative, yet kind and soothing words,\nanother look came into the eyes of Pegasus; for he was glad at heart,\nafter so many lonely centuries, to have found a companion and a master.\n\nThus it always is with winged horses, and with all such wild and\nsolitary creatures. If you can catch and overcome them, it is the surest\nway to win their love.\n\nWhile Pegasus had been doing his utmost to shake Bellerophon off his\nback, he had flown a very long distance; and they had come within sight\nof a lofty mountain by the time the bit was in his mouth. Bellerophon\nhad seen this mountain before, and knew it to be Helicon, on the summit\nof which was the winged horse's abode. Thither (after looking gently\ninto his rider's face, as if to ask leave) Pegasus now flew, and,\nalighting, waited patiently until Bellerophon should please to dismount.\nThe young man, accordingly, leaped from his steed's back, but still held\nhim fast by the bridle. Meeting his eyes, however, he was so affected by\nthe gentleness of his aspect, and by the thought of the free life which\nPegasus had heretofore lived, that he could not bear to keep him a\nprisoner, if he really desired his liberty.\n\nObeying this generous impulse he slipped the enchanted bridle off the\nhead of Pegasus, and took the bit from his mouth.\n\n\"Leave me, Pegasus!\" said he. \"Either leave me, or love me.\"\n\nIn an instant, the winged horse shot almost out of sight, soaring\nstraight upward from the summit of Mount Helicon. Being long after\nsunset, it was now twilight on the mountain-top, and dusky evening over\nall the country round about. But Pegasus flew so high that he overtook\nthe departed day, and was bathed in the upper radiance of the sun.\nAscending higher and higher, he looked like a bright speck, and, at\nlast, could no longer be seen in the hollow waste of the sky. And\nBellerophon was afraid that he should never behold him more. But, while\nhe was lamenting his own folly, the bright speck reappeared, and drew\nnearer and nearer, until it descended lower than the sunshine; and,\nbehold, Pegasus had come back! After this trial there was no more fear\nof the winged horse's making his escape. He and Bellerophon were\nfriends, and put loving faith in one another.\n\nThat night they lay down and slept together, with Bellerophon's arm\nabout the neck of Pegasus, not as a caution, but for kindness. And they\nawoke at peep of day, and bade one another good morning, each in his own\nlanguage.\n\nIn this manner, Bellerophon and the wondrous steed spent several days,\nand grew better acquainted and fonder of each other all the time. They\nwent on long aerial journeys, and sometimes ascended so high that the\nearth looked hardly bigger than--the moon. They visited distant\ncountries, and amazed the inhabitants, who thought that the beautiful\nyoung man, on the back of the winged horse, must have come down out of\nthe sky. A thousand miles a day was no more than an easy space for the\nfleet Pegasus to pass over. Bellerophon was delighted with this kind of\nlife, and would have liked nothing better than to live always in the\nsame way, aloft in the clear atmosphere; for it was always sunny weather\nup there, however cheerless and rainy it might be in the lower region.\nBut he could not forget the horrible Chimaera, which he had promised King\nIobates to slay. So, at last, when he had become well accustomed to\nfeats of horsemanship in the air, and could manage Pegasus with the\nleast motion of his hand, and had taught him to obey his voice, he\ndetermined to attempt the performance of this perilous adventure.\n\nAt daybreak, therefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes, he gently\npinched the winged horse's ear, in order to arouse him. Pegasus\nimmediately started from the ground, and pranced about a quarter of a\nmile aloft, and made a grand sweep around the mountain-top, by way of\nshowing that he was wide awake, and ready for any kind of an excursion.\nDuring the whole of this little flight, he uttered a loud, brisk, and\nmelodious neigh, and finally came down at Bellerophon's side, as\nlightly as ever you saw a sparrow hop upon a twig.\n\n\"Well done, dear Pegasus! well done, my sky-skimmer!\" cried Bellerophon,\nfondly stroking the horse's neck. \"And now, my fleet and beautiful\nfriend, we must break our fast. To-day we are to fight the terrible\nChimaera.\"\n\nAs soon as they had eaten their morning meal, and drank some sparkling\nwater from a spring called Hippocrene, Pegasus held out his head, of his\nown accord, so that his master might put on the bridle. Then, with a\ngreat many playful leaps and airy caperings, he showed his impatience to\nbe gone; while Bellerophon was girding on his sword, and hanging his\nshield about his neck, and preparing himself for battle. When everything\nwas ready, the rider mounted, and (as was his custom, when going a long\ndistance) ascended five miles perpendicularly, so as the better to see\nwhither he was directing his course. He then turned the head of Pegasus\ntowards the east, and set out for Lycia. In their flight they overtook\nan eagle, and came so nigh him, before he could get out of their way,\nthat Bellerophon might easily have caught him by the leg. Hastening\nonward at this rate, it was still early in the forenoon when they beheld\nthe lofty mountains of Lycia, with their deep and shaggy valleys. If\nBellerophon had been told truly, it was in one of those dismal valleys\nthat the hideous Chimaera had taken up its abode.\n\nBeing now so near their journey's end, the winged horse gradually\ndescended with his rider; and they took advantage of some clouds that\nwere floating over the mountain-tops, in order to conceal themselves.\nHovering on the upper surface of a cloud, and peeping over its edge,\nBellerophon had a pretty distinct view of the mountainous part of Lycia,\nand could look into all its shadowy vales at once. At first there\nappeared to be nothing remarkable. It was a wild, savage, and rocky\ntract of high and precipitous hills. In the more level part of the\ncountry, there were the ruins of houses that had been burnt, and, here\nand there, the carcasses of dead cattle, strewn about the pastures where\nthey had been feeding.\n\n\"The Chimaera must have done this mischief,\" thought Bellerophon. \"But\nwhere can the monster be?\"\n\nAs I have already said, there was nothing remarkable to be detected, at\nfirst sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the\nprecipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed it\nwere three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to be\nthe mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.\nBefore reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke-wreaths\nmingled themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath the\nwinged horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand feet.\nThe smoke, as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous, stifling\nscent, which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to sneeze. So\ndisagreeable was it to the marvellous steed (who was accustomed to\nbreathe only the purest air), that he waved his wings, and shot half a\nmile out of the range of this offensive vapor.\n\nBut, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him\nfirst to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a\nsign, which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the\nair, until his hoofs were scarcely more than a man's height above the\nrocky bottom of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a\nstone, was the cavern's mouth, with the three smoke-wreaths oozing out\nof it. And what else did Bellerophon behold there?\n\nThere seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up\nwithin the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together, that Bellerophon\ncould not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their heads, one of\nthese creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce lion, and the\nthird an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep; the snake was\nbroad awake, and kept staring around him with a great pair of fiery\neyes. But--and this was the most wonderful part of the matter--the three\nspires of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils of these three heads!\nSo strange was the spectacle, that, though Bellerophon had been all\nalong expecting it, the truth did not immediately occur to him, that\nhere was the terrible three-headed Chimaera. He had found out the\nChimaera's cavern. The snake, the lion, and the goat, as he supposed them\nto be, were not three separate creatures, but one monster!\n\nThe wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two thirds of it were, it still\nheld, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate lamb,--or\npossibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little boy,--which its\nthree mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell asleep!\n\nAll at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be the\nChimaera. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent forth\na neigh, that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At this\nsound the three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out great\nflashes of flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what to do\nnext, the monster flung itself out of the cavern and sprung straight\ntowards him, with its immense claws extended, and its snaky tail\ntwisting itself venomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as nimble as\na bird, both he and his rider would have been overthrown by the\nChimera's headlong rush, and thus the battle have been ended before it\nwas well begun. But the winged horse was not to be caught so. In the\ntwinkling of an eye he was up aloft, half-way to the clouds, snorting\nwith anger. He shuddered, too, not with affright, but with utter disgust\nat the loathsomeness of this poisonous thing with three heads.\n\nThe Chimaera, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand\nabsolutely on the tip-end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely\nin the air, and its three heads spluttering fire at Pegasus and his\nrider. My stars, how it roared, and hissed, and bellowed! Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.\n\n\"Now, my beloved Pegasus,\" he whispered in the winged horse's ear, \"thou\nmust help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou shalt fly\nback to thy solitary mountain-peak without thy friend Bellerophon. For\neither the Chimaera dies, or its three mouths shall gnaw this head of\nmine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!\"\n\nPegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly\nagainst his rider's cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though he\nhad wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it were\npossible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon\nbehind.\n\n\"I thank you, Pegasus,\" answered Bellerophon. \"Now, then, let us make a\ndash at the monster!\"\n\nUttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down\naslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right towards the Chimaera's\nthreefold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as high as it\ncould into the air. As he came within arm's-length, Bellerophon made a\ncut at the monster, but was carried onward by his steed, before he could\nsee whether the blow had been successful. Pegasus continued his course,\nbut soon wheeled round, at about the same distance from the Chimaera as\nbefore. Bellerophon then perceived that he had cut the goat's head of\nthe monster almost off, so that it dangled downward by the skin, and\nseemed quite dead.\n\nBut, to make amends, the snake's head and the lion's head had taken all\nthe fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame, and\nhissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.\n\n\"Never mind, my brave Pegasus!\" cried Bellerophon. \"With another stroke\nlike that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring.\"\n\nAnd again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the winged\nhorse made another arrow-flight towards the Chimaera, and Bellerophon\naimed another downright stroke at one of the two remaining heads, as he\nshot by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so well as at\nfirst. With one of its claws, the Chimaera had given the young man a deep\nscratch in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the left wing of the\nflying steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon had mortally\nwounded the lion's head of the monster, insomuch that it now hung\ndownward, with its fire almost extinguished, and sending out gasps of\nthick black smoke. The snake's head, however (which was the only one now\nleft), was twice as fierce and venomous as ever before. It belched forth\nshoots of fire five hundred yards long, and emitted hisses so loud, so\nharsh, and so ear-piercing, that King Iobates heard them, fifty miles\noff, and trembled till the throne shook under him.\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" thought the poor king; \"the Chimaera is certainly coming to\ndevour me!\"\n\nMeanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily,\nwhile sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How\nunlike the lurid fire of the Chimaera! The aerial steed's spirit was all\naroused, and so was that of Bellerophon.\n\n\"Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?\" cried the young man, caring less\nfor his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that\nought never to have tasted pain. \"The execrable Chimaera shall pay for\nthis mischief with his last head!\"\n\nThen he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not\naslantwise as before, but straight at the monster's hideous front. So\nrapid was the onset, that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before\nBellerophon was at close gripes with his enemy.\n\nThe Chimaera, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into a\nred-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half on\nearth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which element\nit rested upon. It opened its snake-jaws to such an abominable width,\nthat Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have flown right down its\nthroat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their approach it shot out a\ntremendous blast of its fiery breath, and enveloped Bellerophon and his\nsteed in a perfect atmosphere of flame, singeing the wings of Pegasus,\nscorching off one whole side of the young man's golden ringlets, and\nmaking them both far hotter than was comfortable, from head to foot.\n\nBut this was nothing to what followed.\n\nWhen the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the\ndistance of a hundred yards, the Chimaera gave a spring, and flung its\nhuge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon poor\nPegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied up its snaky tail\ninto a knot! Up flew the aerial steed, higher, higher, higher, above the\nmountain-peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of the solid\nearth. But still the earth-born monster kept its hold, and was borne\nupward, along with the creature of light and air. Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, turning about, found himself face to face with the ugly\ngrimness of the Chimaera's visage, and could only avoid being scorched to\ndeath, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield. Over the\nupper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage eyes of the\nmonster.\n\nBut the Chimaera was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard\nitself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all, the\nbest way to fight a Chimaera is by getting as close to it as you can. In\nits efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy, the\ncreature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,\nBellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.\nImmediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold\nof Pegasus, and fell from that vast height, downward; while the fire\nwithin its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever,\nand quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out of the\nsky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the earth)\nwas mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But, at early sunrise, some\ncottagers were going to their day's labor, and saw, to their\nastonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with black ashes.\nIn the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened bones, a great\ndeal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful\nChimaera!\n\nAnd when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed\nPegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.\n\n\"Back now, my beloved steed!\" said he. \"Back to the Fountain of Pirene!\"\n\nPegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and\nreached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old\nman leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and\nthe pretty maiden filling her pitcher.\n\n\"I remember now,\" quoth the old man, \"I saw this winged horse once\nbefore, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those\ndays.\"\n\n\"I own a cart-horse, worth three of him!\" said the country fellow. \"If\nthis pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his\nwings!\"\n\nBut the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be\nafraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble\ndown, and broke it.\n\n\"Where is the gentle child,\" asked Bellerophon, \"who used to keep me\ncompany, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into\nthe fountain?\"\n\n\"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!\" said the child, softly.\n\nFor the little boy had spent day after day, on the margin of Pirene,\nwaiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon\ndescending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had\nshrunk back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child, and\ndreaded lest the old man and the country fellow should see the tears\ngushing from his eyes.\n\n\"Thou hast won the victory,\" said he, joyfully, running to the knee of\nBellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. \"I knew thou\nwouldst.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear child!\" replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged horse.\n\"But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited for\nPegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have\nconquered the terrible Chimaera. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast\ndone it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty.\"\n\nSo he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvellous\nsteed.\n\n\"Be free, forevermore, my Pegasus!\" cried he, with a shade of sadness in\nhis tone. \"Be as free as thou art fleet!\"\n\nBut Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon's shoulder, and would not be\npersuaded to take flight.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, \"thou shalt be\nwith me, as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith, and\ntell King Iobates that the Chimaera is destroyed.\"\n\nThen Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to him\nagain, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher flights\nupon the aerial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved more\nhonorable deeds than his friend's victory over the Chimaera. For, gentle\nand tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!\n\n\nBald-Summit\n\n_After the Story_\n\nEustace Bright told the legend of Bellerophon with as much fervor and\nanimation as if he had really been taking a gallop on the winged horse.\nAt the conclusion, he was gratified to discern, by the glowing\ncountenances of his auditors, how greatly they had been interested. All\ntheir eyes were dancing in their heads, except those of Primrose. In her\neyes there were positively tears; for she was conscious of something in\nthe legend which the rest of them were not yet old enough to feel.\nChild's story as it was, the student had contrived to breathe through it\nthe ardor, the generous hope, and the imaginative enterprise of youth.\n\n\"I forgive you, now, Primrose,\" said he, \"for all your ridicule of\nmyself and my stories. One tear pays for a great deal of laughter.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Bright,\" answered Primrose, wiping her eyes, and giving him\nanother of her mischievous smiles, \"it certainly does elevate your\nideas, to get your head above the clouds. I advise you never to tell\nanother story, unless it be, as at present, from the top of a mountain.\"\n\n\"Or from the back of Pegasus,\" replied Eustace, laughing. \"Don't you\nthink that I succeeded pretty well in catching that wonderful pony?\"\n\n\"It was so like one of your madcap pranks!\" cried Primrose, clapping her\nhands. \"I think I see you now on his back, two miles high, and with your\nhead downward! It is well that you have not really an opportunity of\ntrying your horsemanship on any wilder steed than our sober Davy, or Old\nHundred.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE\n\n(From the original in the collection of Austin M. Purves, Esq're\nPhiladelphia)]\n\n\"For my part, I wish I had Pegasus here, at this moment,\" said the\nstudent. \"I would mount him forthwith, and gallop about the country,\nwithin a circumference of a few miles, making literary calls on my\nbrother authors. Dr. Dewey would be within my reach, at the foot of\nTaconic. In Stockbridge, yonder, is Mr. James, conspicuous to all the\nworld on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I\nbelieve, is not yet at the Ox-bow, else the winged horse would neigh at\nthe sight of him. But, here in Lenox, I should find our most truthful\nnovelist, who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On\nthe hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the\ngigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the gigantic shape of\nGraylock looms upon him from his study-window. Another bound of my\nflying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes, whom I mention last,\nbecause Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the next minute, and claim\nthe poet as his rider.\"\n\n\"Have we not an author for our next neighbor?\" asked Primrose. \"That\nsilent man, who lives in the old red house, near Tanglewood Avenue, and\nwhom we sometimes meet, with two children at his side, in the woods or\nat the lake. I think I have heard of his having written a poem, or a\nromance, or an arithmetic, or a school-history, or some other kind of a\nbook.\"\n\n\"Hush, Primrose, hush!\" exclaimed Eustace, in a thrilling whisper, and\nputting his finger on his lip. \"Not a word about that man, even on a\nhill-top! If our babble were to reach his ears, and happen not to please\nhim, he has but to fling a quire or two of paper into the stove, and\nyou, Primrose, and I, and Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, Squash-Blossom, Blue\nEye, Huckleberry, Clover, Cowslip, Plantain, Milkweed, Dandelion, and\nButtercup,--yes, and wise Mr. Pringle, with his unfavorable criticisms\non my legends, and poor Mrs. Pringle, too,--would all turn to smoke,\nand go whisking up the funnel! Our neighbor in the red house is a\nharmless sort of person enough, for aught I know, as concerns the rest\nof the world; but something whispers to me that he has a terrible power\nover ourselves, extending to nothing short of annihilation.\"\n\n\"And would Tanglewood turn to smoke, as well as we?\" asked Periwinkle,\nquite appalled at the threatened destruction. \"And what would become of\nBen and Bruin?\"\n\n\"Tanglewood would remain,\" replied the student, \"looking just as it does\nnow, but occupied by an entirely different family. And Ben and Bruin\nwould be still alive, and would make themselves very comfortable with\nthe bones from the dinner-table, without ever thinking of the good times\nwhich they and we have had together!\"\n\n\"What nonsense you are talking!\" exclaimed Primrose.\n\nWith idle chat of this kind, the party had already begun to descend the\nhill, and were now within the shadow of the woods. Primrose gathered\nsome mountain-laurel, the leaf of which, though of last year's growth,\nwas still as verdant and elastic as if the frost and thaw had not\nalternately tried their force upon its texture. Of these twigs of laurel\nshe twined a wreath, and took off the student's cap, in order to place\nit on his brow.\n\n\"Nobody else is likely to crown you for your stories,\" observed saucy\nPrimrose, \"so take this from me.\"\n\n\"Do not be too sure,\" answered Eustace, looking really like a youthful\npoet, with the laurel among his glossy curls, \"that I shall not win\nother wreaths by these wonderful and admirable stories. I mean to spend\nall my leisure, during the rest of the vacation, and throughout the\nsummer term at college, in writing them out for the press. Mr. J. T.\nFields (with whom I became acquainted when he was in Berkshire, last\nsummer, and who is a poet, as well as a publisher) will see their\nuncommon merit at a glance. He will get them illustrated, I hope, by\nBillings, and will bring them before the world under the very best of\nauspices, through the eminent house of Ticknor & Co. In about five\nmonths from this moment, I make no doubt of being reckoned among the\nlights of this age!\"\n\n\"Poor boy!\" said Primrose, half aside. \"What a disappointment awaits\nhim!\"\n\nDescending a little lower, Bruin began to bark, and was answered by the\ngraver bow-wow of the respectable Ben. They soon saw the good old dog,\nkeeping careful watch over Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Cowslip, and\nSquash-Blossom. These little people, quite recovered from their fatigue,\nhad set about gathering checkerberries, and now came clambering to meet\ntheir playfellows. Thus reunited, the whole party went down through\nLuther Butler's orchard, and made the best of their way home to\nTanglewood.\n\n\n\n\nTanglewood Tales,\n\nFor Girls And Boys,\n\nBeing A Second Wonder-Book\n\n\n\n\nTANGLEWOOD TALES\n\n\n\n\nThe Wayside\n\n\n_Introductory_\n\nA short time ago, I was favored with a flying visit from my young friend\nEustace Bright, whom I had not before met with since quitting the breezy\nmountains of Berkshire. It being the winter vacation at his college,\nEustace was allowing himself a little relaxation, in the hope, he told\nme, of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made\nupon his health; and I was happy to conclude, from the excellent\nphysical condition in which I saw him, that the remedy had already been\nattended with very desirable success. He had now run up from Boston by\nthe noon train, partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he is\npleased to honor me, and partly, as I soon found, on a matter of\nliterary business.\n\nIt delighted me to receive Mr. Bright, for the first time, under a roof,\nthough a very humble one, which I could really call my own. Nor did I\nfail (as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world) to\nparade the poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly\nrejoicing, nevertheless, that the disarray of the inclement season, and\nparticularly the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him\nfrom observing the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the\nplace has lapsed. It was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest\nfrom Monument Mountain, Bald-Summit, and old Graylock, shaggy with\nprimeval forests, could see anything to admire in my poor little\nhill-side, with its growth of frail and insect-eaten locust-trees.\nEustace very frankly called the view from my hill-top tame; and so, no\ndoubt, it was, after rough, broken, rugged, headlong Berkshire, and\nespecially the northern parts of the county, with which his college\nresidence had made him familiar. But to me there is a peculiar, quiet\ncharm in these broad meadows and gentle eminences. They are better than\nmountains, because they do not stamp and stereotype themselves into the\nbrain, and thus grow wearisome with the same strong impression, repeated\nday after day. A few summer weeks among mountains, a lifetime among\ngreen meadows and placid slopes, with outlines forever new, because\ncontinually fading out of the memory,--such would be my sober choice.\n\nI doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a\nbore, until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic\nsummer-house, midway on the hill-side. It is a mere skeleton of slender,\ndecaying tree-trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a\ntracery of branches and twigs, which the next wintry blast will be very\nlikely to scatter in fragments along the terrace. It looks, and is, as\nevanescent as a dream; and yet, in its rustic net-work of boughs, it has\nsomehow enclosed a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true\nemblem of the subtile and ethereal mind that planned it. I made Eustace\nBright sit down on a snow-bank, which bad heaped itself over the mossy\nseat, and gazing through the arched window opposite, he acknowledged\nthat the scene at once grew picturesque.\n\n\"Simple as it looks,\" said he, \"this little edifice seems to be the work\nof magic. It is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a\ncathedral. Ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer\nafternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from\nthe classic myths!\"\n\n\"It would, indeed,\" answered I. \"The summer-house itself, so airy and so\nbroken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and\nthese living branches of the Baldwin apple-tree, thrusting themselves so\nrudely in, are like your unwarrantable interpolations. But, by the by,\nhave you added any more legends to the series, since the publication of\nthe Wonder Book?\"\n\n\"Many more,\" said Eustace; \"Primrose, Periwinkle, and the rest of them\nallow me no comfort of my life, unless I tell them a story every day or\ntwo. I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of those\nlittle wretches! But I have written out six of the new stories, and have\nbrought them for you to look over.\"\n\n\"Are they as good as the first?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Better chosen, and better handled,\" replied Eustace Bright. \"You will\nsay so when you read them.\"\n\n\"Possibly not,\" I remarked. \"I know, from my own experience, that an\nauthor's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it\nquite loses the red heat of composition. After that, it falls into its\ntrue place, quietly enough. But let us adjourn to my study, and examine\nthese new stories. It would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you\nto bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow-bank!\"\n\nSo we descended the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves up\nin the southeastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and\nbrightly, through the better half of a winter's day. Eustace put his\nbundle of manuscript into my hands; and I skimmed through it pretty\nrapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my\nfingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.\n\nIt will be remembered, that Mr. Bright condescended to avail himself of\nmy literary experience by constituting me editor of the Wonder Book. As\nhe had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by\nthe public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position, with\nrespect to the present volume, which he entitled \"TANGLEWOOD TALES.\"\nNot, as Eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my\nservices as introductor, inasmuch as his own name had become\nestablished, in some good degree of favor, with the literary world. But\nthe connection with myself, he was kind enough to say, had been highly\nagreeable; nor was he by any means desirous, as most people are, of\nkicking away the ladder that had perhaps helped him to reach his present\nelevation. My young friend was willing, in short, that the fresh verdure\nof his growing reputation should spread over my straggling and\nhalf-naked boughs; even as I have sometimes thought of training a vine,\nwith its broad leafiness, and purple fruitage, over the worm-eaten posts\nand rafters of the rustic summer-house. I was not insensible to the\nadvantages of his proposal, and gladly assured him of my acceptance.\n\nMerely from the titles of the stories, I saw at once that the subjects\nwere not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did I at all\ndoubt that Mr. Bright's audacity (so far as that endowment might avail)\nhad enabled him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they\noffered. Yet, in spite of my experience of his free way of handling\nthem, I did not quite see, I confess, how he could have obviated all the\ndifficulties in the way of rendering them presentable to children. These\nold legends, so brimming over with everything that is most abhorrent to\nour Christianized moral sense,--some of them so hideous, others so\nmelancholy and miserable, amid which the Greek tragedians sought their\nthemes, and moulded them into the sternest forms of grief that ever the\nworld saw; was such material the stuff that children's playthings should\nbe made of! How were they to be purified? How was the blessed sunshine\nto be thrown into them?\n\nBut Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in\nthe world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began to\nrelate one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the\nchildish purity of his auditors. The objectionable characteristics seem\nto be a parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the\noriginal fable. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant\nhe puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle,\nwhose wide-open eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories\n(not by any strained effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their\ninherent germ) transform themselves, and reassume the shapes which they\nmight be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world. When\nthe first poet or romancer told these marvellous legends (such is\nEustace Bright's opinion), it was still the Golden Age. Evil had never\nyet existed; and sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which the\nmind fancifully created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny\nrealities; or, at most, but prophetic dreams, to which the dreamer\nhimself did not yield a waking credence. Children are now the only\nrepresentatives of the men and women of that happy era; and therefore it\nis that we must raise the intellect and fancy to the level of childhood,\nin order to recreate the original myths.\n\nI let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly as he\npleased, and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in\nhimself and his performances. A few years will do all that is necessary\ntowards showing him the truth in both respects. Meanwhile, it is but\nright to say, he does really appear to have overcome the moral\nobjections against these fables, although at the expense of such\nliberties with their structure as must be left to plead their own\nexcuse, without any help from me. Indeed, except that there was a\nnecessity for it,--and that the inner life of the legends cannot be come\nat save by making them entirely one's own property,--there is no defence\nto be made.\n\nEustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in\nvarious situations,--in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the dell\nof Shadow Brook, in the play-room, at Tanglewood fireside, and in a\nmagnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his little\nfriends to build. His auditors were even more delighted with the\ncontents of the present volume than with the specimens which have\nalready been given to the world. The classically learned Mr. Pringle,\ntoo, had listened to two or three of the tales, and censured them even\nmore bitterly than he did THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES; so that, what with\npraise, and what with criticism, Eustace Bright thinks that there is\ngood hope of at least as much success with the public as in the case of\nthe Wonder Book.\n\nI made all sorts of inquiries about the children, not doubting that\nthere would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare among some good\nlittle folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths.\nThey are all, I am happy to say (unless we except Clover), in excellent\nhealth and spirits. Primrose is now almost a young lady, and, Eustace\ntells me, is just as saucy as ever. She pretends to consider herself\nquite beyond the age to be interested by such idle stories as these;\nbut, for all that, whenever a story is to be told, Primrose never fails\nto be one of the listeners, and to make fun of it when finished.\nPeriwinkle is very much grown, and is expected to shut up her baby-house\nand throw away her doll in a month or two more. Sweet Fern has learned\nto read and write, and has put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons,--all\nof which improvements I am sorry for. Squash-Blossom, Blue Eye,\nPlantain, and Buttercup have had the scarlet fever, but came easily\nthrough it. Huckleberry, Milkweed, and Dandelion were attacked with the\nhooping-cough, but bore it bravely, and kept out of doors whenever the\nsun shone. Cowslip, during the autumn, had either the measles, or some\neruption that looked very much like it, but was hardly sick a day. Poor\nClover has been a good deal troubled with her second teeth, which have\nmade her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in temper; nor, even when\nshe smiles, is the matter much mended, since it discloses a gap just\nwithin her lips, almost as wide as the barn door. But all this will\npass over, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very pretty\ngirl.\n\nAs for Mr. Bright himself, he is now in his senior year at Williams\nCollege, and has a prospect of graduating with some degree of honorable\ndistinction at the next Commencement. In his oration for the bachelor's\ndegree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths,\nviewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss\nthe expediency of using up the whole of ancient history for the same\npurpose. I do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving\ncollege, but trust that, by dabbling so early with the dangerous and\nseductive business of authorship, he will not be tempted to become an\nauthor by profession. If so, I shall be very sorry for the little that I\nhave had to do with the matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.\n\nI wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing Primrose, Periwinkle,\nDandelion, Sweet Fern, Clover, Plantain, Huckleberry, Milkweed, Cowslip,\nButtercup, Blue Eye, and Squash-Blossom again. But as I do not know when\nI shall revisit Tanglewood, and as Eustace Bright probably will not ask\nme to edit a third Wonder Book, the public of little folks must not\nexpect to hear any more about those dear children from me. Heaven bless\nthem, and everybody else, whether grown people or children!\n\n    THE WAYSIDE, CONCORD, MASS.\n\n    _March 13, 1853._\n\n\n\n\nThe Minotaur\n\n\nIn the old city of Troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there\nlived, a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His\ngrandfather, King Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was\nreckoned a very wise man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the royal\npalace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting\nby the old king's instructions. His mother's name was AEthra. As for his\nfather, the boy had never seen him. But, from his earliest remembrance,\nAEthra used to go with little Theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a\nmoss-grown rock, which was deeply sunk into the earth. Here she often\ntalked with her son about his father, and said that he was called AEgeus,\nand that he was a great king, and ruled over Attica, and dwelt at\nAthens, which was as famous a city as any in the world. Theseus was very\nfond of hearing about King AEgeus, and often asked his good mother AEthra\nwhy he did not come and live with them at Troezene.\n\n\"Ah, my dear son,\" answered AEthra, with a sigh, \"a monarch has his\npeople to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in the\nplace of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own\nchildren as other parents do. Your father will never be able to leave\nhis kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy.\"\n\n\"Well, but, dear mother,\" asked the boy, \"why cannot I go to this famous\ncity of Athens, and tell King AEgeus that I am his son?\"\n\n\"That may happen by and by,\" said AEthra. \"Be patient, and we shall see.\nYou are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand.\"\n\n\"And how soon shall I be strong enough?\" Theseus persisted in inquiring.\n\n\"You are but a tiny boy as yet,\" replied his mother. \"See if you can\nlift this rock on which we are sitting?\"\n\nThe little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping\nthe rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got\nhimself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone.\nIt seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it;\nfor it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it\nout of its earthy bed.\n\nHis mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and\nin her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy.\nShe could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient\nto begin his adventures in the world.\n\n\"You see how it is, my dear Theseus,\" said she. \"You must possess far\nmore strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell\nKing AEgeus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock, and\nshow me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to\ndepart.\"\n\nOften and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was\nyet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the\nrock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong\nenough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and curly-headed\nboy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as\nhe was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of\nhis great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking\nfarther and farther into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and\nthicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with\nonly a few gray knobs of granite peeping out. The overhanging trees,\nalso, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often as the autumn came; and\nat its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over\nits surface. To all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any\nother portion of the earth's substance.\n\nBut, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be\nsuch a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly\ncome when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of\nstone.\n\n\"Mother, I do believe it has started!\" cried he, after one of his\nattempts. \"The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!\"\n\n\"No, no, child!\" his mother hastily answered. \"It is not possible you\ncan have moved it, such a boy as you still are!\"\n\nNor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place where\nhe fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by the\nmovement of the rock. But AEthra sighed and looked disquieted; for, no\ndoubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and\nthat, in a little while hence, she must send him forth among the perils\nand troubles of the world.\n\nIt was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on\nthe moss-covered stone. AEthra had once more told him the oft-repeated\nstory of his father, and how gladly he would receive Theseus at his\nstately palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the\npeople, and tell them that here was the heir of his dominions. The eyes\nof Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear\nhis mother speak.\n\n\"Dear mother AEthra,\" he exclaimed, \"I never felt half so strong as now!\nI am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel myself a\nman! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone!\"\n\n\"Ah, my dearest Theseus,\" replied his mother, \"not yet! not yet!\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" said he, resolutely, \"the time has come.\"\n\nThen Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained\nevery sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole brave\nheart into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish stone, as\nif it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he resolved now to\nsucceed, or else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument\nforever! AEthra stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with a\nmother's pride, and partly with a mother's sorrow. The great rock\nstirred! Yes, it was raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth,\nuprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was turned upon its\nside. Theseus had conquered!\n\nWhile taking breath, he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled\nupon him through her tears.\n\n\"Yes, Theseus,\" she said, \"the time has come, and you must stay no\nlonger at my side! See what King AEgeus, your royal father, left for you,\nbeneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms, and laid it on\nthe spot whence you have now removed it.\"\n\nTheseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab\nof stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a\nroughly made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the\nlid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of\nsandals.\n\n\"That was your father's sword,\" said AEthra, \"and those were his sandals.\nWhen he went to be king of Athens, he bade me treat you as a child until\nyou should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone. That task\nbeing accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in order to follow in\nyour father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you may fight\ngiants and dragons, as King AEgeus did in his youth.\"\n\n\"I will set out for Athens this very day!\" cried Theseus.\n\nBut his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got\nready some necessary articles for his journey. When his grandfather, the\nwise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to present himself at\nhis father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a\nvessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles\nof Athens, without either fatigue or danger.\n\n\"The roads are very bad by land,\" quoth the venerable king; \"and they\nare terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad, like\nTheseus, is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey, all by\nhimself. No, no; let him go by sea!\"\n\nBut when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears,\nand was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to\nbe met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell\nto his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness, and, after\naffectionately embracing his mother, he set forth, with a good many of\nher tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told,\nthat had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun and wind dry\nthem, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword\nand taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.\n\nI cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell\nTheseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say, that he quite\ncleared that part of the country of the robbers, about whom King\nPittheus had been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named\nProcrustes; and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of\nmaking fun of the poor travellers who happened to fall into his\nclutches. In his cavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretence of\nhospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but if they happened to\nbe shorter than the bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by main\nforce; or, if they were too long, he lopped off their heads or feet, and\nlaughed at what he had done, as an excellent joke. Thus, however weary\na man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of Procrustes. Another\nof these robbers, named Scinis, must likewise have been a very great\nscoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging his victims off a high cliff\ninto the sea; and, in order to give him exactly his deserts, Theseus\ntossed him off the very same place. But if you will believe me, the sea\nwould not pollute itself by receiving such a bad person into its bosom,\nneither would the earth, having once got rid of him, consent to take him\nback; so that, between the cliff and the sea, Scinis stuck fast in the\nair, which was forced to bear the burden of his naughtiness.\n\nAfter these memorable deeds, Theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran\nwild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did\nnot consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he\nkilled this monstrous creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people\nfor bacon. The great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping about\nthe woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into\njoints, and smoking on I know not how many dinner tables.\n\nThus, by the time he had reached his journey's end, Theseus had done\nmany valiant deeds with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained\nthe renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame\ntravelled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he\nentered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the\nstreet-corners, and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and\nCastor and Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king,\nwould turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took longer\nstrides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a magnificent\nreception at his father's court, since he came hither with Fame to blow\nher trumpet before him, and cry to King AEgeus, \"Behold your son!\"\n\nHe little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this\nvery Athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited him than\nany which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the truth. You\nmust understand that the father of Theseus, though not very old in\nyears, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus\ngrown aged before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to live a\nvery great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into\ntheir own hands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in Athens,\nand learned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he would not\nbe at all the kind of person to let them steal away his father's crown\nand sceptre, which ought to be his own by right of inheritance. Thus\nthese bad-hearted nephews of King AEgeus, who were the own cousins of\nTheseus, at once became his enemies. A still more dangerous enemy was\nMedea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and\nwanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead of letting it be\ngiven to the son of AEthra, whom she hated.\n\nIt so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who he\nwas, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all their\nevil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's best\nfriends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance. They\nproposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a\nstranger, in order to try whether AEgeus would discover in the young\nman's features any likeness either to himself or his mother AEthra, and\nthus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented; for he fancied that his\nfather would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart.\nBut, while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King AEgeus\nthat a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain knowledge,\nintended to put him to death, and get possession of his royal crown.\n\n\"And he is now waiting for admission to your Majesty's presence,\" added\nthey.\n\n\"Aha!\" cried the old king, on hearing this. \"Why, he must be a very\nwicked young fellow indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with\nhim?\"\n\nIn reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. As I have\nalready told you, she was a famous enchantress. According to some\nstories, she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron,\nunder pretence of making them young again; but King AEgeus, I suppose,\ndid not fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps was\ncontented to be old, and therefore would never let himself be popped\ninto the caldron. If there were time to spare from more important\nmatters, I should be glad to tell you of Medea's fiery chariot, drawn by\nwinged dragons, in which the enchantress used often to take an airing\namong the clouds. This chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first\nbrought her to Athens, where she had done nothing but mischief ever\nsince her arrival. But these and many other wonders must be left untold;\nand it is enough to say, that Medea, amongst a thousand other bad\nthings, knew how to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to\nwhomsoever might so much as touch it with his lips.\n\nSo, when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty\nwoman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.\n\n\"Leave that to me, please your Majesty,\" she replied. \"Only admit this\nevil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite\nhim to drink a goblet of wine. Your Majesty is well aware that I\nsometimes amuse myself with distilling very powerful medicines. Here is\none of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is one\nof my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the goblet,\nand let the young man taste it; and I will answer for it, he shall quite\nlay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither.\"\n\nAs she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she meant\nnothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus, before his\nfather's eyes. And King AEgeus, like most other kings, thought any\npunishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting against\nhis life. He therefore made little or no objection to Medea's scheme,\nand as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that the young\nstranger should be admitted into his presence. The goblet was set on a\ntable beside the king's throne; and a fly, meaning just to sip a little\nfrom the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead. Observing this, Medea\nlooked round at the nephews, and smiled again.\n\nWhen Theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object that\nhe seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat on his\nmagnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a sceptre in his\nhand. His aspect was stately and majestic, although his years and\ninfirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump of\nlead, and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up\ntogether, and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears both of joy and\nsorrow sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it was\nto see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to support\nhim with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with the\nalacrity of his loving spirit. When a son takes his father into his warm\nheart, it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by the heat of\nMedea's magic caldron. And this was what Theseus resolved to do. He\ncould scarcely wait to see whether King AEgeus would recognize him, so\neager was he to throw himself into his arms.\n\nAdvancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little\nspeech, which he had been thinking about, as he came up the stairs. But\nhe was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out of\nhis heart and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find utterance\ntogether. And therefore, unless he could have laid his full,\nover-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what to\ndo or say. The cunning Medea observed what was passing in the young\nman's mind. She was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been\nbefore; for (and it makes me tremble to tell you of it) she did her\nworst to turn all this unspeakable love with which Theseus was agitated,\nto his own ruin and destruction.\n\n\"Does your Majesty see his confusion?\" she whispered in the king's ear.\n\"He is so conscious of guilt, that he trembles and cannot speak. The\nwretch lives too long! Quick! offer him the wine!\"\n\nNow King AEgeus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger, as he\ndrew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either in\nhis white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his\nbeautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he had\nseen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his knee\nwhen a baby, and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man, while he\nhimself grew old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and would not\nsuffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities; although they were\nthe voice of his deepest heart, telling him, as plainly as it could\nspeak, that here was his dear son, and AEthra's son, coming to claim him\nfor a father. The enchantress again whispered in the king's ear, and\ncompelled him, by her witchcraft, to see everything under a false\naspect.\n\nHe made up his mind, therefore, to let Theseus drink off the poisoned\nwine.\n\n\"Young man,\" said he, \"you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality\nto so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this\ngoblet. It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as I\nbestow only on those who are worthy of it! None is more worthy to quaff\nit than yourself!\"\n\nSo saying, King AEgeus took the golden goblet from the table, and was\nabout to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities, and\npartly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's\nlife, however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his\nheart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of\nwhat he was going to do,--for all these reasons, the king's hand\ntrembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over. In order to\nstrengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the precious\npoison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to him,--\n\n\"Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? There is the very\nsword with which he meant to slay you. How sharp, and bright, and\nterrible it is! Quick!--let him taste the wine; or perhaps he may do the\ndeed even yet.\"\n\nAt these words, AEgeus drove every thought and feeling out of his breast,\nexcept the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be put to\ndeath. He sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of wine with\na steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly severity; for,\nafter all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a treacherous enemy\nwith a deceitful smile upon his face.\n\n\"Drink!\" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn a\ncriminal to be beheaded. \"You have well deserved of me such wine as\nthis!\"\n\nTheseus held out his hand to take the wine. But, before he touched it,\nKing AEgeus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted sword\nthat hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.\n\n\"That sword!\" he cried; \"how came you by it?\"\n\n\"It was my father's sword,\" replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice.\n\"These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is AEthra) told me his\nstory while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since I\ngrew strong enough to lift the heavy stone, and take the sword and\nsandals from beneath it, and come to Athens to seek my father.\"\n\n\"My son! my son!\" cried King AEgeus, flinging away the fatal goblet, and\ntottering down from the throne to fall into the arms of Theseus. \"Yes,\nthese are AEthra's eyes. It is my son.\"\n\nI have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the\nwicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs, she hurried out of the room,\nand going to her private chamber, lost no time in setting her\nenchantments at work. In a few moments, she heard a great noise of\nhissing snakes outside of the chamber window; and, behold! there was her\nfiery chariot, and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and twisting in\nthe air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of the palace, and\nall ready to set off on an aerial journey. Medea stayed only long enough\nto take her son with her, and to steal the crown jewels, together with\nthe king's best robes, and whatever other valuable things she could lay\nhands on; and getting into the chariot, she whipped up the snakes, and\nascended high over the city.\n\nThe king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he\ncould to the window, and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never\nto come back. The whole people of Athens, too, who had run out of doors\nto see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect\nof getting rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered\nprecisely such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more\nvenomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the\nchariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were\nscattering a million of curses among them. In so doing, however, she\nunintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first water,\ntogether with a thousand great pearls, and two thousand emeralds,\nrubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes, to which she had helped herself\nout of the king's strong-box. All these came pelting down, like a shower\nof many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of grown people and children,\nwho forthwith gathered them up and carried them back to the palace. But\nKing AEgeus told them that they were welcome to the whole, and to twice\nas many more, if he had them, for the sake of his delight at finding\nhis son, and losing the wicked Medea. And, indeed, if you had seen how\nhateful was her last look, as the flaming chariot flew upward, you would\nnot have wondered that both king and people should think her departure a\ngood riddance.\n\nAnd now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father.\nThe old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his throne\n(which was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell about his\ndear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts to lift the\nponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and active a young\nman to be willing to spend all his time in relating things which had\nalready happened. His ambition was to perform other and more heroic\ndeeds, which should be better worth telling in prose and verse. Nor had\nhe been long in Athens before he caught and chained a terrible mad bull,\nand made a public show of him, greatly to the wonder and admiration of\ngood King AEgeus and his subjects. But pretty soon, he undertook an\naffair that made all his foregone adventures seem like mere boy's play.\nThe occasion of it was as follows:--\n\nOne morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have had\na very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind, even\nnow that his eyes were open. For it appeared as if the air was full of a\nmelancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he could hear\nsobs and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep, quiet sighs,\nwhich came from the king's palace, and from the streets, and from the\ntemples, and from every habitation in the city. And all these mournful\nnoises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts, united themselves\ninto the one great sound of affliction, which bad startled Theseus from\nslumber. He put on his clothes as quickly as he could (not forgetting\nhis sandals and gold-hilted sword), and hastening to the king, inquired\nwhat it all meant.\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" quoth King AEgeus, heaving a long sigh, \"here is a very\nlamentable matter in hand! This is the wofullest anniversary in the\nwhole year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of the\nyouths and maidens of Athens shall go to be devoured by the horrible\nMinotaur!\"\n\n\"The Minotaur!\" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and, like a brave young prince\nas he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. \"What kind of a\nmonster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to\nslay him?\"\n\nBut King AEgeus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that it\nwas quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole\naffair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain\ndreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a man\nand partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of a\ncreature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were\nsuffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island, or\nin the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be\ntormented by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over\nCrete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the\nMinotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for\nmischief's sake. A few years before this time, there had been a war\nbetween the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the\nAthenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could\nthey obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven\nyoung men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet\nmonster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past, this grievous\ncalamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks, with\nwhich the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe, because\nthe fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be\nchosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters\nmight be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they themselves\nmight be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that detestable man-brute.\n\nBut when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that he\nseemed taller than ever before; and as for his face, it was indignant,\ndespiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one look.\n\n\"Let the people of Athens, this year, draw lots for only six young men,\ninstead of seven,\" said he. \"I will myself be the seventh; and let the\nMinotaur devour me, if he can!\"\n\n\"O my dear son,\" cried King AEgeus, \"why should you expose yourself to\nthis horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to hold\nyourself above the destinies of common men.\"\n\n\"It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your\nkingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects,\"\nanswered Theseus. \"And you, my father, being king over this people, and\nanswerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what is\ndearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest\ncitizen should come to any harm.\"\n\nThe old king shed tears, and besought Theseus not to leave him desolate\nin his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to know the\nhappiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus, however, felt\nthat he was in the right, and therefore would not give up his\nresolution. But he assured his father that he did not intend to be eaten\nup, unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur devoured him,\nit should not be without a battle for his dinner. And finally, since he\ncould not help it, King AEgeus consented to let him go. So a vessel was\ngot ready, and rigged with black sails; and Theseus, with six other\nyoung men, and seven tender and beautiful damsels, came down to the\nharbor to embark. A sorrowful multitude accompanied them to the shore.\nThere was the poor old king, too, leaning on his son's arm, and looking\nas if his single heart held all the grief of Athens.\n\nJust as Prince Theseus was going on board, his father bethought himself\nof one last word to say.\n\n\"My beloved son,\" said he, grasping the prince's hand, \"you observe that\nthe sails of this vessel are black; as indeed they ought to be, since it\ngoes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair. Now, being weighed down with\ninfirmities, I know not whether I can survive till the vessel shall\nreturn. But, as long as I do live, I shall creep daily to the top of\nyonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea. And, dearest\nTheseus, if by some happy chance you should escape the jaws of the\nMinotaur, then tear down those dismal sails, and hoist others that shall\nbe bright as the sunshine. Beholding them on the horizon, myself and all\nthe people will know that you are coming back victorious, and will\nwelcome you with such a festal uproar as Athens never heard before.\"\n\nTheseus promised that he would do so. Then, going on board, the mariners\ntrimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew faintly off the\nshore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that everybody kept\npouring forth on this melancholy occasion. But by and by, when they had\ngot fairly out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from the northwest, and\ndrove them along as merrily over the white-capped waves as if they had\nbeen going on the most delightful errand imaginable. And though it was a\nsad business enough, I rather question whether fourteen young people,\nwithout any old persons to keep them in order, could continue to spend\nthe whole time of the voyage in being miserable. There had been some few\ndances upon the undulating deck, I suspect, and some hearty bursts of\nlaughter, and other such unseasonable merriment among the victims,\nbefore the high, blue mountains of Crete began to show themselves among\nthe far-off clouds. That sight, to be sure, made them all very grave\nagain.\n\nTheseus stood among the sailors, gazing eagerly towards the land;\nalthough, as yet, it seemed hardly more substantial than the clouds,\namidst which the mountains were looming up. Once or twice, he fancied\nthat he saw a glare of some bright object, a long way off, flinging a\ngleam across the waves.\n\n\"Did you see that flash of light?\" he inquired of the master of the\nvessel.\n\n\"No, prince; but I have seen it before,\" answered the master. \"It came\nfrom Talus, I suppose.\"\n\nAs the breeze came fresher just then, the master was busy with trimming\nhis sails, and had no more time to answer questions. But while the\nvessel flew faster and faster towards Crete, Theseus was astonished to\nbehold a human figure, gigantic in size, which appeared to be striding\nwith a measured movement, along the margin of the island. It stepped\nfrom cliff to cliff, and sometimes from one headland to another, while\nthe sea foamed and thundered on the shore beneath, and dashed its jets\nof spray over the giant's feet. What was still more remarkable, whenever\nthe sun shone on this huge figure, it flickered and glimmered; its vast\ncountenance, too, had a metallic lustre, and threw great flashes of\nsplendor through the air. The folds of its garments, moreover, instead\nof waving in the wind, fell heavily over its limbs, as if woven of some\nkind of metal.\n\nThe nigher the vessel came, the more Theseus wondered what this immense\ngiant could be, and whether it actually had life or no. For though it\nwalked, and made other lifelike motions, there yet was a kind of jerk in\nits gait, which, together with its brazen aspect, caused the young\nprince to suspect that it was no true giant, but only a wonderful piece\nof machinery. The figure looked all the more terrible because it carried\nan enormous brass club on its shoulder.\n\n\"What is this wonder?\" Theseus asked of the master of the vessel, who\nwas now at leisure to answer him.\n\n\"It is Talus, the Man of Brass,\" said the master.\n\n\"And is he a live giant, or a brazen image?\" asked Theseus.\n\n\"That, truly,\" replied the master, \"is the point which has always\nperplexed me. Some say, indeed, that this Talus was hammered out for\nKing Minos by Vulcan himself, the skilfullest of all workers in metal.\nBut who ever saw a brazen image that had sense enough to walk round an\nisland three times a day, as this giant walks round the island of Crete,\nchallenging every vessel that comes nigh the shore? And, on the other\nhand, what living thing, unless his sinews were made of brass, would not\nbe weary of marching eighteen hundred miles in the twenty-four hours, as\nTalus does, without ever sitting down to rest? He is a puzzler, take him\nhow you will.\"\n\nStill the vessel went bounding onward; and now Theseus could hear the\nbrazen clangor of the giant's footsteps, as he trod heavily upon the\nsea-beaten rocks, some of which were seen to crack and crumble into the\nfoamy waves beneath his weight. As they approached the entrance of the\nport, the giant straddled clear across it, with a foot firmly planted on\neach headland, and uplifting his club to such a height that its butt-end\nwas hidden in a cloud, he stood in that formidable posture, with the sun\ngleaming all over his metallic surface. There seemed nothing else to be\nexpected but that, the next moment, he would fetch his great club down,\nslam bang, and smash the vessel into a thousand pieces, without heeding\nhow many innocent people he might destroy; for there is seldom any mercy\nin a giant, you know, and quite as little in a piece of brass clockwork.\nBut just when Theseus and his companions thought the blow was coming,\nthe brazen lips unclosed themselves, and the figure spoke.\n\n\"Whence come you, strangers?\"\n\nAnd when the ringing voice ceased, there was just such a reverberation\nas you may have heard within a great church bell, for a moment or two\nafter the stroke of the hammer.\n\n\"From Athens!\" shouted the master in reply.\n\n\"On what errand?\" thundered the Man of Brass.\n\nAnd he whirled his club aloft more threateningly than ever, as if he\nwere about to smite them with a thunder-stroke right amid-ships, because\nAthens, so little while ago, had been at war with Crete.\n\n\"We bring the seven youths and the seven maidens,\" answered the master,\n\"to be devoured by the Minotaur!\"\n\n\"Pass!\" cried the brazen giant.\n\nThat one loud word rolled all about the sky, while again there was a\nbooming reverberation within the figure's breast. The vessel glided\nbetween the headlands of the port, and the giant resumed his march. In a\nfew moments, this wondrous sentinel was far away, flashing in the\ndistant sunshine, and revolving with immense strides around the island\nof Crete, as it was his never-ceasing task to do.\n\nNo sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of King\nMinos came down to the water-side, and took charge of the fourteen young\nmen and damsels. Surrounded by these armed warriors, Prince Theseus and\nhis companions were led to the king's palace, and ushered into his\npresence. Now, Minos was a stern and pitiless king. If the figure that\nguarded Crete was made of brass, then the monarch, who ruled over it,\nmight be thought to have a still harder metal in his breast, and might\nhave been called a man of iron. He bent his shaggy brows upon the poor\nAthenian victims. Any other mortal, beholding their fresh and tender\nbeauty, and their innocent looks, would have felt himself sitting on\nthorns until he had made every soul of them happy, by bidding them go\nfree as the summer wind. But this immitigable Minos cared only to\nexamine whether they were plump enough to satisfy the Minotaur's\nappetite. For my part, I wish he had himself been the only victim; and\nthe monster would have found him a pretty tough one.\n\nOne after another, King Minos called these pale, frightened youths and\nsobbing maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke in the ribs with\nhis sceptre (to try whether they were in good flesh or no), and\ndismissed them with a nod to his guards. But when his eyes rested on\nTheseus, the king looked at him more attentively, because his face was\ncalm and brave.\n\n\"Young man,\" asked he, with his stern voice, \"are you not appalled at\nthe certainty of being devoured by this terrible Minotaur?\"\n\n\"I have offered my life in a good cause,\" answered Theseus, \"and\ntherefore I give it freely and gladly. But thou, King Minos, art thou\nnot thyself appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this\ndreadful wrong, by giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to\nbe devoured by a monster? Dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn\nthine eyes inward on thine own heart? Sitting there on thy golden\nthrone, and in thy robes of majesty, I tell thee to thy face, King\nMinos, thou art a more hideous monster than the Minotaur himself!\"\n\n\"Aha! do you think me so?\" cried the king, laughing in his cruel way.\n\"To-morrow, at breakfast-time, you shall have an opportunity of judging\nwhich is the greater monster, the Minotaur or the king! Take them away,\nguards; and let this free-spoken youth be the Minotaur's first morsel!\"\n\nNear the king's throne (though I had no time to tell you so before)\nstood his daughter Ariadne. She was a beautiful and tender-hearted\nmaiden, and looked at these poor doomed captives with very different\nfeelings from those of the iron-breasted King Minos. She really wept,\nindeed, at the idea of how much human happiness would be needlessly\nthrown away, by giving so many young people, in the first bloom and rose\nblossom of their lives, to be eaten up by a creature who, no doubt,\nwould have preferred a fat ox, or even a large pig, to the plumpest of\nthem. And when she beheld the brave, spirited figure of Prince Theseus\nbearing himself so calmly in his terrible peril, she grew a hundred\ntimes more pitiful than before. As the guards were taking him away, she\nflung herself at the king's feet, and besought him to set all the\ncaptives free, and especially this one young man.\n\n\"Peace, foolish girl!\" answered King Minos. \"What hast thou to do with\nan affair like this? It is a matter of state policy, and therefore quite\nbeyond thy weak comprehension. Go water thy flowers, and think no more\nof these Athenian caitiffs, whom the Minotaur shall as certainly eat up\nfor breakfast as I will eat a partridge for my supper.\"\n\nSo saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour Theseus and all the\nrest of the captives, himself, had there been no Minotaur to save him\nthe trouble. As he would not hear another word in their favor, the\nprisoners were now led away, and clapped into a dungeon, where the\njailer advised them to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the\nMinotaur was in the habit of calling for breakfast early. The seven\nmaidens and six of the young men soon sobbed themselves to slumber! But\nTheseus was not like them. He felt conscious that he was wiser and\nbraver and stronger than his companions, and that therefore he had the\nresponsibility of all their lives upon him, and must consider whether\nthere was no way to save them, even in this last extremity. So he kept\nhimself awake, and paced to and fro across the gloomy dungeon in which\nthey were shut up.\n\nJust before midnight, the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle\nAriadne showed herself, with a torch in her hand.\n\n\"Are you awake, Prince Theseus?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Theseus. \"With so little time to live, I do not choose\nto waste any of it in sleep.\"\n\n\"Then follow me,\" said Ariadne, \"and tread softly.\"\n\nWhat had become of the jailer and the guards, Theseus never knew. But\nhowever that might be, Ariadne opened all the doors, and led him forth\nfrom the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.\n\n\"Theseus,\" said the maiden, \"you can now get on board your vessel, and\nsail away for Athens.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the young man; \"I will never leave Crete unless I can\nfirst slay the Minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver Athens\nfrom this cruel tribute.\"\n\n\"I knew that this would be your resolution,\" said Ariadne. \"Come, then,\nwith me, brave Theseus. Here is your own sword, which the guards\ndeprived you of. You will need it; and pray Heaven you may use it well.\"\n\nThen she led Theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark, shadow\ngrove, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the trees,\nwithout shedding hardly so much as a glimmering beam upon their pathway.\nAfter going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a high,\nmarble wall, which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made it\nshaggy with their verdure. The wall seemed to have no door, nor any\nwindows, but rose up, lofty, and massive, and mysterious, and was\nneither to be clambered over, nor, so far as Theseus could perceive, to\nbe passed through. Nevertheless, Ariadne did but press one of her soft\nlittle fingers against a particular block of marble, and, though it\nlooked as solid as any other part of the wall, it yielded to her touch,\ndisclosing an entrance just wide enough to admit them. They crept\nthrough, and the marble stone swung back into its place.\n\n\"We are now,\" said Ariadne, \"in the famous labyrinth which Daedalus built\nbefore he made himself a pair of wings, and flew away from our island\nlike a bird. That Daedalus was a very cunning workman; but of all his\nartful contrivances, this labyrinth is the most wondrous. Were we to\ntake but a few steps from the doorway, we might wander about all our\nlifetime, and never find it again. Yet in the very centre of this\nlabyrinth is the Minotaur; and, Theseus, you must go thither to seek\nhim.\"\n\n\"But how shall I ever find him?\" asked Theseus, \"if the labyrinth so\nbewilders me as you say it will?\"\n\nJust as he spoke, they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which\ngreatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort of\nsound like the human voice. Theseus even fancied a rude articulation in\nit, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to shape his hoarse\nbreath into words. It was at some distance, however, and he really could\nnot tell whether it sounded most like a bull's roar or a man's harsh\nvoice.\n\n\"That is the Minotaur's noise,\" whispered Ariadne, closely grasping the\nhand of Theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart, which\nwas all in a tremble. \"You must follow that sound through the windings\nof the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him. Stay! take the end\nof this silken string; I will hold the other end; and then, if you win\nthe victory, it will lead you again to this spot. Farewell, brave\nTheseus.\"\n\nSo the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand, and\nhis gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the other, and\ntrod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth. How this labyrinth was built\nis more than I can tell you. But so cunningly contrived a mizmaze was\nnever seen in the world, before nor since. There can be nothing else so\nintricate, unless it were the brain of a man like Daedalus, who planned\nit, or the heart of any ordinary man; which last, to be sure, is ten\ntimes as great a mystery as the labyrinth of Crete. Theseus had not\ntaken five steps before he lost sight of Ariadne; and in five more his\nhead was growing dizzy. But still he went on, now creeping through a low\narch, now ascending a flight of steps, now in one crooked passage and\nnow in another, with here a door opening before him, and there one\nbanging behind, until it really seemed as if the walls spun round, and\nwhirled him round along with them. And all the while, through these\nhollow avenues, now nearer, now farther off again, resounded the cry of\nthe Minotaur; and the sound was so fierce, so cruel, so ugly, so like a\nbull's roar, and withal so like a human voice, and yet like neither of\nthem, that the brave heart of Theseus grew sterner and angrier at every\nstep; for he felt it an insult to the moon and sky, and to our\naffectionate and simple Mother Earth, that such a monster should have\nthe audacity to exist.\n\nAs he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the\nlabyrinth grew so dusky that Theseus could no longer discern the\nbewilderment through which he was passing. He would have felt quite\nlost, and utterly hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path, if,\nevery little while, he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch at the\nsilken cord. Then he knew that the tender-hearted Ariadne was still\nholding the other end, and that she was fearing for him, and hoping for\nhim, and giving him just as much of her sympathy as if she were close by\nhis side. Oh, indeed, I can assure you, there was a vast deal of human\nsympathy running along that slender thread of silk. But still he\nfollowed the dreadful roar of the Minotaur, which now grew louder and\nlouder, and finally so very loud that Theseus fully expected to come\nclose upon him, at every new zigzag and wriggle of the path. And at\nlast, in an open space, at the very centre of the labyrinth, he did\ndiscern the hideous creature.\n\nSure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head belonged\nto a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull all over,\npreposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if you happened to view\nhim in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all the more monstrous\nfor being so. And there he was, the wretched thing, with no society, no\ncompanion, no kind of a mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable\nof knowing what affection means. Theseus hated him, and shuddered at\nhim, and yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the\nmore, the uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he kept\nstriding to and fro in a solitary frenzy of rage, continually emitting a\nhoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up with half-shaped words; and, after\nlistening awhile, Theseus understood that the Minotaur was saying to\nhimself how miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated\neverybody, and how he longed to eat up the human race alive.\n\nAh, the bull-headed villain! And O, my good little people, you will\nperhaps see, one of these days, as I do now, that every human being who\nsuffers anything evil to get into his nature, or to remain there, is a\nkind of Minotaur, an enemy of his fellow-creatures, and separated from\nall good companionship, as this poor monster was.\n\nWas Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero like\nTheseus afraid! Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull heads instead of\none. Bold as he was, however, I rather fancy that it strengthened his\nvaliant heart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the\nsilken cord, which he was still holding in his left hand. It was as if\nAriadne were giving him all her might and courage; and, much as he\nalready had, and little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice\nas much. And to confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now\nthe Minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and\ninstantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does\nwhen he means to rush against an enemy. At the same time, he belched\nforth a tremendous roar, in which there was something like the words of\nhuman language, but all disjointed and shaken-to pieces by passing\nthrough the gullet of a miserably enraged brute.\n\nTheseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that\nrather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's horns were\nsharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than his\ntongue. But probably this was the sense of what he uttered:--\n\n\"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and toss\nyou fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down.\"\n\n\"Come on, then, and try it!\" was all that Theseus deigned to reply; for\nhe was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent language.\n\nWithout more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight\nbetween Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or\nmoon. I really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster, in\nhis first headlong rush against Theseus, had not missed him, by a\nhair's-breadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the stone\nwall. On this mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of the\nlabyrinth tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook the\nnoise for an uncommonly heavy thunder-storm. Smarting with the pain, he\ngalloped around the open space in so ridiculous a way that Theseus\nlaughed at it, long afterwards, though not precisely at the moment.\nAfter this, the two antagonists stood valiantly up to one another, and\nfought sword to horn, for a long while. At last, the Minotaur made a run\nat Theseus, grazed his left side with his horn, and flung him down; and\nthinking that he had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in\nthe air, opened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap his\nhead off. But Theseus by this time had leaped up, and caught the monster\noff his guard. Fetching a sword-stroke at him with all his force, he hit\nhim fair upon the neck, and made his bull head skip six yards from his\nhuman body, which fell down flat upon the ground.\n\nSo now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as brightly\nas if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness and the\nugliness that infest human life, were past and gone forever. And\nTheseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch\nof the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter he had held\nit fast in his left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success, he\nfollowed the guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the\nentrance of the labyrinth.\n\n\"Thou hast slain the monster,\" cried Ariadne, clasping her hands.\n\n\"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne,\" answered Theseus, \"I return victorious.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Ariadne, \"we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them\nand thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds thee here,\nmy father will avenge the Minotaur.\"\n\nTo make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and, hardly\nknowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what Theseus had\ndone, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak. Hastening\ndown to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except Prince Theseus,\nwho lingered behind them, on the strand, holding Ariadne's hand clasped\nin his own.\n\n\"Dear maiden,\" said he, \"thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art too\ngentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King Minos.\nHe cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little\nflower that grows in one of its crevices. But my father. King AEgeus, and\nmy dear mother, AEthra, and all the fathers and mothers in Athens, and\nall the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their\nbenefactress. Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when\nhe knows what thou hast done.\"\n\nNow, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus\nand Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden\ndid really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger\nwhose life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who\nwould have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world)\nungratefully deserted Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel\ntouched on its voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus heard these\nfalsehoods, he would have served their slanderous authors as he served\nthe Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne answered, when the brave Prince of\nAthens besought her to accompany him:--\n\n\"No, Theseus,\" the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then drawing back\na step or two, \"I cannot go with you. My father is old, and has nobody\nbut myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it would break\nto lose me. At first King Minos will be angry; but he will soon forgive\nhis only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more\nyouths and maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur.\nI have saved you, Theseus, as much for my father's sake as for your own.\nFarewell! Heaven bless you!\"\n\nAll this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a\ndignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer. Nothing\nremained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an affectionate\nfarewell, and go on board the vessel, and set sail.\n\nIn a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as\nPrince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor with a\nwhistling breeze behind them. Talus, the brazen giant, on his\nnever-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of\nthe coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his\npolished surface, while he was yet a great way off. As the figure moved\nlike clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides\nnor retard them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the\nreach of his club. Nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland,\nas his custom was, Talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel, and,\noverreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which\nsplashed high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg turns a\nsomerset. There he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by\nmeans of brass had better go thither with a diving-bell, and fish up\nTalus.\n\nOn the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in\nexcellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their\ntime in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope too\nmuch. In due season, they came within sight of the coast of Attica,\nwhich was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you,\nhappened a sad misfortune.\n\nYou will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father,\nKing AEgeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshine sails, instead of\nblack ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return\nvictorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports,\ndancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the\ntime, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or\nrainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether\nthey had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with\nthe same sable wings that had wafted her away. But poor King AEgeus, day\nafter day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that\noverhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward\nbound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails,\nthan he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so\nproud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought\nof living any longer; so, first flinging his crown and sceptre into the\nsea, (useless bawbles that they were to him now!) King AEgeus merely\nstooped forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor\nsoul, in the waves that foamed at its base!\n\nThis was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped\nashore, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no;\nand such a turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very\nmuch out of spirits. However, he sent for his dear mother to Athens,\nand, by taking her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent\nmonarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pygmies\n\n\nA great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there lived an\nearth-born Giant named Antaeus, and a million or more of curious little\nearth-born people, who were called Pygmies. This Giant and these Pygmies\nbeing children of the same mother (that is to say, our good old\nGrandmother Earth), were all brethren and dwelt together in a very\nfriendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot\nAfrica. The Pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts\nand such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind, that\nnobody could get a peep at them oftener than once in a hundred years. As\nfor the Giant, being of a very lofty stature, it was easy enough to see\nhim, but safest to keep out of his sight.\n\nAmong the Pygmies, I suppose, if one of them grew to the height of six\nor eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously tall man. It must have\nbeen very pretty to behold their little cities, with streets two or\nthree feet wide, paved with the smallest pebbles, and bordered by\nhabitations about as big as a squirrel's cage. The king's palace\nattained to the stupendous magnitude of Periwinkle's baby-house, and\nstood in the centre of a spacious square, which could hardly have been\ncovered by our hearth-rug. Their principal temple, or cathedral, was as\nlofty as yonder bureau, and was looked upon as a wonderfully sublime and\nmagnificent edifice. All these structures were built neither of stone\nnor wood. They were neatly plastered together by the Pygmy workmen,\npretty much like bird's-nests, out of straw, feathers, eggshells, and\nother small bits of stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar; and when\nthe hot sun had dried them, they were just as snug and comfortable as a\nPygmy could desire.\n\nThe country round about was conveniently laid out in fields, the largest\nof which was nearly of the same extent as one of Sweet Fern's\nflower-beds. Here the Pygmies used to plant wheat and other kinds of\ngrain, which, when it grew up and ripened, overshadowed these tiny\npeople, as the pines, and the oaks, and the walnut and chestnut-trees\novershadow you and me, when we walk in our own tracts of woodland. At\nharvest-time, they were forced to go with their little axes and cut down\nthe grain, exactly as a wood-cutter makes a clearing in the forest; and\nwhen a stalk of wheat, with its overburdened top, chanced to come\ncrashing down upon an unfortunate Pygmy, it was apt to be a very sad\naffair. If it did not smash him all to pieces, at least, I am sure, it\nmust have made the poor little fellow's head ache. And oh, my stars! if\nthe fathers and mothers were so small, what must the children and babies\nhave been? A whole family of them might have been put to bed in a shoe,\nor have crept into an old glove, and played at hide-and-seek in its\nthumb and fingers. You might have hidden a year-old baby under a\nthimble.\n\nNow these funny Pygmies, as I told you before, had a Giant for their\nneighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than they were\nlittle. He was so very tall that he carried a pine-tree, which was eight\nfeet through the butt, for a walking-stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy,\nI can assure you, to discern his summit without the help of a telescope;\nand sometimes, in misty weather, they could not see his upper half, but\nonly his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by themselves. But\nat noonday, in a clear atmosphere, when the sun shone brightly over him,\nthe Giant Antaeus presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to\nstand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling\ndown upon his little brothers, and his one vast eye (which was as big\nas a cart-wheel, and placed right in the centre of his forehead) giving\na friendly wink to the whole nation at once.\n\nThe Pygmies loved to talk with Antaeus; and fifty times a day, one or\nanother of them would turn up his head, and shout through the hollow of\nhis fists, \"Halloo, brother Antaeus! How are you, my good fellow?\" and\nwhen the small, distant squeak of their voices reached his ear, the\nGiant would make answer, \"Pretty well, brother Pygmy, I thank you,\" in a\nthunderous roar that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest\ntemple, only that it came from so far aloft.\n\nIt was a happy circumstance that Antaeus was the Pygmy people's friend;\nfor there was more strength in his little finger than in ten million of\nsuch bodies as theirs. If he had been as ill-natured to them as he was\nto everybody else, he might have beaten down their biggest city at one\nkick, and hardly have known that he did it. With the tornado of his\nbreath, he could have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings, and\nsent thousands of the inhabitants whirling through the air. He might\nhave set his immense foot upon a multitude; and when he took it up\nagain, there would have been a pitiful sight, to be sure. But, being the\nson of Mother Earth, as they likewise were, the Giant gave them his\nbrotherly kindness, and loved them with as big a love as it was possible\nto feel for creatures so very small. And, on their parts, the Pygmies\nloved Antaeus with as much affection as their tiny hearts could hold. He\nwas always ready to do them any good offices that lay in his power; as,\nfor example, when they wanted a breeze to turn their windmills, the\nGiant would set all the sails a-going with the mere natural respiration\nof his lungs. When the sun was too hot, he often sat himself down, and\nlet his shadow fall over the kingdom, from one frontier to the other;\nand as for matters in general, he was wise enough to let them alone, and\nleave the Pygmies to manage their own affairs,--which, after all, is\nabout the best thing that great people can do for little ones.\n\nIn short, as I said before, Antaeus loved the Pygmies, and the Pygmies\nloved Antaeus. The Giant's life being as long as his body was large,\nwhile the lifetime of a Pygmy was but a span, this friendly intercourse\nhad been going on for innumerable generations and ages. It was written\nabout in the Pygmy histories, and talked about in their ancient\ntraditions. The most venerable and white-bearded Pygmy had never heard\nof a time, even in his greatest of grandfather's days, when the Giant\nwas not their enormous friend. Once, to be sure (as was recorded on an\nobelisk, three feet high, erected on the place of the catastrophe),\nAntaeus sat down upon about five thousand Pygmies, who were assembled at\na military review. But this was one of those unlucky accidents for which\nnobody is to blame; so that the small folks never took it to heart, and\nonly requested the Giant to be careful forever afterwards to examine the\nacre of ground where he intended to squat himself.\n\nIt is a very pleasant picture to imagine Antaeus standing among the\nPygmies, like the spire of the tallest cathedral that ever was built,\nwhile they ran about like pismires at his feet; and to think that, in\nspite of their difference in size, there were affection and sympathy\nbetween them and him! Indeed, it has always seemed to me that the Giant\nneeded the little people more than the Pygmies needed the Giant. For,\nunless they had been his neighbors and wellwishers, and, as we may say,\nhis playfellows, Antaeus would not have had a single friend in the world.\nNo other being like himself had ever been created. No creature of his\nown size had ever talked with him, in thunder-like accents, face to\nface. When he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone,\nand had been so for hundreds of years, and would be so forever. Even if\nhe had met another Giant, Antaeus would have fancied the world not big\nenough for two such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with\nhim, would have fought him till one of the two was killed. But with the\nPygmies he was the most sportive, and humorous, and merry-hearted, and\nsweet-tempered old Giant that ever washed his face in a wet cloud.\n\nHis little friends, like all other small people, had a great opinion of\ntheir own importance, and used to assume quite a patronizing air towards\nthe Giant.\n\n\"Poor creature!\" they said one to another. \"He has a very dull time of\nit, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting a little of our\nprecious time to amuse him. He is not half so bright as we are, to be\nsure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and\nhappiness. Let us be kind to the old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had\nnot been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been Giants too.\"\n\nOn all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with Antaeus. He\noften stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he\nlooked like the long ridge of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk, no\ndoubt, for a short-legged Pygmy to journey from head to foot of the\nGiant. He would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge\nthe tallest of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to\nfinger. So fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in\namong the folds of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the\nearth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his\nmouth, and take it all as a joke, (as indeed it was meant) when Antaeus\ngave a sudden snap with his jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty\nof them at once. You would have laughed to see the children dodging in\nand out among his hair, or swinging from his beard. It is impossible to\ntell half of the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade;\nbut I do not know that anything was more curious than when a party of\nboys were seen running races on his forehead, to try which of them could\nget first round the circle of his one great eye. It was another favorite\nfeat with them to march along the bridge of his nose, and jump down upon\nhis upper lip.\n\nIf the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to the\nGiant as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a\nfondness for mischief, and liked to prick his skin with their little\nswords and lances, to see how thick and tough it was. But Antaeus took it\nall kindly enough; although, once in a while, when he happened to be\nsleepy, he would grumble out a peevish word or two, like the muttering\nof a tempest, and ask them to have done with their nonsense. A great\ndeal oftener, however, he watched their merriment and gambols until his\nhuge, heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then\nwould he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter,\nthat the whole nation of Pygmies had to put their hands to their ears,\nelse it would certainly have deafened them.\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides. \"What a\nfunny thing it is to be little! If I were not Antaeus, I should like to\nbe a pygmy, just for the joke's sake.\"\n\nThe Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were\nconstantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since\nthe long-lived giant could remember. From time to time very terrible\nbattles had been fought, in which sometimes the little men won the\nvictory, and sometimes the cranes. According to some historians, the\nPygmies used to go to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and\nrams; but such animals as these must have been far too big for Pygmies\nto ride upon; so that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or\nrabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly\nquills would be very terrible to the enemy. However this might be, and\nwhatever creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I do not doubt that they made\na formidable appearance, armed with sword and spear, and bow and arrow,\nblowing their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war-cry. They\nnever failed to exhort one another to fight bravely, and recollect that\nthe world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only\nspectator was the Giant Antaeus, with his one, great, stupid eye, in the\nmiddle of his forehead.\n\nWhen the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward,\nflapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps\nsnatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. Whenever this\nhappened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of\nmight kicking and sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down\nthe crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know,\nmust hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the\nglory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in the crane's\ngizzard. If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard against his\nlittle allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long\nstrides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting at\nthe cranes, who quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they\ncould. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing\nthe victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill and\nstrategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious\nwhile afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and\npublic banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of waxwork, with\nlikenesses of the distinguished officers as small as life.\n\nIn the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a\ncrane's tail-feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or\ntwice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of the\nnation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a\nfeather.\n\nBut I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people\nthese were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows\nhow many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Antaeus. In\nthe remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more\nastonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the\ncranes.\n\nOne day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his little\nfriends. His pine-tree walking-stick lay on the ground close by his\nside. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended\nacross the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever\ncomfort he could get, while the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped\ninto his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair. Sometimes, for a\nminute or two, the Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a\nwhirlwind. During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced\nto climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from\nthe summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which\nmade him rub the bright specks of his eyes, and look sharper than\nbefore. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had\ngrown up so suddenly out of the earth. But soon he saw the mountain\nmove. As it came nearer and nearer, what should it turn out to be but a\nhuman shape, not so big as Antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous\nfigure, in comparison with Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men\nwhom we see nowadays.\n\nWhen the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him,\nhe scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear,\nand stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it,--\n\n\"Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree\nwalking-stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle\nwith you.\"\n\n\"Poh, poh!\" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake, \"None of your nonsense, my\nlittle fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy. There is not a Giant on earth\nfor whom I would take the trouble to get up.\"\n\nBut the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was\ncoming directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With every step he\nlooked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large man.\nHe was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about the\nmatter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and\nflashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and\na lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a\nclub, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking-stick\nof Antaeus.\n\nBy this time, the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and a\nmillion of them set up a shout, all together; so that it really made\nquite an audible squeak.\n\n\"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes another\nGiant, as strong as you are, to fight with you.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, nonsense!\" growled the sleepy Giant. \"I'll have my nap out.\"\n\nStill the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly\ndiscern that if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his\nshoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders\nthey must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld\nthe sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great\nnumskull of a brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and\nwere determined to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him,\nand even went so far as to prick him with their swords.\n\n\"Get up, get up, get up!\" they cried. \"Up with you, lazy bones! The\nstrange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the\nbroadest, and we think him the stronger of the two.\"\n\nAntaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so\nmighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper\nthan their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave a\ngape of several yards wide, rubbed his eye, and finally turned his\nstupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly\npointing.\n\nNo sooner did he set eye on the stranger than, leaping on his feet, and\nseizing his walking-stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all the\nwhile brandishing the sturdy pine-tree, so that it whistled through the\nair.\n\n\"Who are you?\" thundered the Giant. \"And what do you want in my\ndominions?\"\n\nThere was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not yet told\nyou, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might not\nbelieve much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that\nwhenever this redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his\nhand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than\never he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and\nwas very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children; and\nso she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some\npersons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others\nsay that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever\nAntaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he stepped\na hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much mightier\nhe was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And whenever\nhe flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even if he got up\nthe very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just such\ngiants as his former self. It was well for the world that Antaeus\nhappened to be of a sluggish disposition, and liked ease better than\nexercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies, and touched the\nearth as often as they did, he would long ago have been strong enough to\npull down the sky about people's ears. But these great lubberly fellows\nresemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their disinclination to\nmove.\n\nAny other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now\nencountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's\nferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at\nall disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his\nhand, measuring Antaeus with his eye from head to foot, not as if\nwonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants\nbefore, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the\nGiant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their\nears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger\ncould not have been less afraid of him.\n\n\"Who are you, I say?\" roared Antaeus again. \"What's your name? Why do you\ncome hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your\nskull with my walking-stick.\"\n\n\"You are a very discourteous Giant,\" answered the stranger, quietly,\n\"and I shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we\npart. As for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is\nmy most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am\ngoing to get three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus.\"\n\n\"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!\" bellowed Antaeus, putting on a\ngrimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and\nhated him because he was said to be so strong. \"Neither shall you go\nback whence you came!\"\n\n\"How will you prevent me,\" asked Hercules, \"from going whither I\nplease?\"\n\n\"By hitting you a rap with this pine-tree here,\" shouted Antaeus,\nscowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. \"I am\nfifty times stronger than you; and, now that I stamp my foot upon the\nground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a\npuny little dwarf as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you\nshall likewise be the slave of my brethren, here, the Pygmies. So throw\ndown your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I\nintend to have a pair of gloves made of it.\"\n\n\"Come and take it off my shoulders, then,\" answered Hercules, lifting\nhis club.\n\nThen the Giant, grinning with rage, strode towerlike towards the\nstranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous\nblow at him with his pine-tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and\nbeing more skilful than Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the\nsconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon\nthe ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that\nanybody in the world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were a\ngood deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up he\nbounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was\nhorrible to behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry,\nbeing blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor, innocent Mother Earth,\nwho groaned and trembled at the stroke. His pine-tree went so deep into\nthe ground, and stuck there so fast, that before Antaeus could get it\nout, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty\nthwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises\nhad come screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that\none cry. Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I\nknow, was heard on the other side of the African deserts.\n\nAs for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the\nconcussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough\nwithout their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of\nlittle throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow\nby at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his\nfeet again, and pulled his pine-tree out of the earth; and, all a-flame\nwith fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at Hercules,\nand brought down another blow.\n\n\"This time, rascal,\" shouted he, \"you shall not escape me.\"\n\nBut once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the\nGiant's pine-tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which\nflew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think\nabout. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive\nagain, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over\nhead, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable\nstrength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it\nhad now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.\nHaving now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger\nthan a hogshead), smote one against the other, and danced up and down\nwith absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant\nnot merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.\n\n\"Come on!\" roared this thundering Giant. \"Let me hit you but one box on\nthe ear, and you'll never have the headache again.\"\n\nNow Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the sky\nup) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he\nkept on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard\nblows, the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother Earth,\nbecome stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his\nclub, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood\nready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.\n\n\"Step forward,\" cried he. \"Since I've broken your pine-tree, we'll try\nwhich is the better man at a wrestling-match.\"\n\n\"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you,\" shouted the Giant; for, if there was\none thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill\nin wrestling. \"Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself\nup again.\"\n\nOn came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his\nrage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion every time he\nhopped. But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull\nof a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him,--huge, earth-born\nmonster that he was,--and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his\nMother Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad\nGiant made a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both\nhands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.\n\nJust imagine it, my dear little friends! What a spectacle it must have\nbeen, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downward,\nkicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby\nwhen its father holds it at arm's-length toward the ceiling.\n\nBut the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was fairly off\nthe earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by touching\nit. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was growing\nweaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence, and\nbecause the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth\nwas, that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in\nfive minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of\nhis life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and\nit may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have to\nfight a battle with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born creatures\nare only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may easily be\nmanaged if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region.\nSo it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really sorry for,\nnotwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who came to visit\nhim.\n\nWhen his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge\nbody a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and\nlay with no more motion than a sand-hill. It was too late for the\nGiant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his\nponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were\nmistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.\n\nBut, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when\nthey saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If\nHercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps\nfancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that\nhad been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between\nhimself and Antaeus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with\nthe Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew\nthat there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he\nhad travelled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions\nin the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and reclining\nhimself upon it, fell fast asleep.\n\nAs soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded\ntheir little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.\nAnd when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was\nasleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a\nspace of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent\norators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at\nany other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,\nand, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His\nsentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something\nlike this was probably the upshot of his speech:--\n\n\"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what a\npublic calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here\nbeen offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antaeus, our great\nfriend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant who took\nhim at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in a\nway that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of fighting\nuntil this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong already\ndone us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as if nothing\nwere to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you, fellow-countrymen,\nto consider in what aspect we shall stand before the world, and what\nwill be the verdict of impartial history, should we suffer these\naccumulated outrages to go unavenged.\n\n\"Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we owe\nthe thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which made him\nproud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell fighting\nas much for our national rights and immunities as for his own personal\nones. We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held\naffectionate intercourse, as man to man, through immemorial generations.\nYou remember how often our entire people have reposed in his great\nshadow, and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek in the\ntangles of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly gone\nto and fro among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes. And there\nlies this dear brother,--this sweet and amiable friend,--this brave and\nfaithful ally,--this virtuous Giant,--this blameless and excellent\nAntaeus,--dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere mountain of clay! Forgive\nmy tears! Nay, I behold your own! Were we to drown the world with them,\ncould the world blame us?\n\n\"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to\ndepart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant\ncommunities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his\nbones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones, so\nthat, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of our\nsorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human\nrace a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance? Such is the question. I put\nit to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our\nnational character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish,\nthe glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we\nourselves have proudly vindicated in our welfare with the cranes.\"\n\nThe orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm;\nevery individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be\npreserved at all hazards. He bowed, and making a gesture for silence,\nwound up his harangue in the following admirable manner:--\n\n\"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on the\nwar in our national capacity,--one united people against a common\nenemy,--or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be\nselected to defy the slayer of our brother Antaeus to single combat. In\nthe latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men\namong you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty. And, believe\nme, dear countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great\ncountry, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall\nsuffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can wield this sword,\nof which I now fling away the scabbard,--never, never, never, even if\nthe crimson hand that slew the great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like\nhim, on the soil which I give my life to defend.\"\n\nSo saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was terrible to\nbehold, being as long as the blade of a penknife), and sent the scabbard\nwhirling over the heads of the multitude. His speech was followed by an\nuproar of applause, as its patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably\ndeserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly\nprolonged had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep\nrespiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping Hercules.\n\nIt was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should set to\nwork to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt that a\nsingle champion would be capable of putting him to the sword, but\nbecause he was a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing in the\nglory of his defeat. There was a debate whether the national honor did\nnot demand that a herald should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over\nthe ear of Hercules, and, after blowing a blast right into it, to defy\nhim to the combat by formal proclamation. But two or three venerable and\nsagacious Pygmies, well versed in state affairs, gave it as their\nopinion that war already existed, and that it was their rightful\nprivilege to take the enemy by surprise. Moreover, if awakened, and\nallowed to get upon his feet, Hercules might happen to do them a\nmischief before he could be beaten down again. For, as these sage\ncounsellors remarked, the stranger's club was really very big, and had\nrattled like a thunderbolt against the skull of Antaeus. So the Pygmies\nresolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail their\nantagonist at once.\n\nAccordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and\nwent boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming\nof the harm which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of twenty thousand\narchers marched in front, with their little bows all ready, and the\narrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber upon\nHercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles\nof hay, and all manner of rubbish, with which they intended to plug up\nhis mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of breath.\nThese last, however, could by no means perform their appointed duty;\ninasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an obstreperous\nhurricane and whirlwind, which blew the Pygmies away as fast as they\ncame nigh. It was found necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other\nmethod of carrying on the war.\n\nAfter holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect\nsticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible stuff they could\nfind, and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of\nHercules. As a great many thousand Pygmies were employed in this task,\nthey soon brought together several bushels of inflammatory matter, and\nraised so tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were quite\nupon a level with the sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile, were\nstationed within bow-shot, with orders to let fly at Hercules the\ninstant that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was\napplied to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and soon waxed\nhot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to lie still. A Pygmy,\nyou know, though so very small, might set the world on fire, just as\neasily as a Giant could; so that this was certainly the very best way of\ndealing with their foe, provided they could have kept him quiet while\nthe conflagration was going forward.\n\nBut no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched, than up he started,\nwith his hair in a red blaze.\n\n\"What's all this?\" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about\nhim as if he expected to see another Giant.\n\nAt that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings, and\nthe arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right into the\nface of Hercules. But I doubt whether more than half a dozen of them\npunctured the skin, which was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of\na hero has good need to be.\n\n\"Villain!\" shouted all the Pygmies at once. \"You have killed the Giant\nAntaeus, our great brother, and the ally of our nation. We declare bloody\nwar against you and will slay you on the spot.\"\n\nSurprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, Hercules, after\nputting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about, but\ncould see nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the ground, he\nespied the innumerable assemblage of Pygmies at his feet. He stooped\ndown, and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set\nhim on the palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for\nexamination. It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who had spoken\nfrom the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself as a champion to\nmeet Hercules in single combat.\n\n\"What in the world, my little fellow,\" ejaculated Hercules, \"may you\nbe?\"\n\n\"I am your enemy,\" answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest squeak.\n\"You have slain the enormous Antaeus, our brother by the mother's side,\nand for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation. We are\ndetermined to put you to death; and for my own part, I challenge you to\ninstant battle, on equal ground.\"\n\nHercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures,\nthat he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost dropped the\npoor little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand, through the\necstasy and convulsion of his merriment.\n\n\"Upon my word,\" cried he, \"I thought I had seen wonders before\nto-day,--hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged\nmen, three-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and\nnobody knows what besides. But here, on the palm of my hand, stands a\nwonder that outdoes them all! Your body, my little friend, is about the\nsize of an ordinary man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?\"\n\n\"As big as your own!\" said the Pygmy.\n\nHercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could\nnot help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as one hero feels for\nanother.\n\n\"My good little people,\" said he, making a low obeisance to the grand\nnation, \"not for all the world would I do an intentional injury to such\nbrave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great, that,\nupon my honor, I marvel how your small bodies can contain them. I sue\nfor peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and be out\nof your kingdom at the sixth. Good-by. I shall pick my steps carefully,\nfor fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it. Ha, ha,\nha! Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself vanquished.\"\n\nSome writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of Pygmies in\nhis lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece, for the children of\nKing Eurystheus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left them, one\nand all, within their own territory, where, for aught I can tell, their\ndescendants are alive to the present day, building their little houses,\ncultivating their little fields, spanking their little children, waging\ntheir little warfare with the cranes, doing their little business,\nwhatever it may be, and reading their little histories of ancient times.\nIn those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded, that, a great many\ncenturies ago, the valiant Pygmies avenged the death of the Giant Antaeus\nby scaring away the mighty Hercules.\n\n\n\n\nThe Dragon's Teeth\n\n\nCadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, the three sons of King Agenor, and their\nlittle sister Europa (who was a very beautiful child) were at play\ntogether, near the sea-shore, in their father's kingdom of Phoenicia.\nThey had rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents\ndwelt, and were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the\nsea, all sparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently\nagainst the beach. The three boys were very happy, gathering flowers,\nand twining them into garlands, with which they adorned the little\nEuropa. Seated on the grass, the child was almost hidden under an\nabundance of buds and blossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily out,\nand, as Cadmus said, was the prettiest of all the flowers.\n\nJust then, there came a splendid butterfly, fluttering along the meadow;\nand Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix set off in pursuit of it, crying out\nthat it was a flower with wings. Europa, who was a little wearied with\nplaying all day long, did not chase the butterfly with her brothers, but\nsat still where they had left her, and closed her eyes. For a while, she\nlistened to the pleasant murmur of the sea, which was like a voice\nsaying \"Hush!\" and bidding her go to sleep. But the pretty child, if she\nslept at all, could not have slept more than a moment, when she heard\nsomething trample on the grass, not far from her, and peeping out from\nthe heap of flowers, beheld a snow-white bull.\n\nAnd whence could this bull have come? Europa and her brothers had been a\nlong time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other\nliving thing, either there or on the neighboring hills.\n\n[Illustration: CADMUS SOWING THE DRAGON'S TEETH]\n\n\"Brother Cadmus!\" cried Europa, starting up out of the midst of the\nroses and lilies. \"Phoenix! Cilix! Where are you all? Help! Help! Come\nand drive away this bull!\"\n\nBut her brothers were too far off to hear; especially as the fright took\naway Europa's voice, and hindered her from calling very loudly. So there\nshe stood, with her pretty mouth wide open, as pale as the white lilies\nthat were twisted among the other flowers in her garlands.\n\nNevertheless, it was the suddenness with which she had perceived the\nbull, rather than anything frightful in his appearance, that caused\nEuropa so much alarm. On looking at him more attentively, she began to\nsee that he was a beautiful animal, and even fancied a particularly\namiable expression in his face. As for his breath,--the breath of\ncattle, you know, is always sweet,--it was as fragrant as if he had been\ngrazing on no other food than rosebuds, or, at least, the most delicate\nof clover-blossoms. Never before did a bull have such bright and tender\neyes, and such smooth horns of ivory, as this one. And the bull ran\nlittle races, and capered sportively around the child; so that she quite\nforgot how big and strong he was, and, from the gentleness and\nplayfulness of his actions, soon came to consider him as innocent a\ncreature as a pet lamb.\n\nThus, frightened as she at first was, you might by and by have seen\nEuropa stroking the bull's forehead with her small white hand, and\ntaking the garlands off her own head to hang them on his neck and ivory\nhorns. Then she pulled up some blades of grass, and he ate them out of\nher hand, not as if he were hungry, but because he wanted to be friends\nwith the child, and took pleasure in eating what she had touched. Well,\nmy stars! was there ever such a gentle, sweet, pretty, and amiable\ncreature as this bull, and ever such a nice playmate for a little girl?\n\nWhen the animal saw (for the bull had so much intelligence that it is\nreally wonderful to think of), when he saw that Europa was no longer\nafraid of him, he grew overjoyed, and could hardly contain himself for\ndelight. He frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making\nsprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping from\ntwig to twig. Indeed, his motion was as light as if he were flying\nthrough the air, and his hoofs seemed hardly to leave their print in the\ngrassy soil over which he trod. With his spotless hue, he resembled a\nsnow-drift, wafted along by the wind. Once be galloped so far away that\nEuropa feared lest she might never see him again; so, setting up her\nchildish voice, she called him back.\n\n\"Come back, pretty creature!\" she cried. \"Here is a nice\nclover-blossom.\"\n\nAnd then it was delightful to witness the gratitude of this amiable\nbull, and how he was so full of joy and thankfulness that he capered\nhigher than ever. He came running, and bowed his head before Europa, as\nif he knew her to be a king's daughter, or else recognized the important\ntruth that a little girl is everybody's queen. And not only did the bull\nbend his neck, he absolutely knelt down at her feet, and made such\nintelligent nods, and other inviting gestures, that Europa understood\nwhat he meant just as well as if he had put it in so many words.\n\n\"Come, dear child,\" was what he wanted to say, \"let me give you a ride\non my back.\"\n\nAt the first thought of such a thing, Europa drew back. But then she\nconsidered in her wise little head that there could be no possible harm\nin taking just one gallop on the back of this docile and friendly\nanimal, who would certainly set her down the very instant she desired\nit. And how it would surprise her brothers to see her riding across the\ngreen meadow! And what merry times they might have, either taking turns\nfor a gallop, or clambering on the gentle creature, all four children\ntogether, and careering round the field with shouts of laughter that\nwould be heard as far off as King Agenor's palace!\n\n\"I think I will do it,\" said the child to herself.\n\nAnd, indeed, why not? She cast a glance around, and caught a glimpse of\nCadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, who were still in pursuit of the\nbutterfly, almost at the other end of the meadow. It would be the\nquickest way of rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back. She\ncame a step nearer to him, therefore; and--sociable creature that he\nwas--he showed so much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the\nchild could not find it in her heart to hesitate any longer. Making one\nbound (for this little princess was as active as a squirrel), there sat\nEuropa on the beautiful bull, holding an ivory horn in each hand, lest\nshe should fall off.\n\n\"Softly, pretty bull, softly!\" she said, rather frightened at what she\nhad done. \"Do not gallop too fast.\"\n\nHaving got the child on his back, the animal gave a leap into the air,\nand came down so like a feather that Europa did not know when his hoofs\ntouched the ground. He then began a race to that part of the flowery\nplain where her three brothers were, and where they had just caught\ntheir splendid butterfly. Europa screamed with delight; and Phoenix,\nCilix, and Cadmus stood gaping at the spectacle of their sister mounted\non a white bull, not knowing whether to be frightened or to wish the\nsame good luck for themselves. The gentle and innocent creature (for who\ncould possibly doubt that he was so?) pranced round among the children\nas sportively as a kitten. Europa all the while looked down upon her\nbrothers, nodding and laughing, but yet with a sort of stateliness in\nher rosy little face. As the bull wheeled about to take another gallop\nacross the meadow, the child waved her hand, and said, \"Good-by,\"\nplayfully pretending that she was now bound on a distant journey, and\nmight not see her brothers again for nobody could tell how long.\n\n\"Good-by,\" shouted Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, all in one breath.\n\nBut, together with her enjoyment of the sport, there was still a little\nremnant of fear in the child's heart; so that her last look at the three\nboys was a troubled one, and made them feel as if their dear sister were\nreally leaving them forever. And what do you think the snowy bull did\nnext? Why, he set off, as swift as the wind, straight down to the\nsea-shore, scampered across the sand, took an airy leap, and plunged\nright in among the foaming billows. The white spray rose in a shower\nover him and little Europa, and fell spattering down upon the water.\n\nThen what a scream of terror did the poor child send forth! The three\nbrothers screamed manfully, likewise, and ran to the shore as fast as\ntheir legs would carry them, with Cadmus at their head. But it was too\nlate. When they reached the margin of the sand, the treacherous animal\nwas already far away in the wide blue sea, with only his snowy head and\ntail emerging, and poor little Europa between them, stretching out one\nhand towards her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory horn\nwith the other. And there stood Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, gazing at\nthis sad spectacle, through their tears, until they could no longer\ndistinguish the bull's snowy head from the white-capped billows that\nseemed to boil up out of the sea's depths around him. Nothing more was\never seen of the white bull,--nothing more of the beautiful child.\n\nThis was a mournful story, as you may well think, for the three boys to\ncarry home to their parents. King Agenor, their father, was the ruler of\nthe whole country; but he loved his little daughter Europa better than\nhis kingdom, or than all his other children, or than anything else in\nthe world. Therefore, when Cadmus and his two brothers came crying home,\nand told him how that a white bull had carried off their sister, and\nswam with her over the sea, the king was quite beside himself with grief\nand rage. Although it was now twilight, and fast growing dark, he bade\nthem set out instantly in search of her.\n\n\"Never shall you see my face again,\" he cried, \"unless you bring me back\nmy little Europa, to gladden me with her smiles and her pretty ways.\nBegone, and enter my presence no more, till you come leading her by the\nhand.\"\n\nAs King Agenor said this, his eyes flashed fire (for he was a very\npassionate king), and he looked so terribly angry that the poor boys did\nnot even venture to ask for their suppers, but slunk away out of the\npalace, and only paused on the steps a moment to consult whither they\nshould go first. While they were standing there all in dismay, their\nmother, Queen Telephassa (who happened not to be by when they told the\nstory to the king), came hurrying after them, and said that she too\nwould go in quest of her daughter.\n\n\"Oh no, mother!\" cried the boys. \"The night is dark, and there is no\nknowing what troubles and perils we may meet with.\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear children,\" answered poor Queen Telephassa, weeping\nbitterly, \"that is only another reason why I should go with you. If I\nshould lose you, too, as well as my little Europa, what would become of\nme?\"\n\n\"And let me go likewise!\" said their playfellow Thasus, who came running\nto join them.\n\nThasus was the son of a sea-faring person in the neighborhood; he had\nbeen brought up with the young princes, and was their intimate friend,\nand loved Europa very much; so they consented that he should accompany\nthem. The whole party, therefore, set forth together; Cadmus, Phoenix,\nCilix, and Thasus clustered round Queen Telephassa, grasping her skirts,\nand begging her to lean upon their shoulders whenever she felt weary. In\nthis manner they went down the palace steps, and began a journey which\nturned out to be a great deal longer than they dreamed of. The last that\nthey saw of King Agenor, he came to the door, with a servant holding a\ntorch beside him, and called after them into the gathering darkness:--\n\n\"Remember! Never ascend these steps again without the child!\"\n\n\"Never!\" sobbed Queen Telephassa; and the three brothers and Thasus\nanswered, \"Never! Never! Never! Never!\"\n\nAnd they kept their word. Year after year King Agenor sat in the\nsolitude of his beautiful palace, listening in vain for their returning\nfootsteps, hoping to hear the familiar voice of the queen, and the\ncheerful talk of his sons and their playfellow Thasus, entering the door\ntogether, and the sweet, childish accents of little Europa in the midst\nof them. But so long a time went by, that, at last, if they had really\ncome, the king would not have known that this was the voice of\nTelephassa, and these the younger voices that used to make such joyful\nechoes when the children were playing about the palace. We must now\nleave King Agenor to sit on his throne, and must go along with Queen\nTelephassa and her four youthful companions.\n\nThey went on and on, and travelled a long way, and passed over mountains\nand rivers, and sailed over seas. Here, and there, and everywhere, they\nmade continual inquiry if any person could tell them what had become of\nEuropa. The rustic people, of whom they asked this question, paused a\nlittle while from their labors in the field, and looked very much\nsurprised. They thought it strange to behold a woman in the garb of a\nqueen (for Telephassa, in her haste, had forgotten to take off her crown\nand her royal robes), roaming about the country, with four lads around\nher, on such an errand as this seemed to be. But nobody could give them\nany tidings of Europa; nobody had seen a little girl dressed like a\nprincess, and mounted on a snow-white bull, which galloped as swiftly as\nthe wind.\n\nI cannot tell you how long Queen Telephassa, and Cadmus, Phoenix, and\nCilix, her three sons, and Thasus, their playfellow, went wandering\nalong the highways and bypaths, or through the pathless wildernesses of\nthe earth, in this manner. But certain it is, that, before they reached\nany place of rest, their splendid garments were quite worn out. They all\nlooked very much travel-stained, and would have had the dust of many\ncountries on their shoes, if the streams, through which they had waded,\nhad not washed it all away. When they had been gone a year, Telephassa\nthrew away her crown, because it chafed her forehead.\n\n\"It has given me many a headache,\" said the poor queen, \"and it cannot\ncure my heartache.\"\n\nAs fast as their princely robes got torn and tattered, they exchanged\nthem for such mean attire as ordinary people wore. By and by they came\nto have a wild and homeless aspect; so that you would sooner have taken\nthem for a gypsy family than a queen and three princes and a young\nnobleman, who had once a palace for their home, and a train of servants\nto do their bidding. The four boys grew up to be tall young men, with\nsunburnt faces. Each of them girded on a sword, to defend themselves\nagainst the perils of the way. When the husbandmen, at whose farm-houses\nthey sought hospitality, needed their assistance in the harvest-field,\nthey gave it willingly; and Queen Telephassa (who had done no work in\nher palace, save to braid silk threads with golden ones) came behind\nthem to bind the sheaves. If payment was offered, they shook their\nheads, and only asked for tidings of Europa.\n\n\"There are bulls enough in my pasture,\" the old farmer would reply; \"but\nI never heard of one like this you tell me of. A snow-white bull with a\nlittle princess on his back! Ho! ho! I ask your pardon, good folks; but\nthere was never such a sight seen hereabouts.\"\n\nAt last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, Phoenix grew\nweary of rambling hither and thither to no purpose. So, one day, when\nthey happened to be passing through a pleasant and solitary tract of\ncountry, he sat himself down on a heap of moss.\n\n\"I can go no farther,\" said Phoenix. \"It is a mere foolish waste of\nlife, to spend it, as we do, in always wandering up and down, and never\ncoming to any home at nightfall. Our sister is lost, and never will be\nfound. She probably perished in the sea; or, to whatever shore the white\nbull may have carried her; it is now so many years ago, that there would\nbe neither love nor acquaintance between us should we meet again. My\nfather has forbidden us to return to his palace; so I shall build me a\nhut of branches, and dwell here.\"\n\n\"Well, son Phoenix,\" said Telephassa, sorrowfully, \"you have grown to\nbe a man, and must do as you judge best. But, for my part, I will still\ngo in quest of my poor child.\"\n\n\"And we three will go along with you!\" cried Cadmus and Cilix, and their\nfaithful friend Thasus.\n\nBut, before setting out, they all helped Phoenix to build a\nhabitation. When completed, it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead\nwith an arch of living boughs. Inside there were two pleasant rooms, one\nof which had a soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was\nfurnished with a rustic seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the\ncrooked roots of trees. So comfortable and homelike did it seem, that\nTelephassa and her three companions could not help sighing, to think\nthat they must still roam about the world, instead of spending the\nremainder of their lives in some such cheerful abode as they had here\nbuilt for Phoenix. But, when they bade him farewell, Phoenix shed\ntears, and probably regretted that he was no longer to keep them\ncompany.\n\nHowever, he had fixed upon an admirable place to dwell in. And by and by\nthere came other people, who chanced to have no homes; and, seeing how\npleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the neighborhood\nof Phoenix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by, a city had\ngrown up there, in the centre of which was seen a stately palace of\nmarble, wherein dwelt Phoenix, clothed in a purple robe, and wearing a\ngolden crown upon his head. For the inhabitants of the new city, finding\nthat he had royal blood in his veins, had chosen him to be their king.\nThe very first decree of state which King Phoenix issued was, that if\na maiden happened to arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white\nbull, and calling herself Europa, his subjects should treat her with the\ngreatest kindness and respect, and immediately bring her to the palace.\nYou may see, by this, that Phoenix's conscience never quite ceased to\ntrouble him, for giving up the quest of his dear sister, and sitting\nhimself down to be comfortable, while his mother and her companions went\nonward.\n\nBut often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did\nTelephassa and Cadmus, Cilix and Thasus, remember the pleasant spot in\nwhich they had left Phoenix. It was a sorrowful prospect for these\nwanderers, that on the morrow they must again set forth, and that, after\nmany nightfalls, they would perhaps be no nearer the close of their\ntoilsome pilgrimage than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy at\ntimes, but appeared to torment Cilix more than the rest of the party. At\nlength, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in hand to set\nout, he thus addressed them:--\n\n\"My dear mother, and you good brother Cadmus, and my friend Thasus,\nmethinks we are like people in a dream. There is no substance in the\nlife which we are leading. It is such a dreary length of time since the\nwhite bull carried off my sister Europa, that I have quite forgotten how\nshe looked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt\nwhether such a little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once\nlived or no, I am convinced that she no longer survives, and that\ntherefore it is the merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in\nseeking her. Were we to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and\nwould look upon us all as strangers. So, to tell you the truth, I have\nresolved to take up my abode here; and I entreat you, mother, brother,\nand friend, to follow my example.\"\n\n\"Not I, for one,\" said Telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as\nshe spoke, was so travel-worn that she could hardly put her foot to the\nground,--\"not I, for one! In the depths of my heart, little Europa is\nstill the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago. She\nhas not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night,\njourneying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always in\nmy ears, calling, 'Mother! mother!' Stop here who may, there is no\nrepose for me.\"\n\n\"Nor for me,\" said Cadmus, \"while my dear mother pleases to go onward.\"\n\nAnd the faithful Thasus, too, was resolved to bear them company. They\nremained with Cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build a\nrustic bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for\nPhoenix.\n\nWhen they were bidding him farewell, Cilix burst into tears, and told\nhis mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there, in\nsolitude, as to go onward. If she really believed that they would ever\nfind Europa, he was willing to continue the search with them, even now.\nBut Telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart\nwould let him. So the pilgrims took their leave of him, and departed,\nand were hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came\nalong that way, and saw Cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted\nwith the appearance of the place. There being abundance of unoccupied\nground in the neighborhood, these strangers built huts for themselves,\nand were soon joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly formed\na city. In the middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of colored\nmarble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared Cilix, in a\nlong purple robe, and with a jewelled crown upon his head; for the\ninhabitants, when they found out that he was a king's son, had\nconsidered him the fittest of all men to be a king himself.\n\nOne of the first acts of King Cilix's government was to send out an\nexpedition, consisting of a grave ambassador and an escort of bold and\nhardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the\nearth, and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those\nregions, galloping swiftly on a white bull. It is, therefore, plain to\nmy mind, that Cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search for\nEuropa, as long as he was able to put one foot before the other.\n\nAs for Telephassa, and Cadmus, and the good Thasus, it grieves me to\nthink of them, still keeping up that weary pilgrimage. The two young men\ndid their best for the poor queen, helping her over the rough places\noften carrying her across rivulets in their faithful arms, and seeking\nto shelter her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the\nground. Sad, sad it was to hear them asking of every passer-by if he had\nseen Europa, so long after the white bull had carried her away. But,\nthough the gray years thrust themselves between, and made the child's\nfigure dim in their remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three\never dreamed of giving up the search.\n\nOne morning, however, poor Thasus found that he had sprained his ankle,\nand could not possibly go a step farther.\n\n\"After a few days, to be sure,\" said he, mournfully, \"I might make shift\nto hobble along with a stick. But that would only delay you, and perhaps\nhinder you from finding dear little Europa, after all your pains and\ntrouble. Do you go forward, therefore, my beloved companions, and leave\nme to follow as I may.\"\n\n\"Thou hast been a true friend, dear Thasus,\" said Queen Telephassa,\nkissing his forehead. \"Being neither my son, nor the brother of our lost\nEuropa, thou hast shown thyself truer to me and her than Phoenix and\nCilix did, whom we have left behind us. Without thy loving help, and\nthat of my son Cadmus, my limbs could not have borne me half so far as\nthis. Now, take thy rest, and be at peace. For--and it is the first\ntime I have owned it to myself--I begin to question whether we shall\never find my beloved daughter in this world.\"\n\nSaying this, the poor queen shed tears, because it was a grievous trial\nto the mother's heart to confess that her hopes were growing faint. From\nthat day forward, Cadmus noticed that she never travelled with the same\nalacrity of spirit that had heretofore supported her. Her weight was\nheavier upon his arm.\n\nBefore setting out, Cadmus helped Thasus build a bower; while\nTelephassa, being too infirm to give any great assistance, advised them\nhow to fit it up and furnish it, so that it might be as comfortable as a\nhut of branches could. Thasus, however, did not spend all his days in\nthis green bower. For it happened to him, as to Phoenix and Cilix,\nthat other homeless people visited the spot and liked it, and built\nthemselves habitations in the neighborhood. So here, in the course of a\nfew years, was another thriving city with a red freestone palace in the\ncentre of it, where Thasus sat upon a throne, doing justice to the\npeople, with a purple robe over his shoulders, a sceptre in his hand,\nand a crown upon his head. The inhabitants had made him king, not for\nthe sake of any royal blood (for none was in his veins), but because\nThasus was an upright, true-hearted, and courageous man, and therefore\nfit to rule.\n\nBut, when the affairs of his kingdom were all settled, King Thasus laid\naside his purple robe, and crown, and sceptre, and bade his worthiest\nsubject distribute justice to the people in his stead. Then, grasping\nthe pilgrim's staff that had supported him so long, he set forth again,\nhoping still to discover some hoof-mark of the snow-white bull, some\ntrace of the vanished child. He returned, after a lengthened absence,\nand sat down wearily upon his throne. To his latest hour, nevertheless,\nKing Thasus showed his true-hearted remembrance of Europa, by ordering\nthat a fire should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath\nsteaming hot, and food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white\nsheets, in case the maiden should arrive, and require immediate\nrefreshment. And though Europa never came, the good Thasus had the\nblessings of many a poor traveller, who profited by the food and lodging\nwhich were meant for the little playmate of the king's boyhood.\n\nTelephassa and Cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no\ncompanion but each other. The queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm,\nand could walk only a few miles a day. But for all her weakness and\nweariness, she would not be persuaded to give up the search. It was\nenough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the\nmelancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he\ncould tell her any news of the lost child.\n\n\"Have you seen a little girl--no, no, I mean a young maiden of full\ngrowth--passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which gallops\nas swiftly as the wind?\"\n\n\"We have seen no such wondrous sight,\" the people would reply; and very\noften, taking Cadmus aside, they whispered to him, \"Is this stately and\nsad-looking woman your mother? Surely she is not in her right mind; and\nyou ought to take her home, and make her comfortable, and do your best\nto get this dream out of her fancy.\"\n\n\"It is no dream,\" said Cadmus. \"Everything else is a dream, save that.\"\n\nBut, one day, Telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost\nher whole weight on the arm of Cadmus, and walked more slowly than ever\nbefore. At last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her son\nthat she must needs lie down, and take a good, long rest.\n\n\"A good, long rest!\" she repeated, looking Cadmus tenderly in the\nface,\"--a good, long rest, thou dearest one!\"\n\n\"As long as you please, dear mother,\" answered Cadmus.\n\nTelephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took\nhis hand.\n\n\"My son,\" said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, \"this\nrest that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must not wait till it\nis finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not comprehend me. You must make a\ngrave here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage is\nover.\"\n\nCadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to believe that\nhis dear mother was now to be taken from him. But Telephassa reasoned\nwith him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was\nbetter for her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, the\ngrief, and disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since\nthe child was lost. He therefore repressed his sorrow and listened to\nher last words.\n\n\"Dearest Cadmus,\" said she, \"thou hast been the truest son that mother\never had, and faithful to the last. Who else would have borne with my\ninfirmities as thou hast! It is owing to thy care, thou tenderest child,\nthat my grave was not dug long years ago, in some valley, or on some\nhill-side, that lies far, far behind us. It is enough. Thou shalt wander\nno more on this hopeless search. But when thou hast laid thy mother in\nthe earth, then go, my son, to Delphi, and inquire of the oracle what\nthou shalt do next.\"\n\n\"O mother, mother,\" cried Cadmus, \"couldst thou but have seen my sister\nbefore this hour!\"\n\n\"It matters little now,\" answered Telephassa, and there was a smile upon\nher face. \"I go to the better world, and, sooner or later, shall find my\ndaughter there.\"\n\nI will not sadden you, my little hearers, with telling how Telephassa\ndied and was buried, but will only say, that her dying smile grew\nbrighter, instead of vanishing from her dead face; so that Cadmus felt\nconvinced that, at her very first step into the better world, she had\ncaught Europa in her arms. He planted some flowers on his mother's\ngrave, and left them to grow there, and make the place beautiful, when\nhe should be far away.\n\nAfter performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and took\nthe road towards the famous oracle of Delphi, as Telephassa had advised\nhim. On his way thither, he still inquired of most people whom he met\nwhether they had seen Europa; for, to say the truth, Cadmus had grown so\naccustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as readily as a\nremark about the weather. He received various answers. Some told him one\nthing, and some another. Among the rest, a mariner affirmed, that, many\nyears before, in a distant country, he had heard a rumor about a white\nbull, which came swimming across the sea with a child on his back,\ndressed up in flowers that were blighted by the sea-water. He did not\nknow what had become of the child or the bull; and Cadmus suspected,\nindeed, by a queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes, that he was putting a\njoke upon him, and had never really heard anything about the matter.\n\nPoor Cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all his\ndear mother's weight while she had kept him company. His heart, you will\nunderstand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes, to\ncarry it any farther. But his limbs were strong and active, and well\naccustomed to exercise. He walked swiftly along, thinking of King Agenor\nand Queen Telephassa, and his brothers, and the friendly Thasus, all of\nwhom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or another,\nand never expected to see them any more. Full of these remembrances, he\ncame within sight of a lofty mountain, which the people thereabouts told\nhim was called Parnassus. On the slope of Mount Parnassus was the famous\nDelphi, whither Cadmus was going.\n\nThis Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.\nThe place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain-side, over\nwhich, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches. It\nreminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and\nCilix, and afterwards for Thasus. In later times, when multitudes of\npeople came from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a\nspacious temple of marble was erected over the spot. But in the days of\nCadmus, as I have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its\nabundance of green foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over\nthe mysterious hole in the hill-side.\n\nWhen Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made\nhis way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden\ncavity. But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so\nmuch force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the\nshrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a\ndistinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage\ninside of the mountain.\n\n\"Sacred oracle of Delphi,\" said he, \"whither shall I go next in quest of\nmy dear sister Europa?\"\n\nThere was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise\nlike a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth. This\ncavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth,\nwhich sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most\npart, these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have\nstayed at the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than\nmany others who went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the\nrushing noise began to sound like articulate language. It repeated, over\nand over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like\nthe vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite\nknow whether it meant anything or not:--\n\n\"Seek her no more! Seek her no more! Seek her no more!\"\n\n\"What, then, shall I do?\" asked Cadmus.\n\nFor, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object\nof his life to find his sister. From the very hour that he left\nfollowing the butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he had\ndone his best to follow Europa, over land and sea. And now, if he must\ngive up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the world.\n\nBut again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse\nvoice.\n\n\"Follow the cow!\" it said. \"Follow the cow! Follow the cow!\"\n\nAnd when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of hearing\nthem (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was\nto follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.\n\n\"Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home.\"\n\nThese words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a\nwhisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the\nmeaning. He put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust\nof wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered\nleaves rustling along the ground before it.\n\n\"Did there really come any words out of the hole?\" thought Cadmus; \"or\nhave I been dreaming all this while?\"\n\nHe turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when\nhe came thither. Caring little what might happen to him, he took the\nfirst path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace; for,\nhaving no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than\nanother, it would certainly have been foolish to make haste. Whenever he\nmet anybody, the old question was at his tongue's end:--\n\n\"Have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and\nmounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?\"\n\nBut, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the\nwords, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion,\npeople must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his\nwits.\n\nI know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told you,\nwhen, at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow. She was\nlying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor did she take\nany notice of the young man until he had approached pretty nigh. Then,\ngetting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she\nbegan to move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough\nto crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered behind, whistling idly to\nhimself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the thought occurred to\nhim, whether this could possibly be the animal which, according to the\noracle's response, was to serve him for a guide. But he smiled at\nhimself for fancying such a thing. He could not seriously think that\nthis was the cow, because she went along so quietly, behaving just like\nany other cow. Evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of\nhay about Cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living along the\nwayside, where the herbage was green and fresh. Perhaps she was going\nhome to be milked.\n\n\"Cow, cow, cow!\" cried Cadmus. \"Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my good cow.\"\n\nHe wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if she\nwould appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities to\ndistinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is to\nfill the milk-pail, and sometimes kick it over. But still the brindled\ncow trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as\nlittle notice of Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did\nthe cow, and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace,\nthe cow went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus tried to\ncatch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck her tail straight\non end, and set off at a gallop, looking as queerly as cows generally\ndo, while putting themselves to their speed.\n\nWhen Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked on\nmoderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely on, without looking\nbehind. Wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a mouthful or\ntwo. Where a brook glistened brightly across the path, there the cow\ndrank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again, and trudged\nonward at the pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.\n\n\"I do believe,\" thought Cadmus, \"that this may be the cow that was\nforetold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down somewhere\nhereabouts.\"\n\nWhether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem\nreasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So, whenever they\nreached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hill-side, or in a\nsheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or along\nthe bank of a clear stream, Cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the\nsituation would suit him for a home. But still, whether he liked the\nplace or no, the brindled cow never offered to lie down. On she went at\nthe quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn-yard; and, every\nmoment, Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a pail, or a\nherdsman running to head the stray animal, and turn her back towards the\npasture. But no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back; and Cadmus\nfollowed the stray Brindle till he was almost ready to drop down with\nfatigue.\n\n\"O brindled cow,\" cried he, in a tone of despair, \"do you never mean to\nstop?\"\n\nHe had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging behind,\nhowever long the way, and whatever might be his fatigue. Indeed, it\nseemed as if there were something about the animal that bewitched\npeople. Several persons who happened to see the brindled cow, and Cadmus\nfollowing behind, began to trudge after her, precisely as he did.\nCadmus was glad of somebody to converse with, and therefore talked very\nfreely to these good people. He told them all his adventures, and how he\nhad left King Agenor in his palace, and Phoenix at one place, and\nCilix at another, and Thasus at a third, and his dear mother, Queen\nTelephassa, under a flowery sod; so that now he was quite alone, both\nfriendless and homeless. He mentioned, likewise, that the oracle had\nbidden him be guided by a cow, and inquired of the strangers whether\nthey supposed that this brindled animal could be the one.\n\n\"Why, 'tis a very wonderful affair,\" answered one of his new companions.\n\"I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and I never knew a\ncow, of her own accord, to go so far without stopping. If my legs will\nlet me, I'll never leave following the beast till she lies down.\"\n\n\"Nor I!\" said a second.\n\n\"Nor I!\" cried a third. \"If she goes a hundred miles farther, I'm\ndetermined to see the end of it.\"\n\nThe secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted cow,\nand that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of her\nenchantment over everybody that took so much as half a dozen steps\nbehind her. They could not possibly help following her, though, all the\ntime, they fancied themselves doing it of their own accord. The cow was\nby no means very nice in choosing her path; so that sometimes they had\nto scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and were all in a\nterribly bedraggled condition, and tired to death, and very hungry, into\nthe bargain. What a weary business it was!\n\nBut still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they went.\nThe strangers grew very fond of Cadmus, and resolved never to leave him,\nbut to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie down. In the\ncentre of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might\ndwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown and sceptre, a purple\nrobe, and everything else that a king ought to have; for in him there\nwas the royal blood, and the royal heart, and the head that knew how to\nrule.\n\nWhile they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the tediousness\nof the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one of the company\nhappened to look at the cow.\n\n\"Joy! joy!\" cried he, clapping his hands. \"Brindle is going to lie\ndown.\"\n\nThey all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped, and was staring\nleisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down.\nAnd slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first\nbending her fore legs, and then crouching her hind ones. When Cadmus and\nhis companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking her\nease, chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if this\nwas just the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all a\nmatter of course.\n\n\"This, then,\" said Cadmus, gazing around him, \"this is to be my home.\"\n\nIt was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their\nsun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough\nweather. At no great distance, they beheld a river gleaming in the\nsunshine. A home feeling stole into the heart of poor Cadmus. He was\nvery glad to know that here he might awake in the morning, without the\nnecessity of pulling on his dusty sandals to travel farther and farther.\nThe days and the years would pass over him, and find him still in this\npleasant spot. If he could have had his brothers with him, and his\nfriend Thasus, and could have seen his dear mother under a roof of his\nown, he might here have been happy, after all their disappointments.\nSome day or other, too, his sister Europa might have come quietly to the\ndoor of his home, and smiled round upon the familiar faces. But, indeed,\nsince there was no hope of regaining the friends of his boyhood, or\never seeing his dear sister again, Cadmus resolved to make himself happy\nwith these new companions, who had grown so fond of him while following\nthe cow.\n\n\"Yes, my friends,\" said he to them, \"this is to be our home. Here we\nwill build our habitations. The brindled cow, which has led us hither,\nwill supply us with milk. We will cultivate the neighboring soil, and\nlead an innocent and happy life.\"\n\nHis companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first place,\nbeing very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the means of\nproviding a comfortable meal. Not far off, they saw a tuft of trees,\nwhich appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath them. They\nwent thither to fetch some, leaving Cadmus stretched on the ground along\nwith the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of rest, it\nseemed as if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever since he left\nKing Agenor's palace, had fallen upon him at once. But his new friends\nhad not long been gone, when he was suddenly startled by cries, shouts,\nand screams, and the noise of a terrible struggle, and in the midst of\nit all, a most awful hissing, which went right through his ears like a\nrough saw.\n\nRunning towards the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes of\nan immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a dragon\nhad, and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth. Before Cadmus could\nreach the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor companions,\nand was busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of each man.\n\nIt appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the dragon\nhad been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench his thirst\nthere. As the neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided the spot, it was\nnow a long time (not less than a hundred years, or thereabouts) since\nthe monster had broken his fast; and, as was natural enough, his\nappetite had grown to be enormous, and was not half satisfied by the\npoor people whom he had just eaten up. When he caught sight of Cadmus,\ntherefore, he set up another abominable hiss, and flung back his immense\njaws, until his mouth looked like a great red cavern, at the farther end\nof which were seen the legs of his last victim, whom he had hardly had\ntime to swallow.\n\nBut Cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends, that he\ncared neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds of\nsharp teeth. Drawing his sword, he rushed at the monster, and flung\nhimself right into his cavernous mouth. This bold method of attacking\nhim took the dragon by surprise; for, in fact, Cadmus had leaped so far\ndown into his throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not close\nupon him, nor do him the least harm in the world. Thus, though the\nstruggle was a tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the tuft\nof trees into small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet, as Cadmus\nwas all the while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals, it was not\nlong before the scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping away. He had\nnot gone his length, however, when the brave Cadmus gave him a\nsword-thrust that finished the battle; and, creeping out of the gateway\nof the creature's jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling his vast\nbulk, although there was no longer life enough in him to harm a little\nchild.\n\nBut do not you suppose that it made Cadmus sorrowful to think of the\nmelancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who had\nfollowed the cow along with him? It seemed as if he were doomed to lose\neverybody whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or another.\nAnd here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a solitary place,\nwith not a single human being to help him build a hut.\n\n\"What shall I do?\" cried he aloud. \"It were better for me to have been\ndevoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were.\"\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said a voice,--but whether it came from above or below him,\nor whether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not\ntell,--\"Cadmus, pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the\nearth.\"\n\nThis was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, I should imagine,\nto dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's jaws. But\nCadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous head almost\nto pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many teeth as\nmight have filled a bushel or two. The next thing was to plant them.\nThis, likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as Cadmus was\nalready exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his head to\npieces, and had nothing to dig the earth with, that I know of, unless it\nwere his sword-blade. Finally, however, a sufficiently large tract of\nground was turned up, and sown with this new kind of seed; although half\nof the dragon's teeth still remained to be planted some other day.\n\nCadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and wondering\nwhat was to happen next. He had waited but a few moments, when he began\nto see a sight, which was as great a marvel as the most marvellous thing\nI ever told you about.\n\nThe sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the moist,\ndark soil just like any other newly planted piece of ground. All at\nonce, Cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly, first at\none spot, then at another, and then at a hundred and a thousand spots\ntogether. Soon he perceived them to be the steel heads of spears,\nsprouting up everywhere like so many stalks of grain, and continually\ngrowing taller and taller. Next appeared a vast number of bright\nsword-blades, thrusting themselves up in the same way. A moment\nafterwards, the whole surface of the ground was broken up by a multitude\nof polished brass helmets, coming up like a crop of enormous beans. So\nrapidly did they grow, that Cadmus now discerned the fierce countenance\nof a man beneath every one. In short, before he had time to think what a\nwonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant harvest of what looked\nlike human beings, armed with helmets and breastplates, shields, swords\nand spears; and before they were well out of the earth, they brandished\ntheir weapons, and clashed them one against another, seeming to think,\nlittle while as they had yet lived, that they had wasted too much of\nlife without a battle. Every tooth of the dragon had produced one of\nthese sons of deadly mischief.\n\nUp sprouted, also, a great many trumpeters; and with the first breath\nthat they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and\nsounded a tremendous and ear-shattering blast; so that the whole space,\njust now so quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang of\narms, the bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men. So enraged\ndid they all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put the whole\nworld to the sword. How fortunate would it be for a great conqueror, if\nhe could get a bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the same voice which he had before heard, \"throw a stone\ninto the midst of the armed men.\"\n\nSo Cadmus seized a large stone, and, flinging it into the middle of the\nearth army, saw it strike the breastplate of a gigantic and\nfierce-looking warrior. Immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to\ntake it for granted that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his\nweapon, he smote his next neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet asunder,\nand stretched him on the ground. In an instant, those nearest the fallen\nwarrior began to strike at one another with their swords and stab with\ntheir spears. The confusion spread wider and wider. Each man smote down\nhis brother, and was himself smitten down before he had time to exult in\nhis victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew their blasts shriller\nand shriller; each soldier shouted a battle-cry and often fell with it\non his lips. It was the strangest spectacle of causeless wrath, and of\nmischief for no good end, that had ever been witnessed; but, after all,\nit was neither more foolish nor more wicked than a thousand battles\nthat have since been fought, in which men have slain their brothers with\njust as little reason as these children of the dragon's teeth. It ought\nto be considered, too, that the dragon people were made for nothing\nelse; whereas other mortals were born to love and help one another.\n\nWell, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was\nstrewn with helmeted heads that had been cut off. Of all the thousands\nthat began the fight, there were only five left standing. These now\nrushed from different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle of\nit, clashed their swords, and struck at each other's hearts as fiercely\nas ever.\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the voice again, \"bid those five warriors sheathe their\nswords. They will help you to build the city.\"\n\nWithout hesitating an instant, Cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect\nof a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them,\nspoke to the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.\n\n\"Sheathe your weapons!\" said he.\n\nAnd forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five remaining\nsons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with their swords,\nreturned them to the scabbards, and stood before Cadmus in a rank,\neyeing him as soldiers eye their captain, while awaiting the word of\ncommand.\n\nThese five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's\nteeth, and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army. They were\nalmost giants, indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never could\nhave lived through so terrible a fight. They still had a very furious\nlook, and, if Cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at one\nanother, with fire flashing out of their eyes. It was strange, too, to\nobserve how the earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was\nincrusted, here and there, on their bright breastplates, and even\nbegrimed their faces, just as you may have seen it clinging to beets\nand carrots when pulled out of their native soil. Cadmus hardly knew\nwhether to consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable;\nalthough, on the whole, he concluded that there was human nature in\nthem, because they were so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready to\nshed blood.\n\nThey looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and\nevidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one\nbattle-field to another, all over the wide world. But Cadmus was wiser\nthan these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them,\nand knew better how to use their strength and hardihood.\n\n\"Come!\" said he. \"You are sturdy fellows. Make yourselves useful! Quarry\nsome stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to build a\ncity.\"\n\nThe five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their\nbusiness to overthrow cities, not to build them up. But Cadmus looked at\nthem with a stern eye, and spoke to them in a tone of authority, so that\nthey knew him for their master, and never again thought of disobeying\nhis commands. They set to work in good earnest, and toiled so\ndiligently, that, in a very short time, a city began to make its\nappearance. At first, to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome\ndisposition. Like savage beasts, they would doubtless have done one\nanother a mischief, if Cadmus had not kept watch over them and quelled\nthe fierce old serpent that lurked in their hearts, when he saw it\ngleaming out of their wild eyes. But, in course of time, they got\naccustomed to honest labor, and had sense enough to feel that there was\nmore true enjoyment in living in peace, and doing good to one's\nneighbor, than in striking at him with a two-edged sword. It may not be\ntoo much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and by grow as wise\nand peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors, who sprang from the\ndragon's teeth.\n\nAnd now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the\nworkmen. But the palace of Cadmus was not yet erected, because they had\nleft it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new improvements of\narchitecture, and make it very commodious, as well as stately and\nbeautiful. After finishing the rest of their labors, they all went to\nbed betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning, and get at\nleast the foundation of the edifice laid before nightfall. But, when\nCadmus arose, and took his way toward the site where the palace was to\nbe built, followed by his five sturdy workmen marching all in a row,\nwhat do you think he saw?\n\nWhat should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been\nseen in the world? It was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of\nstone, and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and portico\nalong the front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted\nthe habitation of a mighty king. It had grown up out of the earth in\nalmost as short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from the\ndragon's teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of this\nstately edifice had ever been planted.\n\nWhen the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine making\nit look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.\n\n\"Long live King Cadmus,\" they cried, \"in his beautiful palace.\"\n\nAnd the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels,\nshouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank (for they still had a\nsoldier-like sort of behavior, as their nature was), ascended the palace\nsteps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista of lofty\npillars that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At the farther\nextremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him, Cadmus beheld a\nfemale figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with a royal robe, and\na crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and the richest necklace\nthat ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with delight. He fancied it\nhis long-lost sister Europa, now grown to womanhood, coming to make him\nhappy, and to repay him, with her sweet sisterly affection, for all\nthose weary wanderings in quest of her since he left King Agenor's\npalace,--for the tears that he had shed, on parting with Phoenix, and\nCilix, and Thasus,--for the heart-breakings that had made the whole\nworld seem dismal to him over his dear mother's grave.\n\nBut, as Cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that her\nfeatures were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it\nrequired to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy twixt\nhimself and her.\n\n\"No, Cadmus,\" said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field of\nthe armed men, \"this is not that dear sister Europa whom you have sought\nso faithfully all over the wide world. This is Harmonia, a daughter of\nthe sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers, and friend,\nand mother. You will find all those dear ones in her alone.\"\n\nSo King Cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend Harmonia, and\nfound a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would\ndoubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by\nthe wayside. Before many years went by, there was a group of rosy little\nchildren (but how they came thither has always been a mystery to me)\nsporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the palace, and\nrunning joyfully to meet King Cadmus when affairs of state left him at\nleisure to play with them. They called him father, and Queen Harmonia\nmother. The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth grew very fond of\nthese small urchins, and were never weary of showing them how to\nshoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march in military order,\nblowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable rub-a-dub upon a\nlittle drum.\n\nBut King Cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth in\nhis children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly duties to\nteach them their A B C,--which he invented for their benefit, and for\nwhich many little people, I am afraid, are not half so grateful to him\nas they ought to be.\n\n\n\n\nCirce's Palace\n\n\nSome of you have heard, no doubt, of the wise King Ulysses, and how he\nwent to the siege of Troy, and how, after that famous city was taken and\nburned, he spent ten long years in trying to get back again to his own\nlittle kingdom of Ithaca. At one time in the course of this weary\nvoyage, he arrived at an island that looked very green and pleasant, but\nthe name of which was unknown to him. For, only a little while before he\ncame thither, he had met with a terrible hurricane, or rather a great\nmany hurricanes at once, which drove his fleet of vessels into a strange\npart of the sea, where neither himself nor any of his mariners had ever\nsailed. This misfortune was entirely owing to the foolish curiosity of\nhis shipmates, who, while Ulysses lay asleep, had untied some very bulky\nleathern bags, in which they supposed a valuable treasure to be\nconcealed. But in each of these stout bags, King AEolus, the ruler of the\nwinds, had tied up a tempest, and had given it to Ulysses to keep, in\norder that he might be sure of a favorable passage homeward to Ithaca;\nand when the strings were loosened, forth rushed the whistling blasts,\nlike air out of a blown bladder, whitening the sea with foam, and\nscattering the vessels nobody could tell whither.\n\nImmediately after escaping from this peril, a still greater one had\nbefallen him. Scudding before the hurricane, he reached a place, which,\nas he afterwards found, was called Laestrygonia, where some monstrous\ngiants had eaten up many of his companions, and had sunk every one of\nhis vessels, except that in which he himself sailed, by flinging great\nmasses of rock at them, from the cliffs along the shore. After going\nthrough such troubles as these, you cannot wonder that King Ulysses was\nglad to moor his tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove of the green\nisland, which I began with telling you about. But he had encountered so\nmany dangers from giants, and one-eyed Cyclopes, and monsters of the sea\nand land, that he could not help dreading some mischief, even in this\npleasant and seemingly solitary spot. For two days, therefore, the poor\nweather-worn voyagers kept quiet, and either stayed on board of their\nvessel, or merely crept along under cliffs that bordered the shore; and\nto keep themselves alive, they dug shell-fish out of the sand, and\nsought for any little rill of fresh water that might be running towards\nthe sea.\n\nBefore the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of\nlife; for the followers of King Ulysses, as you will find it important\nto remember, were terrible gormandizers, and pretty sure to grumble if\nthey missed their regular meals, and their irregular ones besides. Their\nstock of provisions was quite exhausted, and even the shell-fish began\nto get scarce, so that they had now to choose between starving to death\nor venturing into the interior of the island, where, perhaps, some huge\nthree-headed dragon, or other horrible monster, had his den. Such\nmisshapen creatures were very numerous in those days; and nobody ever\nexpected to make a voyage, or take a journey, without running more or\nless risk of being devoured by them.\n\nBut King Ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the\nthird morning he determined to discover what sort of a place the island\nwas, and whether it were possible to obtain a supply of food for the\nhungry mouths of his companions. So, taking a spear in his hand, he\nclambered to the summit of a cliff, and gazed round about him. At a\ndistance, towards the centre of the island, he beheld the stately towers\nof what seemed to be a palace, built of snow-white marble, and rising in\nthe midst of a grove of lofty trees. The thick branches of these trees\nstretched across the front of the edifice, and more than half concealed\nit, although, from the portion which he saw, Ulysses judged it to be\nspacious and exceedingly beautiful, and probably the residence of some\ngreat nobleman or prince. A blue smoke went curling up from the chimney,\nand was almost the pleasantest part of the spectacle to Ulysses. For,\nfrom the abundance of this smoke, it was reasonable to conclude that\nthere was a good fire in the kitchen, and that, at dinner-time, a\nplentiful banquet would be served up to the inhabitants of the palace,\nand to whatever guests might happen to drop in.\n\n[Illustration: CIRCE'S PALACE]\n\nWith so agreeable a prospect before him, Ulysses fancied that he could\nnot do better than to go straight to the palace gate, and tell the\nmaster of it that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not far\noff, who had eaten nothing for a day or two save a few clams and\noysters, and would therefore be thankful for a little food. And the\nprince or nobleman must be a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if, at\nleast, when his own dinner was over, he would not bid them welcome to\nthe broken victuals from the table.\n\nPleasing himself with this idea, King Ulysses had made a few steps in\nthe direction of the palace, when there was a great twittering and\nchirping from the branch of a neighboring tree. A moment afterwards, a\nbird came flying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to\nbrush his face with its wings. It was a very pretty little bird, with\npurple wings and body, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden feathers\nround his neck, and on its head a golden tuft, which looked like a\nking's crown in miniature. Ulysses tried to catch the bird. But it\nfluttered nimbly out of his reach, still chirping in a piteous tone, as\nif it could have told a lamentable story, had it only been gifted with\nhuman language. And when he attempted to drive it away, the bird flew no\nfarther than the bough of the next tree, and again came fluttering about\nhis head, with its doleful chirp, as soon as he showed a purpose of\ngoing forward.\n\n\"Have you anything to tell me, little bird?\" asked Ulysses.\n\nAnd he was ready to listen attentively to whatever the bird might\ncommunicate; for at the siege of Troy, and elsewhere, he had known such\nodd things to happen, that he would not have considered it much out of\nthe common run had this little feathered creature talked as plainly as\nhimself.\n\n\"Peep!\" said the bird, \"peep, peep, pe--weep!\" And nothing else would it\nsay, but only, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" in a melancholy cadence, over and\nover and over again. As often as Ulysses moved forward, however, the\nbird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive him back, with\nthe anxious flutter of its purple wings. Its unaccountable behavior made\nhim conclude, at last, that the bird knew of some danger that awaited\nhim, and which must needs be very terrible, beyond all question, since\nit moved even a little fowl to feel compassion for a human being. So he\nresolved, for the present, to return to the vessel, and tell his\ncompanions what he had seen.\n\nThis appeared to satisfy the bird. As soon as Ulysses turned back, it\nran up the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark\nwith its long, sharp bill; for it was a kind of wood-pecker, you must\nknow, and had to get its living in the same manner as other birds of\nthat species. But every little while, as it pecked at the bark of the\ntree, the purple bird bethought itself of some secret sorrow, and\nrepeated its plaintive note of \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\"\n\nOn his way to the shore, Ulysses had the good luck to kill a large stag\nby thrusting his spear into its back. Taking it on his shoulders (for he\nwas a remarkably strong man), he lugged it along with him, and flung it\ndown before his hungry companions. I have already hinted to you what\ngormandizers some of the comrades of King Ulysses were. From what is\nrelated of them, I reckon that their favorite diet was pork, and that\nthey had lived upon it until a good part of their physical substance was\nswine's flesh, and their tempers and dispositions were very much akin\nto the hog. A dish of venison, however, was no unacceptable meal to\nthem, especially after feeding so long on oysters and clams. So,\nbeholding the dead stag, they felt of its ribs in a knowing way, and\nlost no time in kindling a fire, of drift-wood, to cook it. The rest of\nthe day was spent in feasting; and if these enormous eaters got up from\ntable at sunset, it was only because they could not scrape another\nmorsel off the poor animal's bones.\n\nThe next morning their appetites were as sharp as ever. They looked at\nUlysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff again, and come\nback with another fat deer upon his shoulders. Instead of setting out,\nhowever, he summoned the whole crew together, and told them it was in\nvain to hope that he could kill a stag every day for their dinner, and\ntherefore it was advisable to think of some other mode of satisfying\ntheir hunger.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"when I was on the cliff yesterday, I discovered that\nthis island is inhabited. At a considerable distance from the shore\nstood a marble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a\ngreat deal of smoke curling out of one of its chimneys.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips. \"That smoke\nmust have come from the kitchen fire. There was a good dinner on the\nspit; and no doubt there will be as good a one to-day.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the wise Ulysses, \"you must remember, my good friends,\nour misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed Polyphemus, the Cyclops!\nInstead of his ordinary milk diet, did he not eat up two of our comrades\nfor his supper, and a couple more for breakfast, and two at his supper\nagain? Methinks I see him yet, the hideous monster, scanning us with\nthat great red eye, in the middle of his forehead, to single out the\nfattest. And then again only a few days ago, did we not fall into the\nhands of the king of the Laestrygons, and those other horrible giants,\nhis subjects, who devoured a great many more of us than are now left?\nTo tell you the truth, if we go to yonder palace, there can be no\nquestion that we shall make our appearance at the dinner-table; but\nwhether seated as guests, or served up as food, is a point to be\nseriously considered.\"\n\n\"Either way,\" murmured some of the hungriest of the crew, \"it will be\nbetter than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being well\nfattened beforehand, and daintily cooked afterwards.\"\n\n\"That is a matter of taste,\" said King Ulysses, \"and, for my own part,\nneither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would\nreconcile me to being dished at last. My proposal is, therefore, that we\ndivide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing lots,\nwhich of the two shall go to the palace, and beg for food and\nassistance. If these can be obtained, all is well. If not, and if the\ninhabitants prove as inhospitable as Polyphemus, or the Laestrygons, then\nthere will but half of us perish, and the remainder may set sail and\nescape.\"\n\nAs nobody objected to this scheme, Ulysses proceeded to count the whole\nband, and found that there were forty-six men including himself. He then\nnumbered off twenty-two of them, and put Eurylochus (who was one of his\nchief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity) at their head.\nUlysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men, in person. Then,\ntaking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one of which was\nwritten, \"Go,\" and on the other \"Stay.\" Another person now held the\nhelmet, while Ulysses and Eurylochus drew out each a shell; and the word\n\"Go\" was found written on that which Eurylochus had drawn. In this\nmanner, it was decided that Ulysses and his twenty-two men were to\nremain at the seaside until the other party should have found out what\nsort of treatment they might expect at the mysterious palace. As there\nwas no help for it, Eurylochus immediately set forth at the head of his\ntwenty-two followers, who went off in a very melancholy state of mind,\nleaving their friends in hardly better spirits than themselves.\n\nNo sooner had they clambered up the cliff, than they discerned the tall\nmarble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the\nlovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it. A gush of smoke\ncame from a chimney in the rear of the edifice. This vapor rose high in\nthe air, and, meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to\npass over the heads of the hungry mariners. When people's appetites are\nkeen, they have a very quick scent for anything savory in the wind.\n\n\"That smoke comes from the kitchen!\" cried one of them, turning up his\nnose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly. \"And, as sure as I'm a\nhalf-starved vagabond, I smell roast meat in it.\"\n\n\"Pig, roast pig!\" said another. \"Ah, the dainty little porker! My mouth\nwaters for him.\"\n\n\"Let us make haste,\" cried the others, \"or we shall be too late for the\ngood cheer!\"\n\nBut scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the\ncliff, when a bird came fluttering to meet them. It was the same pretty\nlittle bird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs, the golden\ncollar round its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its head, whose\nbehavior had so much surprised Ulysses. It hovered about Eurylochus, and\nalmost brushed his face with its wings.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" chirped the bird.\n\nSo plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the\nlittle creature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret\nthat it had to tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.\n\n\"My pretty bird,\" said Eurylochus,--for he was a wary person, and let no\ntoken of harm escape his notice,--\"my pretty bird, who sent you hither?\nAnd what is the message which you bring?\"\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" replied the bird, very sorrowfully.\n\nThen it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked round at them, as\nif exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.\nEurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back. They\ncould not help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of\nsomething mischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the\nknowledge of which affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and\nsorrow. But the rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the\npalace kitchen, ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of\nthem (more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer\nin the whole crew) said such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the\nmere thought did not turn him into a wild beast in shape, as he already\nwas in his nature.\n\n\"This troublesome and impertinent little fowl,\" said he, \"would make a\ndelicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting\naway between the teeth. If he comes within my reach, I'll catch him, and\ngive him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew\naway, crying \"Peep, peep, pe--weep,\" more dolorously than ever.\n\n\"That bird,\" remarked Eurylochus, \"knows more than we do about what\nawaits us at the palace.\"\n\n\"Come on, then,\" cried his comrades, \"and we'll soon know as much as he\ndoes.\"\n\nThe party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant wood.\nEvery little while they caught new glimpses of the marble palace, which\nlooked more and more beautiful the nearer they approached it. They soon\nentered a broad pathway, which seemed to be very neatly kept, and which\nwent winding along with streaks of sunshine falling across it, and\nspecks of light quivering among the deepest shadows that fell from the\nlofty trees. It was bordered, too, with a great many sweet-smelling\nflowers, such as the mariners had never seen before. So rich and\nbeautiful they were, that, if the shrubs grew wild here, and were native\nin the soil, then this island was surely the flower-garden of the whole\nearth; or, if transplanted from some other clime, it must have been from\nthe Happy Islands that lay towards the golden sunset.\n\n\"There has been a great deal of pains foolishly wasted on these\nflowers,\" observed one of the company; and I tell you what he said, that\nyou may keep in mind what gormandizers they were. \"For my part, if I\nwere the owner of the palace, I would bid my gardener cultivate nothing\nbut savory potherbs to make a stuffing for roast meat, or to flavor a\nstew with.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" cried the others. \"But I'll warrant you there's a\nkitchen-garden in the rear of the palace.\"\n\nAt one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it\nfor want of liquor which they liked better. Looking into its bosom, they\nbeheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly distorted\nby the gush and motion of the water, that each one of them appeared to\nbe laughing at himself and all his companions. So ridiculous were these\nimages of themselves, indeed, that they did really laugh aloud, and\ncould hardly be grave again as soon as they wished. And after they had\ndrank, they grew still merrier than before.\n\n\"It has a twang of the wine-cask in it,\" said one, smacking his lips.\n\n\"Make haste!\" cried his fellows; \"we'll find the wine-cask itself at the\npalace; and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains.\"\n\nThen they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of\nthe savory banquet at which they hoped to be guests. But Eurylochus told\nthem that he felt as if he were walking in a dream.\n\n\"If I am really awake,\" continued he, \"then, in my opinion, we are on\nthe point of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that befell\nus in the cave of Polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating\nLaestrygons, or in the windy palace of King AEolus, which stands on a\nbrazen-walled island. This kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me\nbefore any wonderful occurrence. If you take my advice, you will turn\nback.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent\nfrom the palace kitchen was now very perceptible. \"We would not turn\nback, though we were certain that the king of the Laestrygons, as big as\na mountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge Polyphemus, the\none-eyed Cyclops, at its foot.\"\n\nAt length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to be\nvery large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon its\nroof. Though it was now midday, and the sun shone brightly over the\nmarble front, yet its snowy whiteness, and its fantastic style of\narchitecture, made it look unreal, like the frostwork on a window-pane,\nor like the shapes of castles which one sees among the clouds by\nmoonlight. But, just then, a puff of wind brought down the smoke of the\nkitchen chimney among them, and caused each man to smell the odor of the\ndish that he liked best; and, after scenting it, they thought everything\nelse moonshine, and nothing real save this palace, and save the banquet\nthat was evidently ready to be served up in it.\n\nSo they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got\nhalf-way across the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves\ncame bounding to meet them. The terrified mariners started back,\nexpecting no better fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured. To\ntheir surprise and joy, however, these wild beasts merely capered around\nthem, wagging their tails, offering their heads to be stroked and\npatted, and behaving just like so many well-bred house-dogs, when they\nwish to express their delight at meeting their master, or their master's\nfriends. The biggest lion licked the feet of Eurylochus; and every other\nlion, and every wolf and tiger, singled out one of his two-and-twenty\nfollowers, whom the beast fondled as if he loved him better than a\nbeef-bone.\n\nBut, for all that, Eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce and\nsavage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any moment,\nto feel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the tigers make\na deadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the man whom he had\nfondled. Their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere freak; but their\nsavage nature was as true as their teeth and claws.\n\nNevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts\nfrisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they\nmounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low\ngrowl, particularly from the wolves; as if they thought it a pity, after\nall, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what they were\nmade of.\n\nEurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and looked\nthrough the open doorway into the interior of the palace. The first\nthing that they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the middle of\nit, gushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin, and falling\nback into it with a continual plash. The water of this fountain, as it\nspouted upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly,\nbut plainly enough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they were. Now\nit was the shape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy whiteness of which\nwas made out of the fountain's spray; now it was a lion, or a tiger, or\na wolf, or an ass, or, as often as anything else, a hog, wallowing in\nthe marble basin as if it were his sty. It was either magic or some very\ncurious machinery that caused the gushing waterspout to assume all\nthese forms. But, before the strangers had time to look closely at this\nwonderful sight, their attention was drawn off by a very sweet and\nagreeable sound. A woman's voice was singing melodiously in another room\nof the palace, and with her voice was mingled the noise of a loom, at\nwhich she was probably seated, weaving a rich texture of cloth, and\nintertwining the high and low sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue\nof harmony.\n\nBy and by, the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were\nseveral feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and\nthen a merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three\nor four young women sit at work together.\n\n\"What a sweet song that was!\" exclaimed one of the voyagers.\n\n\"Too sweet, indeed,\" answered Eurylochus, shaking his head. \"Yet it was\nnot so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those birdlike damsels who\nwanted to tempt us on the rocks, so that our vessel might be wrecked,\nand our bones left whitening along the shore.\"\n\n\"But just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that buzz\nof the loom, as the shuttle passes to and fro,\" said another comrade.\n\"What a domestic, household, homelike sound it is! Ah, before that weary\nsiege of Troy, I used to hear the buzzing loom and the women's voices\nunder my own roof. Shall I never hear them again? nor taste those nice\nlittle savory dishes which my dearest wife knew how to serve up?\"\n\n\"Tush! we shall fare better here,\" said another. \"But how innocently\nthose women are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear\nthem! And mark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and familiar, but\nwhich yet seems to have the authority of a mistress among them. Let us\nshow ourselves at once. What harm can the lady of the palace and her\nmaidens do to mariners and warriors like us?\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Eurylochus, \"that it was a young maiden who beguiled\nthree of our friends into the palace of the king of the Laestrygons, who\nate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye.\"\n\nNo warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions.\nThey went up to a pair of folding-doors at the farther end of the hall,\nand, throwing them wide open, passed into the next room. Eurylochus,\nmeanwhile, had stepped behind a pillar. In the short moment while the\nfolding-doors opened and closed again, he caught a glimpse of a very\nbeautiful woman rising from the loom, and coming to meet the poor\nweather-beaten wanderers, with a hospitable smile, and her hand\nstretched out in welcome. There were four other young women, who joined\ntheir hands and danced merrily forward, making gestures of obeisance to\nthe strangers. They were only less beautiful than the lady who seemed to\nbe their mistress. Yet Eurylochus fancied that one of them had sea-green\nhair, and that the close-fitting bodice of a second looked like the bark\nof a tree, and that both the others had something odd in their aspect,\nalthough he could not quite determine what it was, in the little while\nthat he had to examine them.\n\nThe folding-doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the\npillar, in the solitude of the outer hall. There Eurylochus waited until\nhe was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but without\nhearing anything that could help him to guess what had become of his\nfriends. Footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and repassing in\nother parts of the palace. Then there was a clatter of silver dishes, or\ngolden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in a splendid\nbanqueting-hall. But by and by he heard a tremendous grunting and\nsquealing, and then a sudden scampering, like that of small, hard hoofs\nover a marble floor, while the voices of the mistress and her four\nhandmaidens were screaming all together, in tones of anger and derision.\nEurylochus could not conceive what had happened, unless a drove of swine\nhad broken into the palace, attracted by the smell of the feast.\nChancing to cast his eyes at the fountain, he saw that it did not shift\nits shape, as formerly, nor looked either like a long-robed man, or a\nlion, a tiger, a wolf, or an ass. It looked like nothing but a hog,\nwhich lay wallowing in the marble basin, and filled it from brim to\nbrim.\n\nBut we must leave the prudent Eurylochus waiting in the outer hall, and\nfollow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace. As soon as the\nbeautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as I have told you,\nand came forward, smiling, and stretching out her hand. She took the\nhand of the foremost among them, and bade him and the whole party\nwelcome.\n\n\"You have been long expected, my good friends,\" said she. \"I and my\nmaidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to\nrecognize us. Look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces\nmust not have been familiar to us.\"\n\nSo the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman had\nbeen weaving in her loom; and, to their vast astonishment they saw their\nown figures perfectly represented in different colored threads. It was a\nlifelike picture of their recent adventures, showing them in the cave of\nPolyphemus, and how they had put out his one great moony eye; while in\nanother part of the tapestry they were untying the leathern bags, puffed\nout with contrary winds; and farther on, they beheld themselves\nscampering away from the gigantic king of the Laestrygons, who had caught\none of them by the leg. Lastly, there they were, sitting on the desolate\nshore of this very island, hungry and downcast, and looking ruefully at\nthe bare bones of the stag which they devoured yesterday. This was as\nfar as the work had yet proceeded; but when the beautiful woman should\nagain sit down at her loom, she would probably make a picture of what\nhad since happened to the strangers, and of what was now going to\nhappen.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"that I know all about your troubles; and you\ncannot doubt that I desire to make you happy for as long a time as you\nmay remain with me. For this purpose, my honored guests, I have ordered\na banquet to be prepared. Fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, and in\nluscious stews, and seasoned, I trust, to all your tastes, are ready to\nbe served up. If your appetites tell you it is dinner-time, then come\nwith me to the festal saloon.\"\n\nAt this kind invitation, the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed; and\none of them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their\nhospitable hostess that any hour of the day was dinner-time with them,\nwhenever they could get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it\nwith. So the beautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens (one of\nthem had sea-green hair, another a bodice of oak bark, a third sprinkled\na shower of water-drops from her fingers' ends, and the fourth had some\nother oddity, which I have forgotten), all these followed behind, and\nhurried the guests along, until they entered a magnificent saloon. It\nwas built in a perfect oval, and lighted from a crystal dome above.\nAround the walls were ranged two-and-twenty thrones, overhung by\ncanopies of crimson and gold, and provided with the softest of cushions,\nwhich were tasselled and fringed with gold cord. Each of the strangers\nwas invited to sit down; and there they were, two-and-twenty\nstorm-beaten mariners, in worn and tattered garb, sitting on\ntwo-and-twenty canopied thrones, so rich and gorgeous that the proudest\nmonarch had nothing more splendid in his stateliest hall.\n\nThen you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and\nleaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction in\nhoarse whispers.\n\n\"Our good hostess has made kings of us all,\" said one. \"Ha! do you smell\nthe feast? I'll engage it will be fit to set before two-and-twenty\nkings.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said another, \"it will be, mainly, good substantial joints,\nsirloins, spareribs, and hinder quarters, without too many kickshaws.\nIf I thought the good lady would not take it amiss, I should call for a\nfat slice of fried bacon to begin with.\"\n\nAh, the gluttons and gormandizers! You see how it was with them. In the\nloftiest seats of dignity, on royal thrones, they could think of nothing\nbut their greedy appetite, which was the portion of their nature that\nthey shared with wolves and swine; so that they resembled those vilest\nof animals far more than they did kings,--if, indeed, kings were what\nthey ought to be.\n\nBut the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there\nentered a train of two-and-twenty serving-men, bringing dishes of the\nrichest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a steam\nthat it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon. An equal\nnumber of attendants brought great flagons of wine, of various kinds,\nsome of which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling down the\nthroat; while, of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear that you\ncould see the wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet. While the\nservants supplied the two-and-twenty guests with food and drink, the\nhostess and her four maidens went from one throne to another, exhorting\nthem to eat their fill, and to quaff wine abundantly, and thus to\nrecompense themselves, at this one banquet, for the many days when they\nhad gone without a dinner. But, whenever the mariners were not looking\nat them (which was pretty often, as they looked chiefly into the basins\nand platters), the beautiful woman and her damsels turned aside and\nlaughed. Even the servants, as they knelt down to present the dishes,\nmight be seen to grin and sneer, while the guests were helping\nthemselves to the offered dainties.\n\nAnd, once in a while, the strangers seemed to taste something that they\ndid not like.\n\n\"Here is an odd kind of a spice in this dish,\" said one. \"I can't say it\nquite suits my palate. Down it goes, however.\"\n\n\"Send a good draught of wine down your throat,\" said his comrade on the\nnext throne. \"That is the stuff to make this sort of cookery relish\nwell. Though I must needs say, the wine has a queer taste too. But the\nmore I drink of it the better I like the flavor.\"\n\nWhatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at\ndinner a prodigiously long while; and it would really have made you\nashamed to see how they swilled down the liquor and gobbled up the food.\nThey sat on golden thrones, to be sure; but they behaved like pigs in a\nsty; and, if they had had their wits about them, they might have guessed\nthat this was the opinion of their beautiful hostess and her maidens. It\nbrings a blush into my face to reckon up, in my own mind, what mountains\nof meat and pudding, and what gallons of wine, these two-and-twenty\nguzzlers and gormandizers ate and drank. They forgot all about their\nhomes, and their wives and children, and all about Ulysses, and\neverything else, except this banquet, at which they wanted to keep\nfeasting forever. But at length they began to give over, from mere\nincapacity to hold any more.\n\n\"That last bit of fat is too much for me,\" said one.\n\n\"And I have not room for another morsel,\" said his next neighbor,\nheaving a sigh. \"What a pity! My appetite is as sharp as ever.\"\n\nIn short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones,\nwith such a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to\nbehold. When their hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her four\ndamsels; so did the two-and-twenty serving men that bore the dishes, and\ntheir two-and-twenty fellows that poured out the wine. And the louder\nthey all laughed, the more stupid and helpless did the two-and-twenty\ngormandizers look. Then the beautiful woman took her stand in the middle\nof the saloon, and stretching out a slender rod (it had been all the\nwhile in her hand, although they never noticed it till this moment), she\nturned it from one guest to another, until each had felt it pointed at\nhimself. Beautiful as her face was, and though there was a smile on it,\nit looked just as wicked and mischievous as the ugliest serpent that\never was seen; and fat-witted as the voyagers had made themselves, they\nbegan to suspect that they had fallen into the power of an evil-minded\nenchantress.\n\n\"Wretches,\" cried she, \"you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in\nthis princely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hogpen. You are\nalready swine in everything but the human form, which you disgrace, and\nwhich I myself should be ashamed to keep a moment longer, were you to\nshare it with me. But it will require only the slightest exercise of\nmagic to make the exterior conform to the hoggish disposition. Assume\nyour proper shapes, gormandizers, and begone to the sty!\"\n\nUttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot\nimperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding, instead\nof his comrades in human shape, one-and-twenty hogs sitting on the same\nnumber of golden thrones. Each man (as he still supposed himself to be)\nessayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he could merely grunt,\nand that, in a word, he was just such another beast as his companions.\nIt looked so intolerably absurd to see hogs on cushioned thrones, that\nthey made haste to wallow down upon all fours, like other swine. They\ntried to groan and beg for mercy, but forthwith emitted the most awful\ngrunting and squealing that ever came out of swinish throats. They would\nhave wrung their hands in despair, but, attempting to do so, grew all\nthe more desperate for seeing themselves squatted on their hams, and\npawing the air with their fore trotters. Dear me! what pendulous ears\nthey had! what little red eyes, half buried in fat! and what long\nsnouts, instead of Grecian noses!\n\nBut brutes as they certainly were, they yet had enough of human nature\nin them to be shocked at their own hideousness; and, still intending to\ngroan, they uttered a viler grunt and squeal than before. So harsh and\near-piercing it was, that you would have fancied a butcher was sticking\nhis knife into each of their throats, or, at the very least, that\nsomebody was pulling every hog by his funny little twist of a tail.\n\n\"Begone to your sty!\" cried the enchantress, giving them some smart\nstrokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving-men, \"Drive\nout these swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat.\"\n\nThe door of the saloon being flung open, the drove of hogs ran in all\ndirections save the right one, in accordance with their hoggish\nperversity, but were finally driven into the back yard of the palace. It\nwas a sight to bring tears into one's eyes (and I hope none of you will\nbe cruel enough to laugh at it), to see the poor creatures go snuffing\nalong, picking up here a cabbage leaf and there a turnip-top, and\nrooting their noses in the earth for whatever they could find. In their\nsty, moreover, they behaved more piggishly than the pigs that had been\nborn so; for they bit and snorted at one another, put their feet in the\ntrough, and gobbled up their victuals in a ridiculous hurry; and, when\nthere was nothing more to be had, they made a great pile of themselves\namong some unclean straw, and fell fast asleep. If they had any human\nreason left, it was just enough to keep them wondering when they should\nbe slaughtered, and what quality of bacon they should make.\n\nMeantime, as I told you before, Eurylochus had waited, and waited, and\nwaited, in the entrance-hall of the palace, without being able to\ncomprehend what had befallen his friends. At last, when the swinish\nuproar resounded through the palace, and when he saw the image of a hog\nin the marble basin, he thought it best to hasten back to the vessel,\nand inform the wise Ulysses of these marvellous occurrences. So he ran\nas fast as he could down the steps, and never stopped to draw breath\ntill he reached the shore.\n\n\"Why do you come alone?\" asked King Ulysses, as soon as he saw him.\n\"Where are your two-and-twenty comrades?\"\n\nAt these questions, Eurylochus burst into tears.\n\n\"Alas!\" cried he, \"I greatly fear that we shall never see one of their\nfaces again.\"\n\nThen he told Ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it, and\nadded that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress,\nand the marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal\ncavern in reality. As for his companions, he could not imagine what had\nbecome of them, unless they had been given to the swine to be devoured\nalive. At this intelligence all the voyagers were greatly affrighted.\nBut Ulysses lost no time in girding on his sword, and hanging his bow\nand quiver over his shoulders, and taking his spear in his right hand.\nWhen his followers saw their wise leader making these preparations, they\ninquired whither he was going, and earnestly besought him not to leave\nthem.\n\n\"You are our king,\" cried they; \"and what is more, you are the wisest\nman in the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can get\nus out of this danger. If you desert us, and go to the enchanted palace,\nyou will suffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not a soul of\nus will ever see our dear Ithaca again.\"\n\n\"As I am your king,\" answered Ulysses, \"and wiser than any of you, it is\ntherefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades, and\nwhether anything can yet be done to rescue them. Wait for me here until\nto-morrow. If I do not then return, you must hoist sail, and endeavor to\nfind your way to our native land. For my part, I am answerable for the\nfate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my side in battle, and\nbeen so often drenched to the skin, along with me, by the same\ntempestuous surges. I will either bring them back with me or perish.\"\n\nHad his followers dared, they would have detained him by force. But King\nUlysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade them stop\nhim at their peril. Seeing him so determined, they let him go, and sat\ndown on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could be, waiting\nand praying for his return.\n\nIt happened to Ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few\nsteps from the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering\ntowards him, crying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" and using all the art it\ncould to persuade him to go no farther.\n\n\"What mean you, little bird?\" cried Ulysses. \"You are arrayed like a\nking in purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head. Is it\nbecause I too am a king, that you desire so earnestly to speak with me?\nIf you can talk in human language, say what you would have me do.\"\n\n\"Peep!\" answered the purple bird, very dolorously. \"Peep, peep,\npe--we--ep!\"\n\nCertainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and\nit was a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the\nconsolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste in\ntrying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and had\ngone a good way along the pleasant wood-path, when there met him a young\nman of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather singular\ngarb. He wore a short cloak, and a sort of cap that seemed to be\nfurnished with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step, you\nwould have supposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet. To\nenable him to walk still better (for he was always on one journey or\nanother), he carried a winged staff, around which two serpents were\nwriggling and twisting. In short, I have said enough to make you guess\nthat it was Quicksilver; and Ulysses (who knew him of old, and had\nlearned a great deal of his wisdom from him) recognized him in a moment.\n\n\"Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?\" asked\nQuicksilver. \"Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The wicked\nenchantress (whose name is Circe, the sister of King AEetes) dwells in\nthe marble palace which you see yonder among the trees. By her magic\narts, she changes every human being into the brute, beast, or fowl whom\nhe happens most to resemble.\"\n\n\"That little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff,\" exclaimed\nUlysses; \"was he a human being once?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Quicksilver. \"He was once a king, named Picus, and a\npretty good sort of a king too, only rather too proud of his purple\nrobe, and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was\nforced to take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and\nwolves, and tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of the\npalace, were formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their\ndispositions the wild beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear.\"\n\n\"And my poor companions,\" said Ulysses. \"Have they undergone a similar\nchange, through the arts of this wicked Circe?\"\n\n\"You well know what gormandizers they were,\" replied Quicksilver; and,\nrogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. \"So you will\nnot be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine!\nIf Circe had never done anything worse, I really should not think her so\nvery much to blame.\"\n\n\"But can I do nothing to help them?\" inquired Ulysses.\n\n\"It will require all your wisdom,\" said Quicksilver, \"and a little of my\nown into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from being\ntransformed into a fox. But do as I bid you; and the matter may end\nbetter than it has begun.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of something;\nhe went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little\nplant with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of. Ulysses\nhad been looking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared to\nhim that the plant had burst into full flower the instant when\nQuicksilver touched it with his fingers.\n\n\"Take this flower, King Ulysses,\" said he. \"Guard it as you do your\neyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and\nyou might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like\nit. Keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter the\npalace, and while you are talking with the enchantress. Especially when\nshe offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be careful\nto fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance. Follow these\ndirections, and you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox.\"\n\nQuicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and,\nbidding him be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as\nCirce was, he would have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her\nenchanted palace. After listening attentively, Ulysses thanked his good\nfriend, and resumed his way. But he had taken only a few steps, when,\nrecollecting some other questions which he wished to ask, he turned\nround again, and beheld nobody on the spot where Quicksilver had stood;\nfor that winged cap of his, and those winged shoes, with the help of the\nwinged staff, had carried him quickly out of sight.\n\nWhen Ulysses reached the lawn, in front of the palace, the lions and\nother savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned\nupon him and licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with his\nlong spear, and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he knew\nthat they had once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him limb\nfrom limb, instead of fawning upon him, could they do the mischief that\nwas in their hearts. The wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and stood\nat a distance while he ascended the palace steps.\n\nOn entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the centre of\nit. The up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a\nlong, white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of welcome.\nThe king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom, and the\nsweet melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the pleasant\nvoices of herself and the four maidens talking together, with peals of\nmerry laughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much time in\nlistening to the laughter or the song. He leaned his spear against one\nof the pillars of the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in the\nscabbard, stepped boldly forward, and threw the folding-doors wide open.\nThe moment she beheld his stately figure standing in the doorway, the\nbeautiful woman rose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad\nsmile throwing its sunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.\n\n\"Welcome, brave stranger!\" cried she. \"We were expecting you.\"\n\nAnd the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the\nground, and likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the bodice\nof oaken bark, and she that sprinkled dew-drops from her fingers' ends,\nand the fourth one with some oddity which I cannot remember. And Circe,\nas the beautiful enchantress was called (who had deluded so many persons\nthat she did not doubt of being able to delude Ulysses, not imagining\nhow wise he was), again addressed him.\n\n\"Your companions,\" said she, \"have already been received into my palace,\nand have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the propriety of\ntheir behavior so well entitles them. If such be your pleasure, you\nshall first take some refreshment, and then join them in the elegant\napartment which they now occupy. See, I and my maidens have been weaving\ntheir figures into this piece of tapestry.\"\n\nShe pointed to the web of beautifully woven cloth in the loom. Circe and\nthe four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the arrival\nof the mariners: for a great many yards of tapestry had now been\nwrought, in addition to what I before described. In this new part,\nUlysses saw his two-and-twenty friends represented as sitting on\ncushioned and canopied thrones, greedily devouring dainties and\nquaffing deep draughts of wine. The work had not yet gone any further.\nOh no, indeed. The enchantress was far too cunning to let Ulysses see\nthe mischief which her magic arts had since brought upon the\ngormandizers.\n\n\"As for yourself, valiant sir,\" said Circe, \"judging by the dignity of\nyour aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to follow\nme, and you shall be treated as befits your rank.\"\n\nSo Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two-and-twenty\ncomrades had devoured the banquet, which ended so disastrously for\nthemselves. But, all this while, he had held the snow-white flower in\nhis hand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking; and\nas he crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale\nseveral long and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of two-and-twenty\nthrones, which had before been ranged around the wall, there was now\nonly a single throne, in the centre of the apartment. But this was\nsurely the most magnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor reposed\nhimself upon, all made of chased gold, studded with precious stones,\nwith a cushion that looked like a soft heap of living roses, and\noverhung by a canopy of sunlight which Circe knew how to weave into\ndrapery. The enchantress took Ulysses by the hand, and made him sit down\nupon this dazzling throne. Then, clapping her hands, she summoned the\nchief butler.\n\n\"Bring hither,\" said she, \"the goblet that is set apart for kings to\ndrink out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal\nbrother, King AEetes, praised so highly, when he last visited me with my\nfair daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it\nwould delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest.\"\n\nBut Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white\nflower to his nose.\n\n\"Is it a wholesome wine?\" he asked.\n\nAt this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked\nround at them, with an aspect of severity.\n\n\"It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,\"\nsaid she; \"for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to\ndo, it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be.\"\n\nThe chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into\nswine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste to\nbring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and\nwhich kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim.\nBut, delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most\npotent enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of\nthe pure grape-juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the\ndanger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better.\nThe mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough\nto turn a man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's claws grow\nout of his fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.\n\n\"Drink, my noble guest,\" said Circe, smiling as she presented him with\nthe goblet. \"You will find in this draught a solace for all your\ntroubles.\"\n\nKing Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he\nheld the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath\nthat his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance.\nThen, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the\nface.\n\n\"Wretch,\" cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, \"how\ndare you keep your human shape a moment longer? Take the form of the\nbrute whom you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in the\nsty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the\nlawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou hast\nquaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer.\"\n\nBut, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing\ndown from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form,\nUlysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He gave the\nmagic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor, to the\nfarthest end of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he seized the\nenchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant\nto strike off her head at one blow.\n\n\"Wicked Circe,\" cried he, in a terrible voice, \"this sword shall put an\nend to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more\nmischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which\nmake beasts of them.\"\n\nThe tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed\nso brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe\nwas almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow. The\nchief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet\nas he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their\nknees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.\n\n\"Spare me!\" cried Circe,--\"spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now I\nknow that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most\nprudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only\ncouldst have conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show thee\ntrue hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this\nmagnificent palace to be henceforth thy home.\"\n\nThe four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and\nespecially the ocean-nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal\nof salt water, and the fountain-nymph, besides scattering dew-drops from\nher fingers' ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would not\nbe pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his\ncompanions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present\nforms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.\n\n\"On these conditions,\" said he, \"I consent to spare your life. Otherwise\nyou must die upon the spot.\"\n\nWith a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have\nconsented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however\nlittle she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out of\nthe back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.\nThere were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and\nthough the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was\nwonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new\nbrethren who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically,\nindeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to\nmake it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise\nto outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men once\nturn to brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds\ntenfold to their brutality.\n\nThe comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of\nhaving formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two-and-twenty\nenormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards\nhim, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both\nhands to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they wanted,\nnor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some other cause.\nIt was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them\nthrusting their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat. The\nnymph with the bodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an oak)\nthrew a handful of acorns among them; and the two-and-twenty hogs\nscrambled and fought for the prize, as if they had tasted not so much as\na noggin of sour milk for a twelvemonth.\n\n\"These must certainly be my comrades,\" said Ulysses. \"I recognize their\ndispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into\nthe human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their bad\nexample should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original\nshapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It\nwill require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them.\"\n\nSo Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the\nsound of which the two-and-twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears.\nIt was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and\ntheir mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not\ngobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and another\nbegan to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore\ntrotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs\nor men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled\nthe latter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of Ulysses,\nlooking pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.\n\nYou must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely\ngone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's character,\nit is very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by the\nhamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another\nhandful of acorns before the twenty-two newly restored people; whereupon\ndown they wallowed, in a moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful\nway. Then, recollecting themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and\nlooked more than commonly foolish.\n\n\"Thanks, noble Ulysses!\" they cried. \"From brute beasts you have\nrestored us to the condition of men again.\"\n\n\"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me,\" said the wise\nking. \"I fear I have done but little for you.\"\n\nTo say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their\nvoices, and for a long time afterwards they spoke gruffly, and were apt\nto set up a squeal.\n\n\"It must depend on your own future behavior,\" added Ulysses, \"whether\nyou do not find your way back to the sty.\"\n\nAt this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a\nneighboring tree.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--wee--ep!\"\n\nIt was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their\nheads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would\nremember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of\nharm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good\nlittle fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the\nwords spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another \"Pe--weep,\"\nKing Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree, as majestic a\nsovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and\ngorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his\nneck, and a golden crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged\nwith one another the courtesies which belong to their elevated rank. But\nfrom that time forth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and\nhis trappings of royalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt\nhimself merely the upper servant of his people, and that it must be his\nlifelong labor to make them better and happier.\n\nAs for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored\nthem to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it\nadvisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give\nwarning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the\nguise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had\nthe blood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as\nthey liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything\nwas settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder\nof his comrades, whom he had left at the sea-shore. These being\narrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made\nthemselves comfortable in Circe's enchanted palace, until quite rested\nand refreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pomegranate Seeds\n\n\nMother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom\nlet her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story\nbegins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the\nwheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short, of\nthe crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus\nfar been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen\nmore speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a\nkind of flower which she was always noted for wearing), and got into her\ncar drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.\n\n\"Dear mother,\" said Proserpina, \"I shall be very lonely while you are\naway. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea-nymphs to\ncome up out of the waves and play with me?\"\n\n\"Yes, child,\" answered Mother Ceres. \"The sea-nymphs are good creatures,\nand will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to\nstray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself.\nYoung girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to\nget into mischief.\"\n\nThe child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman,\nand, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight,\nshe was already on the shore, calling to the sea-nymphs to come and play\nwith her. They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing\ntheir glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom\nof which was their home. They brought along with them a great many\nbeautiful shells; and, sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf\nwave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which\nthey hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the\nchild besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that\nthey might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each\nof her kind playmates a wreath.\n\n[Illustration: PROSERPINA\n\n(From the original in the collection of Mrs. William B. Dinsmore\nStaatsburg, New York)]\n\n\"Oh no, dear Proserpina,\" cried the sea-nymphs; \"we dare not go with you\nupon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we\ncan snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful\nwe are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to\nkeep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should\nsoon look like bunches of uprooted sea-weed dried in the sun.\"\n\n\"It is a great pity,\" said Proserpina. \"But do you wait for me here, and\nI will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before\nthe surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some\nwreaths that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many-colored\nshells.\"\n\n\"We will wait, then,\" answered the sea-nymphs. \"But while you are gone,\nwe may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under the water. The\nair to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our\nheads every few minutes to see if you are coming.\"\n\nThe young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before,\nshe had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little\npast their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and\nloveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some\nthat made her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite\nflowers before,--violets, so large and fragrant,--roses, with so rich\nand delicate a blush,--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic\npinks,--and many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and\ncolors. Two or three times, moreover, she could not help thinking that\na tuft of most splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth\nbefore her very eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther.\nProserpina's apron was soon filled and brimming over with delightful\nblossoms. She was on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the\nsea-nymphs, and sit with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths\ntogether. But, a little farther on, what should she behold? It was a\nlarge shrub, completely covered with the most magnificent flowers in the\nworld.\n\n\"The darlings!\" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, \"I\nwas looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did\nnot see the flowers!\"\n\nThe nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked,\nuntil she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was\nricher than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not.\nIt bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each\ndifferent from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among\nthemselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a\ndeep, glossy lustre on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the\nflowers, that made Proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous.\nTo tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to\nturn round and run away.\n\n\"What a silly child I am!\" thought she, taking courage. \"It is really\nthe most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull\nit up by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's\ngarden.\"\n\nHolding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina\nseized the large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was\nhardly able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant\nit was! Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the\nearth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave\nanother pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling\nsound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some\nenchanted cavern? Then, laughing at herself for so childish a notion,\nshe made another effort; up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered\nback, holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep\nhole which its roots had left in the soil.\n\nMuch to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and\ngrowing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and\nall the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and\nlouder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses'\nhoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she\nstood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team\nof four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing\ntheir way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at\ntheir heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all;\nand there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black\ntails, and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at\nonce, close by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the\nfigure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming\nwith diamonds. He was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked\nsullen and discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them\nwith his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very\nfond of its light.\n\nAs soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her\nto come a little nearer.\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to\nput on. \"Come! Will not you like to ride a little way with me, in my\nbeautiful chariot?\"\n\nBut Proserpina was so alarmed, that she wished for nothing but to get\nout of his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably\ngood-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones\nwere deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an\nearthquake under ground as anything else. As is always the case with\nchildren in trouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her\nmother.\n\n\"Mother, Mother Ceres!\" cried she, all in a tremble. \"Come quickly and\nsave me.\"\n\nBut her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most\nprobable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow\nin some far-distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor\ndaughter, even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina\nbegin to cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the\nchild in his arms, and again mounting the chariot, shook the reins, and\nshouted to the four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into\nso swift a gallop that it seemed rather like flying through the air than\nrunning along the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the\npleasant vale of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant,\nand even the summit of Mount AEtna had become so blue in the distance,\nthat she could scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of\nits crater. But still the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron\nfull of flowers along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the\nchariot; and many mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if\nany mischief had befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great\nway off, and could not hear the cry.\n\nAs they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.\n\n\"Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?\" said he, trying to\nsoften his rough voice. \"I promise not to do you any harm. What! You\nhave been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will\ngive you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of\npearls, and diamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my\nname Pluto, and I am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones.\nEvery atom of the gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to\nme, to say nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal-mines, which\nsupply me with abundance of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my\nhead? You may have it for a plaything. Oh, we shall be very good\nfriends, and you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once\nwe get out of this troublesome sunshine.\"\n\n\"Let me go home!\" cried Proserpina,--\"let me go home!\"\n\n\"My home is better than your mother's,\" answered King Pluto. \"It is a\npalace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is\nlittle or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with\ndiamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne.\nIf you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will\nsit on the footstool.\"\n\n\"I don't care for golden palaces and thrones,\" sobbed Proserpina. \"Oh,\nmy mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!\"\n\nBut King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go\nfaster.\n\n\"Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina,\" said he, in rather a sullen tone.\n\"I offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under\nthe earth; and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one\nthing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run up stairs and\ndown, and cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must\ndo for King Pluto.\"\n\n\"Never!\" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. \"I\nshall never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door.\"\n\nBut she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past\nthem; for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever.\nProserpina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly,\nthat her poor little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was\nnothing but a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great,\nbroad field of waving grain--and whom do you think she saw? Who, but\nMother Ceres, making the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden\nchariot as it went rattling along. The child mustered all her strength,\nand gave one more scream, but was out of sight before Ceres had time to\nturn her head.\n\nKing Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy.\nIt was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which\nthe rumbling of the chariot-wheels was reverberated with a noise like\nrolling thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the\nrocks had very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly\nnoon, the air became obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had\nrushed along so swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the\nsunshine. But the duskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an\nair of satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person,\nespecially when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did\nnot belong to them. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering\ndusk, and hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first\nthought him.\n\n\"Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing,\" said King Pluto, \"after being\nso tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much\nmore agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when\nreflected from diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight when we get to\nmy palace.\"\n\n\"Is it much farther?\" asked Proserpina. \"And will you carry me back when\nI have seen it?\"\n\n\"We will talk of that by and by,\" answered Pluto. \"We are just entering\nmy dominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass those\ngates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the\nthreshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!\"\n\nSo saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the charriot right\nbetween the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which\nhe had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs,\nso as to put his fore paws on the chariot-wheel. But, my stars, what a\nstrange dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with\nthree separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but,\nfierce as they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of\nhis three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with\nsilken ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently\nrejoiced to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs\ndo, by wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn\nto it by its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor\nless than a live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very\npoisonous aspect. And while the three-headed Cerberus was fawning so\nlovingly on King Pluto, there was the dragon tail wagging against its\nwill, and looking as cross and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its\nown separate account.\n\n\"Will the dog bite me?\" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto.\n\"What an ugly creature he is!\"\n\n\"Oh, never fear,\" answered her companion. \"He never harms people, unless\nthey try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away\nwhen I wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty\nProserpina, we will drive on.\"\n\nOn went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find\nhimself once more in his own kingdom. He drew Proserpina's attention to\nthe rich veins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed\nto several places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of\ndiamonds. All along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which\nwould have been of inestimable value above ground, but which were here\nreckoned of the meaner sort, and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.\n\nNot far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be\nbuilt of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at\nthe stream which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had\nshe beheld so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream: its waters\nreflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as\nsluggishly as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and\nhad rather stagnate than flow either one way or the other.\n\n\"This is the river Lethe,\" observed King Pluto. \"Is it not a very\npleasant stream?\"\n\n\"I think it is a very dismal one,\" said Proserpina.\n\n\"It suits my taste, however,\" answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen\nwhen anybody disagreed with him. \"At all events, its water has one very\nexcellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every\ncare and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of\nit, my dear Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your\nmother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being\nperfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet,\nthe moment we arrive.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no, no!\" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. \"I had a thousand\ntimes rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in\nforgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said King Pluto. \"You do not know what fine times we\nwill have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars\nare solid gold, I assure you.\"\n\nHe alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried\nher up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was\nsplendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various\nhues, which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a\nhundred-fold radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was\na kind of gloom in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a\nsingle object in the hall that was really agreeable to behold, except\nthe little Proserpina herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower\nwhich she had not let fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even\nKing Pluto had never been happy in his palace, and that this was the\ntrue reason why he had stolen away Proserpina, in order that he might\nhave something to love, instead of cheating his heart any longer with\nthis tiresome magnificence. And, though he pretended to dislike the\nsunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of the child's presence,\nbedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint and watery sunbeam\nhad somehow or other found its way into the enchanted hall.\n\nPluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in\npreparing a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of\nsetting a golden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.\n\n\"I will neither drink that nor anything else,\" said Proserpina. \"Nor\nwill I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your\npalace.\"\n\n\"I should be sorry for that,\" replied King Pluto, patting her cheek; for\nhe really wished to be kind, if he had only known how. \"You are a\nspoiled child, I perceive, my little Proserpina; but when you see the\nnice things which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly\ncome again.\"\n\nThen, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts of\ndelicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be set\nbefore Proserpina. He had a secret motive in this; for, you are to\nunderstand, it is a fixed law, that, when persons are carried off to the\nland of magic, if they once taste any food there, they can never get\nback to their friends. Now, if King Pluto had been cunning enough to\noffer Proserpina some fruit, or bread and milk (which was the simple\nfare to which the child had always been accustomed), it is very probable\nthat she would soon have been tempted to eat it. But he left the matter\nentirely to his cook, who, like all other cooks, considered nothing fit\nto eat unless it were rich pastry, or highly seasoned meat, or spiced\nsweet cakes,--things which Proserpina's mother had never given her, and\nthe smell of which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening\nit.\n\nBut my story must now clamber out of King Pluto's dominions, and see\nwhat Mother Ceres has been about, since she was bereft of her daughter.\nWe had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving\ngrain, while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the\nchariot in which her beloved Proserpina was so unwillingly borne away.\nYou recollect, too, the loud scream which Proserpina gave, just when the\nchariot was out of sight.\n\nOf all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one that\nreached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the rumbling of the\nchariot-wheels for a peal of thunder, and imagined that a shower was\ncoming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow. But, at\nthe sound of Proserpina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every\ndirection, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that\nit was her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that\nthe girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas (which she\nherself could not have traversed without the aid of her winged dragons),\nthat the good Ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some\nother parent, and not her own darling Proserpina, who had uttered this\nlamentable cry. Nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender\nfears, such as are ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart,\nwhen she finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without\nleaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such faithful\nguardian. So she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy;\nand, as her work was not half done, the grain looked, next day, as if it\nneeded both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear, and\nhad something the matter with its roots.\n\nThe pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in less than\nan hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her home, and found it\nempty. Knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the\nsea-shore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld\nthe wet faces of the poor sea-nymphs peeping over a wave. All this\nwhile, the good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and,\nonce every half-minute or so, had popped up their four heads above\nwater, to see if their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw\nMother Ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it\ntoss them ashore at her feet.\n\n\"Where is Proserpina?\" cried Ceres. \"Where is my child? Tell me, you\nnaughty sea-nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?\"\n\n\"Oh no, good Mother Ceres,\" said the innocent sea-nymphs, tossing back\ntheir green ringlets, and looking her in the face. \"We never should\ndream of such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true;\nbut she left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon\nthe dry land, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in\nthe day, and we have seen nothing of her since.\"\n\nCeres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say, before she\nhurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood. But nobody\ntold her anything that could enable the poor mother to guess what had\nbecome of Proserpina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little\nfootprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a\nbasket of fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers;\nseveral persons had heard either the rattling of chariot-wheels, or the\nrumbling of distant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain\nand catnip, had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish\nnonsense, and therefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid\npeople! It took them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they\nknew, that it was dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must\nseek her daughter elsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set forth\nresolving never to come back until Proserpina was discovered.\n\nIn her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the\nwinged dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the\nsearch more thoroughly on foot. At all events, this was the way in which\nshe began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and\nlooking carefully at every object along the path. And as it happened,\nshe had not gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers\nwhich grew on the shrub that Proserpina had pulled up.\n\n\"Ha!\" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. \"Here is\nmischief in this flower! The earth did not produce it by any help of\nmine, nor of its own accord. It is the work of enchantment, and is\ntherefore poisonous; and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child.\"\n\nBut she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she\nmight ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.\n\nAll night long, at the door of every cottage and farm-house, Ceres\nknocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen\nher child; and they stood, gaping and half asleep, at the threshold, and\nanswered her pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the\nportal of every palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials\nhurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king\nor queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to\nrepose in. And when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch\nin her hand and a wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke\nrudely, and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody\nhad seen Proserpina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which\nway to seek her. Thus passed the night; and still she continued her\nsearch without sitting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even\nremembering to put out the torch; although first the rosy dawn, and then\nthe glad light of the morning sun, made its red flame look thin and\npale. But I wonder what sort of stuff this torch was made of; for it\nburned dimly through the day, and, at night, was as bright as ever, and\nnever was extinguished by the rain or wind, in all the weary days and\nnights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.\n\nIt was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her\ndaughter. In the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another\nnature, who used, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary\nplaces, and were very sociable with persons who understood their\nlanguage and customs, as Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she\ntapped with her finger against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and\nimmediately its rude bark would cleave asunder, and forth would step a\nbeautiful maiden, who was the hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of\nit, and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its green leaves\nsported with the breeze. But not one of these leafy damsels had seen\nProserpina. Then, going a little farther, Ceres would, perhaps, come to\na fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would\ndabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up through its sandy and\npebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping\nhair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of the\nwater, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless motion. But\nwhen the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to drink\nout of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these\nwater-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief), would answer,\n\"No!\" in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the\nstream.\n\nOften, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country\npeople, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their\nforeheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gambolled merrily\nabout the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature, but\ngrew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow when Ceres\ninquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But\nsometimes she came suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces\nlike monkeys and horses' tails behind them, and who were generally\ndancing in a very boisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter. When\nshe stopped to question them, they would only laugh the louder, and make\nnew merriment out of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly\nsatyrs! And once, while crossing a solitary sheep-pasture, she saw a\npersonage named Pan, seated at the foot of a tall rock, and making music\non a shepherd's flute. He, too, had horns, and hairy ears, and goat's\nfeet; but, being acquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question\nas civilly as he knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey\nout of a wooden bowl. But neither could Pan tell her what had become of\nProserpina, any better than the rest of these wild people.\n\nAnd thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and\nnights, finding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a\nwithered flower; and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because\nshe fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All\nday she travelled onward through the hot sun; and at night, again, the\nflame of the torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she\ncontinued her search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.\n\nOn the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern, within\nwhich (though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been\nonly a dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning\nthere. It flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not\nhalf light up the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres\nwas resolved to leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the\nentrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her\nown torch before her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed\nto be a woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great\nheap of which had been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if\nwoman it were) was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her\nhead, they tell me, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of\nornament, she wore a wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the\nmoment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put\nall her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would have a word to say\nto other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she\nherself delighted to be.\n\n\"I am wretched enough now,\" thought poor Ceres, \"to talk with this\nmelancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet.\"\n\nSo she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the\ndog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss,\nshe had found no other companion.\n\n\"O Hecate,\" said she, \"if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what\nsorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child\nProserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every\nword or two,--\"no, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter.\nBut my ears, you must know, are made in such a way that all cries of\ndistress and affright, all over the world, are pretty sure to find their\nway to them; and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very\nmiserable, I heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great\ndistress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest\nassured. As well as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel\nmonster, was carrying her away.\"\n\n\"You kill me by saying so,\" cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. \"Where\nwas the sound, and which way did it seem to go?\"\n\n\"It passed very swiftly along,\" said Hecate, \"and, at the same time,\nthere was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell\nyou nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see\nyour daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your\nabode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Not yet, dark Hecate,\" replied Ceres. \"But do you first come with your\ntorch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no\nmore hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come) then,\nif you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered\nleaves or on the naked rock, I will show you what it is to be miserable.\nBut, until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I\nwill not allow myself space even to grieve.\"\n\nThe dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the\nsunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate\nCeres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun\nshine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad\nspirits quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally\nconsented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches,\nalthough it was broad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight seemed\nto make a gloom; so that the people whom they met along the road could\nnot very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught\na glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they\ngenerally thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second\nglance.\n\nAs the pair travelled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck\nCeres.\n\n\"There is one person,\" she exclaimed, \"who must have seen my poor\nchild, and can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I\nthink of him before? It is Phoebus.\"\n\n\"What,\" said Hecate, \"the young man that always sits in the sunshine?\nOh, pray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous\nyoung fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is\nsuch a glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor\neyes, which I have almost wept away already.\"\n\n\"You have promised to be my companion,\" answered Ceres. \"Come, let us\nmake haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it.\"\n\nAccordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing\ngrievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse\nlamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in\nbeing miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after\na pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole\nworld. There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling\nringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were\nlike light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so\nexceedingly vivid, that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering\nthat he ought to wear a black veil. Phoebus (for this was the very\nperson whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making\nits chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most\nexquisite song, which he had recently composed. For, besides a great\nmany other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his\nadmirable poetry.\n\nAs Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on\nthem so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss,\nand Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres,\nshe was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether\nPhoebus smiled or frowned.\n\n\"Phoebus!\" exclaimed she, \"I am in great trouble, and have come to\nyou for assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child\nProserpina?\"\n\n\"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?\" answered Phoebus,\nendeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of\npleasant ideas in his mind that he was apt to forget what had happened\nno longer ago than yesterday. \"Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very\nlovely child, indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did\nsee the little Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself\nperfectly easy about her. She is safe, and in excellent hands.\"\n\n\"Oh, where is my dear child?\" cried Ceres, clasping her hands and\nflinging herself at his feet.\n\n\"Why,\" said Phoebus,--and as he spoke, he kept touching his lyre so as\nto make a thread of music run in and out among his words,--\"as the\nlittle damsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite\ntaste for flowers) she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and\ncarried off to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the\nuniverse; but the royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble\nstyle of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials.\nGold, diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your\ndaughter's ordinary playthings. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to\ngive yourself no uneasiness. Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly\ngratified, and, even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a\nvery enviable life.\"\n\n\"Hush! Say not such a word!\" answered Ceres, indignantly. \"What is there\nto gratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of, without\naffection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me, Phoebus,\nto demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me,\" replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance. \"I\ncertainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so\nimmediately pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you.\nBesides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you\nthe truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway;\nfor I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and\nthose, you know, are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom.\"\n\n\"Ah, Phoebus,\" said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, \"you have\na harp instead of a heart. Farewell.\"\n\n\"Will not you stay a moment,\" asked Phoebus, \"and hear me turn the\npretty and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?\"\n\nBut Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate.\nPhoebus (who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith\nbegan to make an ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to\njudge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been\nendowed with a very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of\nusing his heart-strings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon\nthem as much as he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly,\nthough Phoebus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as\nwere the sunbeams amid which he dwelt.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but\nwas not a whit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked\nmore desperate than ever. As long as Proserpina was above ground there\nmight have been hopes of regaining her. But now that the poor child was\nshut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold\nof which lay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of\nher ever making her escape. The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the\ndarkest view of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to\nthe cavern, and spend the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres\nanswered that Hecate was welcome to go back thither herself, but that,\nfor her part, she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance\nto King Pluto's dominions. And Hecate took her at her word, and hurried\nback to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with\na glimpse of her dog's face, as she went.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her\ntoilsome way all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame\nof which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in\nher heart. So much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been\nquite youthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly\nperson in a very brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had\nshe ever thought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which\nshe put on the very morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed\nabout in so wild a way, and with her hair so dishevelled, that people\ntook her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was\nMother Ceres, who had the oversight of every seed which the husbandman\nplanted. Nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed-time\nnor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and\nthe crops to fade or flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing,\nnow, in which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw\nchildren at play, or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed,\nshe would stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children,\ntoo, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster\nthemselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in\nher face; and Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them\nto their homes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of\nsight.\n\n\"For if they do,\" said she, \"it may happen to you, as it has to me, that\nthe iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and\nsnatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away.\"\n\nOne day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's\nkingdom, she came to the palace of King Celeus, who reigned at Eleusis.\nAscending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the\nroyal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant,\nit seems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and\nwould take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The\nqueen--her name was Metanira--was desirous of finding a nurse; and when\nshe beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she\nthought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed.\nSo Queen Metanira ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her\narms, and besought Ceres to take charge of it, or, at least, to tell her\nwhat would do it good.\n\n\"Will you trust the child entirely to me?\" asked Ceres.\n\n\"Yes, and gladly too,\" answered the queen, \"if you will devote all your\ntime to him. For I can see that you have been a mother.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Ceres. \"I once had a child of my own. Well; I will\nbe the nurse of this poor, sickly boy. But beware, I warn you, that you\ndo not interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for\nhim. If you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly.\"\n\nThen she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good; for he smiled\nand nestled closely into her bosom.\n\nSo Mother Ceres set her torch in a corner (where it kept burning all the\nwhile), and took up her abode in the palace of King Celeus, as nurse to\nthe little Prince Demophoon. She treated him as if he were her own\nchild, and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he\nshould be bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how\noften he should take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would\nhardly believe me, if I were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid\nof his ailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two\nrows of ivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or\nsince. Instead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the\nworld (as his own mother confessed him to be when Ceres first took him\nin charge), he was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up\nhis heels, and rolling from one end of the room to the other. All the\ngood women of the neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their\nhands, in unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this\ndarling little prince. Their wonder was the greater, because he was\nnever seen to taste any food; not even so much as a cup of milk.\n\n\"Pray, nurse,\" the queen kept saying, \"how is it that you make the child\nthrive so?\"\n\n\"I was a mother once,\" Ceres always replied; \"and having nursed my own\nchild, I know what other children need.\"\n\nBut Queen Metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know\nprecisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid\nherself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed\nto sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into\ngreat coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze\nflickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the\nwalls. Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the\nfire-light making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She\nundressed the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant\nliquid out of a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red\nembers, and make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had\nbeen. At last, while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little\nhands, and laughing in the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your\nlittle brother or sister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres\nsuddenly laid him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot\nembers. She then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.\n\nYou may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking\nnothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She\nburst forth from her hiding-place, and running to the hearth, raked\nopen the fire, and snatched up poor little Prince Demophoon out of his\nbed of live coals, one of which he was gripping in each of his fists. He\nimmediately set up a grievous cry, as babies are apt to do when rudely\nstartled out of a sound sleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she\ncould perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in\nwhich he had lain. She now turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to\nexplain the mystery.\n\n\"Foolish woman,\" answered Ceres, \"did you not promise to intrust this\npoor infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done\nhim. Had you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of\ncelestial birth, endowed with super-human strength and intelligence, and\nwould have lived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to\nbecome immortal without being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the\nfire? But you have ruined your own son. For though he will be a strong\nman and a hero in his day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow\nold, and finally die, like the sons of other women. The weak tenderness\nof his mother has cost the poor boy an immortality. Farewell.\"\n\nSaying these words, she kissed the little prince Demophoon, and sighed\nto think what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding Queen\nMetanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the\nhot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby! He never slept so warmly\nagain.\n\nWhile she dwelt in the king's palace, Mother Ceres had been so\ncontinually occupied with taking care of the young prince, that her\nheart was a little lightened of its grief for Proserpina. But now,\nhaving nothing else to busy herself about, she became just as wretched\nas before. At length, in her despair, she came to the dreadful\nresolution that not a stalk of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a\npotato, nor a turnip, nor any other vegetable that was good for man or\nbeast to eat, should be suffered to grow until her daughter were\nrestored. She even forbade the flowers to bloom, lest somebody's heart\nshould be cheered by their beauty.\n\nNow, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself\nout of the ground, without the especial permission of Ceres, you may\nconceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The\nhusbandmen ploughed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black\nfurrows, all as barren as a desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown\nin the sweet month of June as ever they did in chill November. The rich\nman's broad acres and the cottager's small garden-patch were equally\nblighted. Every little girl's flower-bed showed nothing but dry stalks.\nThe old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had\ngrown aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the\nwarm smile of summer on its face. It was really piteous to see the poor,\nstarving cattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and\nbleating, as if their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and\neverybody that was acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy\non the human race, and, at all events, to let the grass grow. But Mother\nCeres, though naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now\ninexorable.\n\n\"Never,\" said she. \"If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it\nmust first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming\nback to me.\"\n\nFinally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend\nQuicksilver was sent post haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be\npersuaded to undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right\nagain, by giving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of\nhis way to the great gate, took a flying leap right over the\nthree-headed mastiff, and stood at the door of the palace in an\ninconceivably short time. The servants knew him both by his face and\ngarb; for his short cloak, and his winged cap and shoes, and his snaky\nstaff had often been seen thereabouts in times gone by. He requested to\nbe shown immediately into the king's presence; and Pluto, who heard his\nvoice from the top of the stairs, and who loved to recreate himself with\nQuicksilver's merry talk, called out to him to come up. And while they\nsettle their business together, we must inquire what Proserpina has been\ndoing ever since we saw her last.\n\nThe child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a\nmouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King\nPluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the\nsame time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy, is more than I can\nexplain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the\nfaculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too.\nAt any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the\nearth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify,\nhad yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to\nProserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day\nafter day, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly preserved fruits,\nand delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most\nfond of. But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of\nthese things; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she\nwould have resolutely refused to taste them.\n\nAll this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little\ndamsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense\npalace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful\nobjects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid\nitself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she\nwandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of\nher footsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which\nflamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor\ncould the most brilliant of the many-colored gems, which Proserpina had\nfor playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to\ngather. But still, wherever the girl went, among those gilded halls and\nchambers, it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with\nher, and as if she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her\nleft. After Proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of\nstately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The\ninhabitants all felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them.\n\n\"My own little Proserpina,\" he used to say, \"I wish you could like me a\nlittle better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm\nhearts at bottom, as those of a more cheerful character. If you would\nonly stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the\npossession of a hundred such palaces as this.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Proserpina, \"you should have tried to make me like you before\ncarrying me off. And the best thing you can do now is, to let me go\nagain. Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as\nkind as you knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come\nback, and pay you a visit.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, \"I will not trust you\nfor that. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and\ngathering flowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not\nthese gems, which I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer\nthan any in my crown,--are they not prettier than a violet?\"\n\n\"Not half so pretty,\" said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's\nhand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. \"Oh, my sweet\nviolets, shall I never see you again?\"\n\nAnd then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little\nsaltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as\nthose of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at if, a few\nmoments afterwards, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as\nmerrily as she and the four sea-nymphs had sported along the edge of the\nsurf wave. King Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a\nchild. And little Proserpina, when she turned about, and beheld this\ngreat king standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so\nmelancholy, and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran\nback to him, and, for the first time in all her life, put her small soft\nhand in his.\n\n\"I love you a little,\" whispered she, looking up in his face.\n\n\"Do you, indeed, my dear child?\" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down\nto kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for though his\nfeatures were noble, they were very dusky and grim. \"Well, I have not\ndeserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and\nstarving you, besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing\nwhich I can get you to eat?\"\n\nIn asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning\npurpose; for, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food\nin his dominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Proserpina. \"Your head cook is always baking, and\nstewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or\nanother, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as\nwell save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have\nno appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread\nof my mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden.\"\n\nWhen Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best\nmethod of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and\nartificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's\nopinion, as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her.\nWondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one\nof his trusty attendants, with a large basket, to get some of the finest\nand juiciest pears, peaches, and plums which could anywhere be found in\nthe upper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when\nCeres had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking\nall over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a single\npomegranate, and that so dried up as to be not worth eating.\nNevertheless, since there was no better to be had, he brought this dry,\nold, withered pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent\ngolden salver, and carried it up to Proserpina. Now it happened,\ncuriously enough, that, just as the servant was bringing the pomegranate\ninto the back door of the palace, our friend Quicksilver had gone up the\nfront steps, on his errand to get Proserpina away from King Pluto.\n\nAs soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told\nthe servant he had better take it away again.\n\n\"I shall not touch it, I assure you,\" said she. \"If I were ever so\nhungry, I should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate\nas that.\"\n\n\"It is the only one in the world,\" said the servant.\n\nHe set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and\nleft the room. When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close\nto the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a\ngreat deal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that\nsuited her taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking\npossession of her at once. To be sure, it was a very wretched-looking\npomegranate, and seemed to have no more juice in it than an\noyster-shell. But there was no choice of such things in King Pluto's\npalace. This was the first fruit she had seen there, and the last she\nwas ever likely to see; and unless she ate it up immediately, it would\ngrow drier than it already was, and be wholly unfit to eat.\n\n\"At least, I may smell it,\" thought Proserpina.\n\nSo she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow\nor other, being in such close neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found\nits way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting pity!\nBefore Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten\nit, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the door of\nthe apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by Quicksilver,\nwho had been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At the first\nnoise of their entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her\nmouth. But Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the\nsharpest that ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a little\nconfused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been\ntaking a sly nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he never\nguessed at the secret.\n\n\"My little Proserpina,\" said the king, sitting down, and affectionately\ndrawing her between his knees, \"here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a\ngreat many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my\ndetaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had\nalready reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from\nyour good mother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this\nvast palace is apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly\nshine very bright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition,\nand that therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society\nof some merrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown\nfor a plaything, and me--ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina--me, grim as\nI am, for a playmate. It was a silly expectation.\"\n\n\"Not so extremely silly,\" whispered Proserpina. \"You have really amused\nme very much, sometimes.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said King Pluto, rather dryly. \"But I can see, plainly\nenough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted\nkeeper of it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain\nyou here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you\ntasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home\nto your dear mother.\"\n\nNow, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it\nimpossible to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a\ngood deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She\neven shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great\npalace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light,\nafter she herself,--his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had\nstolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much,--after she\nshould have departed. I know not how many kind things she might have\nsaid to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried\nher away.\n\n\"Come along quickly,\" whispered he in her ear, \"or his Majesty may\nchange his royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say\nnothing of what was brought you on the golden salver.\"\n\nIn a very short time, they had passed the great gateway (leaving the\nthree-headed Cerberus, barking, and yelping, and growling, with\nthreefold din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth.\nIt was delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path\ngrew verdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her\nblessed foot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up\nalong the wayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold\nvigor and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been\nwasted in barrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work\ngrazing, after their long fast, and ate enormously all day, and got up\nat midnight to eat more. But I can assure you it was a busy time of year\nwith the farmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such\na rush. Nor must I forget to say that all the birds in the whole world\nhopped about upon the newly blossoming trees, and sang together in a\nprodigious ecstasy of joy.\n\nMother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting\ndisconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She\nhad been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when, all at\nonce, it flickered and went out.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" thought she. \"It was an enchanted torch, and\nshould have kept burning till my child came back.\"\n\nLifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing\nover the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a\ngolden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just\nrisen sun.\n\n\"Does the earth disobey me?\" exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly. \"Does\nit presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my\ndaughter shall be restored to my arms?\"\n\n\"Then open your arms, dear mother,\" cried a well-known voice, \"and take\nyour little daughter into them.\"\n\nAnd Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.\nTheir mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their\nseparation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now\nthey shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express\nitself in any other way.\n\nWhen their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked\nanxiously at Proserpina.\n\n\"My child,\" said she, \"did you taste any food while you were in King\nPluto's palace?\"\n\n\"Dearest mother,\" answered Proserpina, \"I will tell you the whole truth.\nUntil this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But\nto-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all\nshrivelled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and\nhaving seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I\nwas tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and\nQuicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but--dear\nmother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am\nafraid, remained in my mouth.\"\n\n\"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!\" exclaimed Ceres. \"For each of\nthose six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in\nKing Pluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six\nmonths with me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!\"\n\n\"Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto,\" said Proserpina, kissing\nher mother. \"He has some very good qualities; and I really think I can\nbear to spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the\nother six with you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but\nthen, as he says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in\nthat great gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change\nin his spirits to have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There is\nsome comfort in making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest\nmother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year\nround.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Golden Fleece\n\n\nWhen Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little boy,\nhe was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest\nschoolmaster that ever you heard of. This learned person was one of the\npeople, or quadrupeds, called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern, and had\nthe body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a\nman. His name was Chiron; and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was a\nvery excellent teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him\ncredit by making a great figure in the world. The famous Hercules was\none, and so was Achilles, and Philoctetes, likewise, and AEsculapius, who\nacquired immense repute as a doctor. The good Chiron taught his pupils\nhow to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the\nsword and shield, together with various other branches of education, in\nwhich the lads of those days used to be instructed, instead of writing\nand arithmetic.\n\nI have sometimes suspected that Master Chiron was not really very\ndifferent from other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry\nold fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse,\nand scrambling about the school-room on all fours, and letting the\nlittle boys ride upon his back. And so, when his scholars had grown up,\nand grown old, and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees,\nthey told them about the sports of their school-days; and these young\nfolks took the idea that their grandfathers had been taught their\nletters by a Centaur, half man and half horse. Little children, not\nquite understanding what is said to them, often get such absurd notions\ninto their heads, you know.\n\nBe that as it may, it has always been told for a fact (and always will\nbe told, as long as the world lasts), that Chiron, with the head of a\nschoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse. Just imagine the grave\nold gentleman clattering and stamping into the school-room on his four\nhoofs, perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his\nswitch tail instead of a rod, and, now and then, trotting out of doors\nto eat a mouthful of grass! I wonder what the blacksmith charged him for\na set of iron shoes.\n\nSo Jason dwelt in the cave, with this four-footed Chiron, from the time\nthat he was an infant, only a few months old, until he had grown to the\nfull height of a man. He became a very good harper, I suppose, and\nskilful in the use of weapons, and tolerably acquainted with herbs and\nother doctor's stuff, and, above all, an admirable horseman; for, in\nteaching young people to ride, the good Chiron must have been without a\nrival among schoolmasters. At length, being now a tall and athletic\nyouth, Jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world, without asking\nChiron's advice, or telling him anything about the matter. This was very\nunwise, to be sure; and I hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever\nfollow Jason's example. But, you are to understand, he had heard how\nthat he himself was a prince royal, and how his father, King AEson, had\nbeen deprived of the kingdom of Iolchos by a certain Pelias who would\nalso have killed Jason, had he not been hidden in the Centaur's cave.\nAnd, being come to the strength of a man, Jason determined to set all\nthis business to rights, and to punish the wicked Pelias for wronging\nhis dear father, and to cast him down from the throne, and seat himself\nthere instead.\n\nWith this intention, he took a spear in each hand, and threw a leopard's\nskin over his shoulders, to keep off the rain, and set forth on his\ntravels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of\nhis dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals, that\nhad been his father's. They were handsomely embroidered, and were tied\nupon his feet with strings of gold. But his whole attire was such as\npeople did not very often see; and as he passed along, the women and\nchildren ran to the doors and windows, wondering whither this beautiful\nyouth was journeying, with his leopard's skin and his golden-tied\nsandals, and what heroic deeds he meant to perform, with a spear in his\nright hand and another in his left.\n\n[Illustration: JASON AND HIS TEACHER]\n\nI know not how far Jason had travelled, when he came to a turbulent\nriver, which rushed right across his pathway, with specks of white foam\namong its black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward, and roaring\nangrily as it went. Though not a very broad river in the dry seasons of\nthe year, it was now swollen by heavy rains and by the melting of the\nsnow on the sides of Mount Olympus; and it thundered so loudly, and\nlooked so wild and dangerous, that Jason, bold as he was, thought it\nprudent to pause upon the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be\nstrewn with sharp and rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves\nabove the water. By and by, an uprooted tree, with shattered branches,\ncame drifting along the current, and got entangled among the rocks. Now\nand then, a drowned sheep, and once the carcass of a cow, floated past.\n\nIn short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief.\nIt was evidently too deep for Jason to wade, and too boisterous for him\nto swim; he could see no bridge; and as for a boat, had there been any,\nthe rocks would have broken it to pieces in an instant.\n\n\"See the poor lad,\" said a cracked voice close to his side. \"He must\nhave had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a\nlittle stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine\ngolden-stringed sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is\nnot here to carry him safely across on his back!\"\n\nJason looked round greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody\nwas near. But beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over\nher head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape\nof a cuckoo. She looked very aged, and wrinkled, and infirm; and yet her\neyes, which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large and\nbeautiful, that, when they were fixed on Jason's eyes, he could see\nnothing else but them. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand,\nalthough the fruit was then quite out of season.\n\n\"Whither are you going, Jason?\" she now asked.\n\nShe seemed to know his name, you will observe; and, indeed, those great\nbrown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past\nor to come. While Jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward\nand took his stand at the old woman's side.\n\n\"I am going to Iolchos,\" answered the young man, \"to bid the wicked King\nPelias come down from my father's throne, and let me reign in his\nstead.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, then,\" said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice,\n\"if that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry.\nJust take me on your back, there's a good youth, and carry me across the\nriver. I and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well\nas yourself.\"\n\n\"Good mother,\" replied Jason, \"your business can hardly be so important\nas the pulling down a king from his throne. Besides, as you may see for\nyourself, the river is very boisterous; and if I should chance to\nstumble, it would sweep both of us away more easily than it has carried\noff yonder uprooted tree. I would gladly help you if I could; but I\ndoubt whether I am strong enough to carry you across.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said she, very scornfully, \"neither are you strong enough to\npull King Pelias off his throne. And, Jason, unless you will help an old\nwoman at her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for,\nsave to succor the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either\ntake me on your back, or with my poor old limbs I shall try my best to\nstruggle across the stream.\"\n\nSaying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river, as if to\nfind the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first\nstep. But Jason, by this time, had grown ashamed of his reluctance to\nhelp her. He felt that he could never forgive himself, if this poor\nfeeble creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against\nthe headlong current. The good Chiron, whether half horse or no, had\ntaught him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak;\nand also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister,\nand every old one like a mother. Remembering these maxims, the vigorous\nand beautiful young man knelt down, and requested the good dame to mount\nupon his back.\n\n\"The passage seems to me not very safe,\" he remarked. \"But as your\nbusiness is so urgent, I will try to carry you across. If the river\nsweeps you away, it shall take me too.\"\n\n\"That, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us,\" quoth the old\nwoman. \"But never fear. We shall get safely across.\"\n\nSo she threw her arms around Jason's neck; and lifting her from the\nground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foamy current, and began\nto stagger away from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the\nold dame's shoulder. Jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him from\nstumbling, and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks;\nalthough, every instant, he expected that his companion and himself\nwould go down the stream, together with the drift-wood of shattered\ntrees, and the carcasses of the sheep and cow. Down came the cold, snowy\ntorrent from the steep side of Olympus, raging and thundering as if it\nhad a real spite against Jason, or, at all events, were determined to\nsnatch off his living burden from his shoulders. When he was half-way\nacross, the uprooted tree (which I have already told you about) broke\nloose from among the rocks, and bore down upon him, with all its\nsplintered branches sticking out like the hundred arms of the giant\nBriareus. It rushed past, however, without touching him. But the next\nmoment, his foot was caught in a crevice between two rocks, and stuck\nthere so fast, that, in the effort to get free, he lost one of his\ngolden-stringed sandals.\n\nAt this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.\n\n\"What is the matter, Jason?\" asked the old woman.\n\n\"Matter enough,\" said the young man. \"I have lost a sandal here among\nthe rocks. And what sort of a figure shall I cut at the court of King\nPelias, with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot, and the other foot\nbare!\"\n\n\"Do not take it to heart,\" answered his companion, cheerily. \"You never\nmet with better fortune than in losing that sandal. It satisfies me that\nyou are the very person whom the Speaking Oak has been talking about.\"\n\nThere was no time, just then, to inquire what the Speaking Oak had said.\nBut the briskness of her tone encouraged the young man; and besides, he\nhad never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this\nold woman on his back. Instead of being exhausted, he gathered strength\nas he went on; and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained\nthe opposite shore, clambered up the bank, and set down the old dame and\nher peacock safely on the grass. As soon as this was done, however, he\ncould not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a\nremnant of the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.\n\n\"You will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by,\" said the old\nwoman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. \"Only let\nKing Pelias get a glimpse of that bare foot, and you shall see him turn\nas pale as ashes, I promise you. There is your path. Go along, my good\nJason, and my blessing go with you. And when you sit on your throne,\nremember the old woman whom you helped over the river.\"\n\nWith these words, she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder\nas she departed. Whether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a\nglory round about her, or whatever the cause might be, Jason fancied\nthat there was something very noble and majestic in her figure, after\nall, and that, though her gait seemed to be a rheumatic hobble, yet she\nmoved with as much grace and dignity as any queen on earth. Her peacock,\nwhich had now fluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in\nprodigious pomp, and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for\nJason to admire it.\n\nWhen the old dame and her peacock were out of sight, Jason set forward\non his journey. After travelling a pretty long distance, he came to a\ntown situated at the foot of a mountain, and not a great way from the\nshore of the sea. On the outside of the town there was an immense crowd\nof people, not only men and women, but children, too, all in their best\nclothes, and evidently enjoying a holiday. The crowd was thickest\ntowards the sea-shore; and in that direction, over the people's heads,\nJason saw a wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky. He inquired\nof one of the multitude what town it was, near by, and why so many\npersons were here assembled together.\n\n\"This is the kingdom of Iolchos,\" answered the man, \"and we are the\nsubjects of King Pelias. Our monarch has summoned us together, that we\nmay see him sacrifice a black bull to Neptune, who, they say, is his\nMajesty's father. Yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up\nfrom the altar.\"\n\nWhile the man spoke he eyed Jason with great curiosity; for his garb was\nquite unlike that of the Iolchians, and it looked very odd to see a\nyouth with a leopard's skin over his shoulders, and each hand grasping a\nspear. Jason perceived, too, that the man stared particularly at his\nfeet, one of which, you remember, was bare, while the other was\ndecorated with his father's golden-stringed sandal.\n\n\"Look at him! only look at him!\" said the man to his next neighbor. \"Do\nyou see? He wears but one sandal!\"\n\nUpon this, first one person, and then another, began to stare at Jason,\nand everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect;\nthough they turned their eyes much oftener towards his feet than to any\nother part of his figure. Besides, he could hear them whispering to one\nanother.\n\n\"One sandal! One sandal!\" they kept saying. \"The man with one sandal!\nHere he is at last! Whence has he come? What does he mean to do? What\nwill the king say to the one-sandalled man?\"\n\nPoor Jason was greatly abashed, and made up his mind that the people of\nIolchos were exceedingly ill bred, to take such public notice of an\naccidental deficiency in his dress. Meanwhile, whether it were that they\nhustled him forward, or that Jason, of his own accord, thrust a passage\nthrough the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to\nthe smoking altar, where King Pelias was sacrificing the black bull. The\nmurmur and hum of the multitude, in their surprise at the spectacle of\nJason with his one bare foot, grew so loud that it disturbed the\nceremonies; and the king, holding the great knife with which he was just\ngoing to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about, and fixed his eyes\non Jason. The people had now withdrawn from around him, so that the\nyouth stood in an open space near the smoking altar, front to front with\nthe angry King Pelias.\n\n\"Who are you?\" cried the king, with a terrible frown. \"And how dare you\nmake this disturbance, while I am sacrificing a black bull to my father\nNeptune?\"\n\n\"It is no fault of mine,\" answered Jason. \"Your Majesty must blame the\nrudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this tumult because one\nof my feet happens to be bare.\"\n\nWhen Jason said this, the king gave a quick, startled glance down at his\nfeet.\n\n\"Ha!\" muttered he, \"here is the one-sandalled fellow, sure enough! What\ncan I do with him?\"\n\nAnd he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if he were\nhalf a mind to slay Jason instead of the black bull. The people round\nabout caught up the king's words indistinctly as they were uttered; and\nfirst there was a murmur among them, and then a loud shout.\n\n\"The one-sandalled man has come! The prophecy must be fulfilled!\"\n\nFor you are to know that, many years before, King Pelias had been told\nby the Speaking Oak of Dodona, that a man with one sandal should cast\nhim down from his throne. On this account, he had given strict orders\nthat nobody should ever come into his presence, unless both sandals were\nsecurely tied upon his feet; and he kept an officer in his palace, whose\nsole business it was to examine people's sandals, and to supply them\nwith a new pair, at the expense of the royal treasury, as soon as the\nold ones began to wear out. In the whole course of the king's reign, he\nhad never been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the\nspectacle of poor Jason's bare foot. But, as he was naturally a bold and\nhard-hearted man, he soon took courage, and began to consider in what\nway he might rid himself of this terrible one-sandalled stranger.\n\n\"My good young man,\" said King Pelias, taking the softest tone\nimaginable, in order to throw Jason off his guard, \"you are excessively\nwelcome to my kingdom. Judging by your dress, you must have travelled a\nlong distance; for it is not the fashion to wear leopard-skins in this\npart of the world. Pray, what may I call your name? and where did you\nreceive your education?\"\n\n\"My name is Jason,\" answered the young stranger. \"Ever since my infancy,\nI have dwelt in the cave of Chiron the Centaur. He was my instructor,\nand taught me music, and horsemanship, and how to cure wounds, and\nlikewise how to inflict wounds with my weapons!\"\n\n\"I have heard of Chiron the schoolmaster,\" replied King Pelias, \"and how\nthat there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head,\nalthough it happens to be set on a horse's body. It gives me great\ndelight to see one of his scholars at my court. But, to test how much\nyou have profited under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask\nyou a single question?\"\n\n\"I do not pretend to be very wise,\" said Jason. \"But ask me what you\nplease, and I will answer to the best of my ability.\"\n\nNow King Pelias meant cunningly to entrap the young man, and to make him\nsay something that should be the cause of mischief and destruction to\nhimself. So with a crafty and evil smile upon his face, he spoke as\nfollows:--\n\n\"What would you do, brave Jason,\" asked he, \"if there were a man in the\nworld, by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to be\nruined and slain,--what would you do, I say, if that man stood before\nyou, and in your power?\"\n\nWhen Jason saw the malice and wickedness which King Pelias could not\nprevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king\nhad discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own\nwords against himself. Still he scorned to tell a falsehood. Like an\nupright and honorable prince, as he was, he determined to speak out the\nreal truth. Since the king had chosen to ask him the question, and since\nJason had promised him an answer, there was no right way, save to tell\nhim precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do, if he had his\nworst enemy in his power.\n\nTherefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up, with a firm and\nmanly voice.\n\n\"I would send such a man,\" said he, \"in quest of the Golden Fleece!\"\n\nThis enterprise, you will understand, was, of all others, the most\ndifficult and dangerous in the world. In the first place, it would be\nnecessary to make a long voyage through unknown seas. There was hardly a\nhope, or a possibility, that any young man who should undertake this\nvoyage would either succeed in obtaining the Golden Fleece, or would\nsurvive to return home, and tell of the perils he had run. The eyes of\nKing Pelias sparkled with joy, therefore, when he heard Jason's reply.\n\n\"Well said, wise man with the one sandal!\" cried he. \"Go, then, and, at\nthe peril of your life, bring me back the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"I go,\" answered Jason, composedly. \"If I fail, you need not fear that I\nwill ever come back to trouble you again. But if I return to Iolchos\nwith the prize, then, King Pelias, you must hasten down from your lofty\nthrone, and give me your crown and sceptre.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said the king, with a sneer. \"Meantime, I will keep them\nvery safely for you.\"\n\nThe first thing that Jason thought of doing, after he left the king's\npresence, was to go to Dodona, and inquire of the Talking Oak what\ncourse it was best to pursue. This wonderful tree stood in the centre of\nan ancient wood. Its stately trunk rose up a hundred feet into the air,\nand threw a broad and dense shadow over more than an acre of ground.\nStanding beneath it, Jason looked up among the knotted branches and\ngreen leaves, and into the mysterious heart of the old tree, and spoke\naloud, as if he were addressing some person who was hidden in the depths\nof the foliage.\n\n\"What shall I do,\" said he, \"in order to win the Golden Fleece?\"\n\nAt first there was a deep silence, not only within the shadow of the\nTalking Oak, but all through the solitary wood. In a moment or two,\nhowever, the leaves of the oak began to stir and rustle, as if a gentle\nbreeze were wandering amongst them, although the other trees of the wood\nwere perfectly still. The sound grew louder, and became like the roar of\na high wind. By and by, Jason imagined that he could distinguish words,\nbut very confusedly, because each separate leaf of the tree seemed to be\na tongue, and the whole myriad of tongues were babbling at once. But the\nnoise waxed broader and deeper, until it resembled a tornado sweeping\nthrough the oak, and making one great utterance out of the thousand and\nthousand of little murmurs which each leafy tongue had caused by its\nrustling. And now, though it still had the tone of mighty wind roaring\namong the branches, it was also like a deep bass voice, speaking, as\ndistinctly as a tree could be expected to speak, the following words:--\n\n\"Go to Argus, the ship-builder, and bid him build a galley with fifty\noars.\"\n\nThen the voice melted again into the indistinct murmur of the rustling\nleaves, and died gradually away. When it was quite gone, Jason felt\ninclined to doubt whether he had actually heard the words, or whether\nhis fancy had not shaped them out of the ordinary sound made by a\nbreeze, while passing through the thick foliage of the tree.\n\nBut on inquiry among the people of Iolchos, he found that there was\nreally a man in the city, by the name of Argus, who was a very skilful\nbuilder of vessels. This showed some intelligence in the oak; else how\nshould it have known that any such person existed? At Jason's request,\nArgus readily consented to build him a galley so big that it should\nrequire fifty strong men to row it; although no vessel of such a size\nand burden had heretofore been seen in the world. So the head carpenter,\nand all his journeymen and apprentices, began their work; and for a good\nwhile afterwards, there they were, busily employed, hewing out the\ntimbers, and making a great clatter with their hammers; until the new\nship, which was called the Argo, seemed to be quite ready for sea. And,\nas the Talking Oak had already given him such good advice, Jason thought\nthat it would not be amiss to ask for a little more. He visited it\nagain, therefore, and standing beside its huge, rough trunk, inquired\nwhat he should do next.\n\nThis time, there was no such universal quivering of the leaves,\nthroughout the whole tree, as there had been before. But after a while,\nJason observed that the foliage of a great branch which stretched above\nhis head had begun to rustle, as if the wind were stirring that one\nbough, while all the other boughs of the oak were at rest.\n\n\"Cut me off!\" said the branch, as soon as it could speak\ndistinctly,--\"cut me off! cut me off! and carve me into a figure-head\nfor your galley.\"\n\nAccordingly, Jason took the branch at its word, and lopped it off the\ntree. A carver in the neighborhood engaged to make the figure-head. He\nwas a tolerably good workman, and had already carved several\nfigure-heads, in what he intended for feminine shapes, and looking\npretty much like those which we see nowadays stuck up under a vessel's\nbowsprit, with great staring eyes, that never wink at the dash of the\nspray. But (what was very strange) the carver found that his hand was\nguided by some unseen power, and by a skill beyond his own, and that his\ntools shaped out an image which he had never dreamed of. When the work\nwas finished, it turned out to be the figure of a beautiful woman with a\nhelmet on her head, from beneath which the long ringlets fell down upon\nher shoulders. On the left arm was a shield, and in its centre appeared\na lifelike representation of the head of Medusa with the snaky locks.\nThe right arm was extended, as if pointing onward. The face of this\nwonderful statue, though not angry or forbidding, was so grave and\nmajestic, that perhaps you might call it severe; and as for the mouth,\nit seemed just ready to unclose its lips, and utter words of the deepest\nwisdom.\n\nJason was delighted with the oaken image, and gave the carver no rest\nuntil it was completed, and set up where a figure-head has always stood,\nfrom that time to this, in the vessel's prow.\n\n\"And now,\" cried he, as he stood gazing at the calm, majestic face of\nthe statue, \"I must go to the Talking Oak, and inquire what next to do.\"\n\n\"There is no need of that, Jason,\" said a voice which, though it was far\nlower, reminded him of the mighty tones of the great oak. \"When you\ndesire good advice, you can seek it of me.\"\n\nJason had been looking straight into the face of the image when these\nwords were spoken. But he could hardly believe either his ears or his\neyes. The truth was, however, that the oaken lips had moved, and, to all\nappearance, the voice had proceeded from the statue's mouth. Recovering\na little from his surprise, Jason bethought himself that the image had\nbeen carved out of the wood of the Talking Oak, and that, therefore, it\nwas really no great wonder, but on the contrary, the most natural thing\nin the world, that it should possess the faculty of speech. It would\nhave been very odd, indeed, if it had not. But certainly it was a great\npiece of good fortune that he should be able to carry so wise a block of\nwood along with him in his perilous voyage.\n\n\"Tell me, wondrous image,\" exclaimed Jason,--\"since you inherit the\nwisdom of the Speaking Oak of Dodona, whose daughter you are,--tell me,\nwhere shall I find fifty bold youths, who will take each of them an oar\nof my galley? They must have sturdy arms to row, and brave hearts to\nencounter perils, or we shall never win the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"Go,\" replied the oaken image,--\"go, summon all the heroes of Greece.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, considering what a great deed was to be done, could any\nadvice be wiser than this which Jason received from the figure-head of\nhis vessel? He lost no time in sending messengers to all the cities, and\nmaking known to the whole people of Greece, that Prince Jason, the son\nof King AEson, was going in quest of the Fleece of Gold, and that he\ndesired the help of forty-nine of the bravest and strongest young men\nalive, to row his vessel and share his dangers. And Jason himself would\nbe the fiftieth.\n\nAt this news, the adventurous youths, all over the country, began to\nbestir themselves. Some of them had already fought with giants, and\nslain dragons; and the younger ones, who had not yet met with such good\nfortune, thought it a shame to have lived so long without getting\nastride of a flying serpent, or sticking their spears into a Chimaera,\nor, at least, thrusting their right arms down a monstrous lion's throat.\nThere was a fair prospect that they would meet with plenty of such\nadventures before finding the Golden Fleece. As soon as they could\nfurbish up their helmets and shields, therefore, and gird on their\ntrusty swords, they came thronging to Iolchos, and clambered on board\nthe new galley. Shaking hands with Jason, they assured him that they did\nnot care a pin for their lives, but would help row the vessel to the\nremotest edge of the world, and as much farther as he might think it\nbest to go.\n\nMany of these brave fellows had been educated by Chiron, the four-footed\npedagogue, and were therefore old schoolmates of Jason, and knew him to\nbe a lad of spirit. The mighty Hercules, whose shoulders afterwards held\nup the sky, was one of them. And there were Castor and Pollux, the twin\nbrothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although they\nhad been hatched out of an egg; and Theseus, who was so renowned for\nkilling the Minotaur; and Lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes,\nwhich could see through a millstone, or look right down into the depths\nof the earth, and discover the treasures that were there; and Orpheus,\nthe very best of harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly,\nthat the brute beasts stood upon their hind legs, and capered merrily to\nthe music. Yes, and at some of his more moving tunes, the rocks\nbestirred their moss-grown bulk out of the ground, and a grove of\nforest trees uprooted themselves, and, nodding their tops to one\nanother, performed a country dance.\n\nOne of the rowers was a beautiful young woman, named Atalanta, who had\nbeen nursed among the mountains by a bear. So light of foot was this\nfair damsel that she could step from one foamy crest of a wave to the\nfoamy crest of another, without wetting more than the sole of her\nsandal. She had grown up in a very wild way, and talked much about the\nrights of women, and loved hunting and war far better than her needle.\nBut, in my opinion, the most remarkable of this famous company were two\nsons of the North Wind (airy youngsters, and of rather a blustering\ndisposition), who had wings on their shoulders, and, in case of a calm,\ncould puff out their cheeks, and blow almost as fresh a breeze as their\nfather. I ought not to forget the prophets and conjurers, of whom there\nwere several in the crew, and who could foretell what would happen\nto-morrow, or the next day, or a hundred years hence, but were generally\nquite unconscious of what was passing at the moment.\n\nJason appointed Tiphys to be helmsman, because he was a star-gazer, and\nknew the points of the compass. Lynceus, on account of his sharp sight,\nwas stationed as a lookout in the prow, where he saw a whole day's sail\nahead, but was rather apt to overlook things that lay directly under his\nnose. If the sea only happened to be deep enough, however, Lynceus could\ntell you exactly what kind of rocks or sands were at the bottom of it;\nand he often cried out to his companions, that they were sailing over\nheaps of sunken treasure, which yet he was none the richer for\nbeholding. To confess the truth, few people believed him when he said\nit.\n\nWell! But when the Argonauts, as these fifty brave adventurers were\ncalled, had prepared everything for the voyage, an unforeseen difficulty\nthreatened to end it before it was begun. The vessel, you must\nunderstand, was so long, and broad, and ponderous, that the united force\nof all the fifty was insufficient to shove her into the water. Hercules,\nI suppose, had not grown to his full strength, else he might have set\nher afloat as easily as a little boy launches his boat upon a puddle.\nBut here were these fifty heroes pushing, and straining, and growing red\nin the face, without making the Argo start an inch. At last, quite\nwearied out, they sat themselves down on the shore, exceedingly\ndisconsolate, and thinking that the vessel must be left to rot and fall\nin pieces, and that they must either swim across the sea or lose the\nGolden Fleece.\n\nAll at once, Jason bethought himself of the galley's miraculous\nfigure-head.\n\n\"O daughter of the Talking Oak,\" cried he, \"how shall we set to work to\nget our vessel into the water?\"\n\n\"Seat yourselves,\" answered the image (for it had known what ought to be\ndone from the very first, and was only waiting for the question to be\nput),--\"seat yourselves, and handle your oars, and let Orpheus play upon\nhis harp.\"\n\nImmediately the fifty heroes got on board, and seizing their oars, held\nthem perpendicularly in the air, while Orpheus (who liked such a task\nfar better than rowing) swept his fingers across the harp. At the first\nringing note of the music, they felt the vessel stir. Orpheus thrummed\naway briskly, and the galley slid at once into the sea, dipping her prow\nso deeply that the figure-head drank the wave with its marvellous lips,\nand rose again as buoyant as a swan. The rowers plied their fifty oars;\nthe white foam boiled up before the prow; the water gurgled and bubbled\nin their wake; while Orpheus continued to play so lively a strain of\nmusic, that the vessel seemed to dance over the billows by way of\nkeeping time to it. Thus triumphantly did the Argo sail out of the\nharbor, amidst the huzzas and good wishes of everybody except the wicked\nold Pelias, who stood on a promontory, scowling at her, and wishing that\nhe could blow out of his lungs the tempest of wrath that was in his\nheart, and so sink the galley with all on board. When they had sailed\nabove fifty miles over the sea, Lynceus happened to cast his sharp eyes\nbehind, and said that there was this bad-hearted king, still perched\nupon the promontory, and scowling so gloomily that it looked like a\nblack thunder-cloud in that quarter of the horizon.\n\nIn order to make the time pass away more pleasantly during the voyage,\nthe heroes talked about the Golden Fleece. It originally belonged, it\nappears, to a Boeotian ram, who had taken on his back two children,\nwhen in danger of their lives, and fled with them over land and sea, as\nfar as Colchis. One of the children, whose name was Helle, fell into the\nsea and was drowned. But the other (a little boy, named Phrixus) was\nbrought safe ashore by the faithful ram, who, however, was so exhausted\nthat he immediately lay down and died. In memory of this good deed, and\nas a token of his true heart, the fleece of the poor dead ram was\nmiraculously changed to gold, and became one of the most beautiful\nobjects ever seen on earth. It was hung upon a tree in a sacred grove,\nwhere it had now been kept I know not how many years, and was the envy\nof mighty kings, who had nothing so magnificent in any of their palaces.\n\nIf I were to tell you all the adventures of the Argonauts, it would take\nme till nightfall, and perhaps a great deal longer. There was no lack of\nwonderful events, as you may judge from what you may have already heard.\nAt a certain island they were hospitably received by King Cyzicus, its\nsovereign, who made a feast for them, and treated them like brothers.\nBut the Argonauts saw that this good king looked downcast and very much\ntroubled, and they therefore inquired of him what was the matter. King\nCyzicus hereupon informed them that he and his subjects were greatly\nabused and incommoded by the inhabitants of a neighboring mountain, who\nmade war upon them, and killed many people, and ravaged the country. And\nwhile they were talking about it, Cyzicus pointed to the mountain, and\nasked Jason and his companions what they saw there.\n\n\"I see some very tall objects,\" answered Jason; \"but they are at such a\ndistance that I cannot distinctly make out what they are. To tell your\nMajesty the truth, they look so very strangely that I am inclined to\nthink them clouds, which have chanced to take something like human\nshapes.\"\n\n\"I see them very plainly,\" remarked Lynceus, whose eyes, you know, were\nas far-sighted as a telescope. \"They are a band of enormous giants, all\nof whom have six arms apiece, and a club, a sword, or some other weapon\nin each of their hands.\"\n\n\"You have excellent eyes,\" said King Cyzicus. \"Yes; they are six-armed\ngiants, as you say, and these are the enemies whom I and my subjects\nhave to contend with.\"\n\nThe next day, when the Argonauts were about setting sail, down came\nthese terrible giants, stepping a hundred yards at a stride, brandishing\ntheir six arms apiece, and looking very formidable, so far aloft in the\nair. Each of these monsters was able to carry on a whole war by himself,\nfor with one of his arms he could fling immense stones, and wield a club\nwith another, and a sword with a third, while the fourth was poking a\nlong spear at the enemy, and the fifth and sixth were shooting him with\na bow and arrow. But, luckily, though the giants were so huge, and had\nso many arms, they had each but one heart, and that no bigger nor braver\nthan the heart of an ordinary man. Besides, if they had been like the\nhundred-armed Briareus, the brave Argonauts would have given them their\nhands full of fight. Jason and his friends went boldly to meet them,\nslew a great many, and made the rest take to their heels, so that, if\nthe giants had had six legs apiece instead of six arms, it would have\nserved them better to run away with.\n\nAnother strange adventure happened when the voyagers came to Thrace,\nwhere they found a poor blind king, named Phineus, deserted by his\nsubjects, and living in a very sorrowful way, all by himself. On Jason's\ninquiring whether they could do him any service, the king answered that\nhe was terribly tormented by three great winged creatures, called\nHarpies, which had the faces of women, and the wings, bodies, and claws\nof vultures. These ugly wretches were in the habit of snatching away his\ndinner, and allowing him no peace of his life. Upon hearing this, the\nArgonauts spread a plentiful feast on the sea-shore, well knowing, from\nwhat the blind king said of their greediness, that the Harpies would\nsnuff up the scent of the victuals, and quickly come to steal them away.\nAnd so it turned out; for, hardly was the table set, before the three\nhideous vulture women came flapping their wings, seized the food in\ntheir talons, and flew off as fast as they could. But the two sons of\nthe North Wind drew their swords, spread their pinions, and set off\nthrough the air in pursuit of the thieves, whom they at last overtook\namong some islands, after a chase of hundreds of miles. The two winged\nyouths blustered terribly at the Harpies (for they had the rough temper\nof their father), and so frightened them with their drawn swords, that\nthey solemnly promised never to trouble King Phineus again.\n\nThen the Argonauts sailed onward, and met with many other marvellous\nincidents any one of which would make a story by itself. At one time,\nthey landed on an island, and were reposing on the grass, when they\nsuddenly found themselves assailed by what seemed a shower of\nsteel-headed arrows. Some of them stuck in the ground, while others hit\nagainst their shields, and several penetrated their flesh. The fifty\nheroes started up, and looked about them for the hidden enemy, but could\nfind none, nor see any spot, on the whole island, where even a single\narcher could lie concealed. Still, however, the steel-headed arrows came\nwhizzing among them; and, at last, happening to look upward, they beheld\na large flock of birds, hovering and wheeling aloft, and shooting their\nfeathers down upon the Argonauts. These feathers were the steel-headed\narrows that had so tormented them. There was no possibility of making\nany resistance; and the fifty heroic Argonauts might all have been\nkilled or wounded by a flock of troublesome birds, without ever setting\neyes on the Golden Fleece, if Jason had not thought of asking the advice\nof the oaken image.\n\n[Illustration: THE ARGONAUTS IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE\n\n(From the original in the collection of Harry Payne Whitney Esq're, New\nYork)]\n\nSo he ran to the galley as fast as his legs would carry him.\n\n\"O daughter of the Speaking Oak,\" cried he, all out of breath, \"we need\nyour wisdom more than ever before! We are in great peril from a flock of\nbirds, who are shooting us with their steel-pointed feathers. What can\nwe do to drive them away?\"\n\n\"Make a clatter on your shields,\" said the image.\n\nOn receiving this excellent counsel, Jason hurried back to his\ncompanions (who were far more dismayed than when they fought with the\nsix-armed giants), and bade them strike with their swords upon their\nbrazen shields. Forthwith the fifty heroes set heartily to work, banging\nwith might and main, and raised such a terrible clatter that the birds\nmade what haste they could to get away; and though they had shot half\nthe feathers out of their wings, they were soon seen skimming among the\nclouds, a long distance off, and looking like a flock of wild geese.\nOrpheus celebrated this victory by playing a triumphant anthem on his\nharp, and sang so melodiously that Jason begged him to desist, lest, as\nthe steel-feathered birds had been driven away by an ugly sound, they\nmight be enticed back again by a sweet one.\n\nWhile the Argonauts remained on this island, they saw a small vessel\napproaching the shore, in which were two young men of princely demeanor,\nand exceedingly handsome, as young princes generally were in those days.\nNow, who do you imagine these two voyagers turned out to be? Why, if you\nwill believe me, they were the sons of that very Phrixus, who, in his\nchildhood, had been carried to Colchis on the back of the golden-fleeced\nram. Since that time, Phrixus had married the king's daughter; and the\ntwo young princes had been born and brought up at Colchis, and had spent\ntheir play-days in the outskirts of the grove, in the centre of which\nthe Golden Fleece was hanging upon a tree. They were now on their way to\nGreece, in hopes of getting back a kingdom that had been wrongfully\ntaken from their father.\n\nWhen the princes understood whither the Argonauts were going, they\noffered to turn back and guide them to Colchis. At the same time,\nhowever, they spoke as if it were very doubtful whether Jason would\nsucceed in getting the Golden Fleece. According to their account, the\ntree on which it hung was guarded by a terrible dragon, who never failed\nto devour, at one mouthful, every person who might venture within his\nreach.\n\n\"There are other difficulties in the way,\" continued the young princes.\n\"But is not this enough? Ah, brave Jason, turn back before it is too\nlate. It would grieve us to the heart, if you and your nine-and-forty\nbrave companions should be eaten up, at fifty mouthfuls, by this\nexecrable dragon.\"\n\n\"My young friends,\" quietly replied Jason, \"I do not wonder that you\nthink the dragon very terrible. You have grown up from infancy in the\nfear of this monster, and therefore still regard him with the awe that\nchildren feel for the bugbears and hobgoblins which their nurses have\ntalked to them about. But, in my view of the matter, the dragon is\nmerely a pretty large serpent, who is not half so likely to snap me up\nat one mouthful as I am to cut off his ugly head, and strip the skin\nfrom his body. At all events, turn back who may, I will never see Greece\nagain unless I carry with me the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"We will none of us turn back!\" cried his nine-and-forty brave comrades.\n\"Let us get on board the galley this instant; and if the dragon is to\nmake a breakfast of us, much good may it do him.\"\n\nAnd Orpheus (whose custom it was to set everything to music) began to\nharp and sing most gloriously, and made every mother's son of them feel\nas if nothing in this world were so delectable as to fight dragons, and\nnothing so truly honorable as to be eaten up at one mouthful, in case of\nthe worst.\n\nAfter this (being now under the guidance of the two princes, who were\nwell acquainted with the way), they quickly sailed to Colchis. When the\nking of the country, whose name was AEetes, heard of their arrival, he\ninstantly summoned Jason to court. The king was a stern and\ncruel-looking potentate; and though he put on as polite and hospitable\nan expression as he could, Jason did not like his face a whit better\nthan that of the wicked King Pelias, who dethroned his father.\n\n\"You are welcome, brave Jason,\" said King AEetes. \"Pray, are you on a\npleasure voyage?--or do you meditate the discovery of unknown\nislands?--or what other cause has procured me the happiness of seeing\nyou at my court?\"\n\n\"Great sir,\" replied Jason, with an obeisance,--for Chiron had taught\nhim how to behave with propriety, whether to kings or beggars,--\"I have\ncome hither with a purpose which I now beg your Majesty's permission to\nexecute. King Pelias, who sits on my father's throne (to which he has no\nmore right than to the one on which your excellent Majesty is now\nseated), has engaged to come down from it, and to give me his crown and\nsceptre, provided I bring him the Golden Fleece. This, as your Majesty\nis aware, is now hanging on a tree here at Colchis; and I humbly solicit\nyour gracious leave to take it away.\"\n\nIn spite of himself, the king's face twisted itself into an angry frown;\nfor, above all things else in the world, he prized the Golden Fleece,\nand was even suspected of having done a very wicked act, in order to get\nit into his own possession. It put him into the worst possible humor,\ntherefore, to hear that the gallant Prince Jason, and forty-nine of the\nbravest young warriors of Greece, had come to Colchis with the sole\npurpose of taking away his chief treasure.\n\n\"Do you know,\" asked King AEetes, eying Jason very sternly, \"what are the\nconditions which you must fulfil before getting possession of the Golden\nFleece?\"\n\n\"I have heard,\" rejoined the youth, \"that a dragon lies beneath the tree\non which the prize hangs, and that whoever approaches him runs the risk\nof being devoured at a mouthful.\"\n\n\"True,\" said the king, with a smile that did not look particularly\ngood-natured. \"Very true, young man. But there are other things as hard,\nor perhaps a little harder, to be done, before you can even have the\nprivilege of being devoured by the dragon. For example, you must first\ntame my two brazen-footed and brazen-lunged bulls, which Vulcan, the\nwonderful blacksmith, made for me. There is a furnace in each of their\nstomachs; and they breathe such hot fire out of their mouths and\nnostrils, that nobody has hitherto gone nigh them without being\ninstantly burned to a small, black cinder. What do you think of this, my\nbrave Jason?\"\n\n\"I must encounter the peril,\" answered Jason, composedly, \"since it\nstands in the way of my purpose.\"\n\n\"After taming the fiery bulls,\" continued King AEetes, who was determined\nto scare Jason if possible, \"you must yoke them to a plough, and must\nplough the sacred earth in the grove of Mars, and sow some of the same\ndragon's teeth from which Cadmus raised a crop of armed men. They are an\nunruly set of reprobates, those sons of the dragon's teeth; and unless\nyou treat them suitably, they will fall upon you sword in hand. You and\nyour nine-and-forty Argonauts, my bold Jason, are hardly numerous or\nstrong enough to fight with such a host as will spring up.\"\n\n\"My master Chiron,\" replied Jason, \"taught me, long ago, the story of\nCadmus. Perhaps I can manage the quarrelsome sons of the dragon's teeth\nas well as Cadmus did.\"\n\n\"I wish the dragon had him,\" muttered King AEetes to himself, \"and the\nfour-footed pedant, his schoolmaster, into the bargain. Why, what a\nfoolhardy, self-conceited coxcomb he is! We'll see what my\nfire-breathing bulls will do for him. Well, Prince Jason,\" he continued,\naloud, and as complaisantly as he could, \"make yourself comfortable for\nto-day, and to-morrow morning, since you insist upon it, you shall try\nyour skill at the plough.\"\n\nWhile the king talked with Jason, a beautiful young woman was standing\nbehind the throne. She fixed her eyes earnestly upon the youthful\nstranger, and listened attentively to every word that was spoken; and\nwhen Jason withdrew from the king's presence, this young woman followed\nhim out of the room.\n\n\"I am the king's daughter,\" she said to him, \"and my name is Medea. I\nknow a great deal of which other young princesses are ignorant, and can\ndo many things which they would be afraid so much as to dream of. If you\nwill trust to me, I can instruct you how to tame the fiery bulls, and\nsow the dragon's teeth, and get the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"Indeed, beautiful princess,\" answered Jason, \"if you will do me this\nservice, I promise to be grateful to you my whole life long.\"\n\nGazing at Medea, he beheld a wonderful intelligence in her face. She was\none of those persons whose eyes are full of mystery; so that, while\nlooking into them, you seem to see a very great way, as into a deep\nwell, yet can never be certain whether you see into the farthest depths,\nor whether there be not something else hidden at the bottom. If Jason\nhad been capable of fearing anything, he would have been afraid of\nmaking this young princess his enemy; for, beautiful as she now looked,\nshe might, the very next instant, become as terrible as the dragon that\nkept watch over the Golden Fleece.\n\n\"Princess,\" he exclaimed, \"you seem indeed very wise and very powerful.\nBut how can you help me to do the things of which you speak? Are you an\nenchantress?\"\n\n\"Yes, Prince Jason,\" answered Medea, with a smile, \"you have hit upon\nthe truth. I am an enchantress. Circe, my father's sister, taught me to\nbe one, and I could tell you, if I pleased, who was the old woman with\nthe peacock, the pomegranate, and the cuckoo staff, whom you carried\nover the river; and, likewise, who it is that speaks through the lips of\nthe oaken image, that stands in the prow of your galley. I am acquainted\nwith some of your secrets, you perceive. It is well for you that I am\nfavorably inclined; for, otherwise, you would hardly escape being\nsnapped up by the dragon.\"\n\n\"I should not so much care for the dragon,\" replied Jason, \"if I only\nknew how to manage the brazen-footed and fiery-lunged bulls.\"\n\n\"If you are as brave as I think you, and as you have need to be,\" said\nMedea, \"your own bold heart will teach you that there is but one way of\ndealing with a mad bull. What it is I leave you to find out in the\nmoment of peril. As for the fiery breath of these animals, I have a\ncharmed ointment here, which will prevent you from being burned up, and\ncure you if you chance to be a little scorched.\"\n\nSo she put a golden box into his hand, and directed him how to apply the\nperfumed unguent which it contained, and where to meet her at midnight.\n\n\"Only be brave,\" added she, \"and before daybreak the brazen bulls shall\nbe tamed.\"\n\nThe young man assured her that his heart would not fail him. He then\nrejoined his comrades, and told them what had passed between the\nprincess and himself, and warned them to be in readiness in case there\nmight be need of their help.\n\nAt the appointed hour he met the beautiful Medea on the marble steps of\nthe king's palace. She gave him a basket, in which were the dragon's\nteeth, just as they had been pulled out of the monster's jaws by Cadmus,\nlong ago. Medea then led Jason down the palace steps, and through the\nsilent streets of the city, and into the royal pasture-ground, where the\ntwo brazen-footed bulls were kept. It was a starry night, with a bright\ngleam along the eastern edge of the sky, where the moon was soon going\nto show herself. After entering the pasture, the princess paused and\nlooked around.\n\n\"There they are,\" said she, \"reposing themselves and chewing their fiery\ncuds in that farthest corner of the field. It will be excellent sport, I\nassure you, when they catch a glimpse of your figure. My father and all\nhis court delight in nothing so much as to see a stranger trying to yoke\nthem, in order to come at the Golden Fleece. It makes a holiday in\nColchis whenever such a thing happens. For my part, I enjoy it\nimmensely. You cannot imagine in what a mere twinkling of an eye their\nhot breath shrivels a young man into a black cinder.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, beautiful Medea,\" asked Jason, \"quite sure, that the\nunguent in the gold box will prove a remedy against those terrible\nburns?\"\n\n\"If you doubt it, if you are in the least afraid,\" said the princess,\nlooking him in the face by the dim starlight, \"you had better never have\nbeen born than go a step nigher to the bulls.\"\n\nBut Jason had set his heart steadfastly on getting the Golden Fleece;\nand I positively doubt whether he would have gone back without it, even\nhad he been certain of finding himself turned into a red-hot cinder, or\na handful of white ashes, the instant he made a step farther. He\ntherefore let go Medea's hand, and walked boldly forward in the\ndirection whither she had pointed. At some distance before him he\nperceived four streams of fiery vapor, regularly appearing, and again\nvanishing, after dimly lighting up the surrounding obscurity. These, you\nwill understand, were caused by the breath of the brazen bulls, which\nwas quietly stealing out of their four nostrils, as they lay chewing\ntheir cuds.\n\nAt the first two or three steps which Jason made, the four fiery streams\nappeared to gush out somewhat more plentifully; for the two brazen bulls\nhad heard his foot-tramp, and were lifting up their hot noses to snuff\nthe air. He went a little farther, and by the way in which the red vapor\nnow spouted forth, he judged that the creatures had got upon their feet.\nNow he could see glowing sparks, and vivid jets of flame. At the next\nstep, each of the bulls made the pasture echo with a terrible roar,\nwhile the burning breath, which they thus belched forth, lit up the\nwhole field with a momentary flash. One other stride did bold Jason\nmake; and, suddenly, as a streak of lightning, on came these fiery\nanimals, roaring like thunder, and sending out sheets of white flame,\nwhich so kindled up the scene that the young man could discern every\nobject more distinctly than by daylight. Most distinctly of all he saw\nthe two horrible creatures galloping right down upon him, their brazen\nhoofs rattling and ringing over the ground, and their tails sticking up\nstiffly into the air, as has always been the fashion with angry bulls.\nTheir breath scorched the herbage before them. So intensely hot it was,\nindeed, that it caught a dry tree, under which Jason was now standing,\nand set it all in a light blaze. But as for Jason himself (thanks to\nMedea's enchanted ointment), the white flame curled around his body,\nwithout injuring him a jot more than if he had been made of asbestos.\n\nGreatly encouraged at finding himself not yet turned into a cinder, the\nyoung man awaited the attack of the bulls. Just as the brazen brutes\nfancied themselves sure of tossing him into the air, he caught one of\nthem by the horn, and the other by his screwed-up tail, and held them in\na gripe like that of an iron vise, one with his right hand, the other\nwith his left. Well, he must have been wonderfully strong in his arms,\nto be sure. But the secret of the matter was, that the brazen bulls were\nenchanted creatures, and that Jason had broken the spell of their fiery\nfierceness by his bold way of handling them. And, ever since that time,\nit has been the favorite method of brave men, when danger assails them,\nto do what they call \"taking the bull by the horns\"; and to gripe him by\nthe tail is pretty much the same thing,--that is, to throw aside fear,\nand overcome the peril by despising it.\n\nIt was now easy to yoke the bulls, and to harness them to the plough,\nwhich had lain rusting on the ground for a great many years gone by; so\nlong was it before anybody could be found capable of ploughing that\npiece of land. Jason, I suppose, had been taught how to draw a furrow by\nthe good old Chiron, who, perhaps, used to allow himself to be harnessed\nto the plough. At any rate, our hero succeeded perfectly well in\nbreaking up the greensward; and, by the time that the moon was a quarter\nof her journey up the sky, the ploughed field lay before him, a large\ntract of black earth, ready to be sown with the dragon's teeth. So Jason\nscattered them broadcast, and harrowed them into the soil with a\nbrush-harrow, and took his stand on the edge of the field, anxious to\nsee what would happen next.\n\n\"Must we wait long for harvest-time?\" he inquired of Medea, who was now\nstanding by his side.\n\n\"Whether sooner or later, it will be sure to come,\" answered the\nprincess. \"A crop of armed men never fails to spring up, when the\ndragon's teeth have been sown.\"\n\nThe moon was now high aloft in the heavens, and threw its bright beams\nover the ploughed field, where as yet there was nothing to be seen. Any\nfarmer, on viewing it, would have said that Jason must wait weeks before\nthe green blades would peep from among the clods, and whole months\nbefore the yellow grain would be ripened for the sickle. But by and by,\nall over the field, there was something that glistened in the moonbeams,\nlike sparkling drops of dew. These bright objects sprouted higher, and\nproved to be the steel heads of spears. Then there was a dazzling gleam\nfrom a vast number of polished brass helmets, beneath which, as they\ngrew farther out of the soil, appeared the dark and bearded visages of\nwarriors, struggling to free themselves from the imprisoning earth. The\nfirst look that they gave at the upper world was a glare of wrath and\ndefiance. Next were seen their bright breastplates; in every right hand\nthere was a sword or a spear, and on each left arm a shield; and when\nthis strange crop of warriors had but half grown out of the earth, they\nstruggled,--such was their impatience of restraint,--and, as it were,\ntore themselves up by the roots. Wherever a dragon's tooth had fallen,\nthere stood a man armed for battle. They made a clangor with their\nswords against their shields, and eyed one another fiercely; for they\nhad come into this beautiful world, and into the peaceful moonlight,\nfull of rage and stormy passions, and ready to take the life of every\nhuman brother, in recompense of the boon of their own existence.\n\nThere have been many other armies in the world that seemed to possess\nthe same fierce nature with the one which had now sprouted from the\ndragon's teeth; but these, in the moonlit field, were the more\nexcusable, because they never had women for their mothers. And how it\nwould have rejoiced any great captain, who was bent on conquering the\nworld, like Alexander or Napoleon, to raise a crop of armed soldiers as\neasily as Jason did.\n\nFor a while, the warriors stood flourishing their weapons, clashing\ntheir swords against their shields, and boiling over with the red-hot\nthirst for battle. Then they began to shout, \"Show us the enemy! Lead us\nto the charge! Death or victory! Come on, brave comrades! Conquer or\ndie!\" and a hundred other outcries, such as men always bellow forth on a\nbattle-field, and which these dragon people seemed to have at their\ntongues' ends. At last, the front rank caught sight of Jason, who,\nbeholding the flash of so many weapons in the moonlight, had thought it\nbest to draw his sword. In a moment all the sons of the dragon's teeth\nappeared to take Jason for an enemy; and crying with one voice, \"Guard\nthe Golden Fleece!\" they ran at him with uplifted swords and protruded\nspears. Jason knew that it would be impossible to withstand this\nbloodthirsty battalion with his single arm, but determined, since there\nwas nothing better to be done, to die as valiantly as if he himself had\nsprung from a dragon's tooth.\n\nMedea, however, bade him snatch up a stone from the ground.\n\n\"Throw it among them quickly!\" cried she. \"It is the only way to save\nyourself.\"\n\nThe armed men were now so nigh that Jason could discern the fire\nflashing out of their enraged eyes, when he let fly the stone, and saw\nit strike the helmet of a tall warrior, who was rushing upon him with\nhis blade aloft. The stone glanced from this man's helmet to the shield\nof his nearest comrade, and thence flew right into the angry face of\nanother, hitting him smartly between the eyes. Each of the three who had\nbeen struck by the stone took it for granted that his next neighbor had\ngiven him a blow; and instead of running any farther towards Jason, they\nbegan a fight among themselves. The confusion spread through the host,\nso that it seemed scarcely a moment before they were all hacking,\nhewing, and stabbing at one another, lopping off arms, heads, and legs,\nand doing such memorable deeds that Jason was filled with immense\nadmiration; although, at the same time, he could not help laughing to\nbehold these mighty men punishing each other for an offence which he\nhimself had committed. In an incredibly short space of time (almost as\nshort, indeed, as it had taken them to grow up), all but one of the\nheroes of the dragon's teeth were stretched lifeless on the field. The\nlast survivor, the bravest and strongest of the whole, had just force\nenough to wave his crimson sword over his head, and give a shout of\nexultation, crying, \"Victory! Victory! Immortal fame!\" when he himself\nfell down, and lay quietly among his slain brethren.\n\nAnd there was the end of the army that had sprouted from the dragons\nteeth. That fierce and feverish fight was the only enjoyment which they\nhad tasted on this beautiful earth.\n\n\"Let them sleep in the bed of honor,\" said the Princess Medea, with a\nsly smile at Jason. \"The world will always have simpletons enough, just\nlike them, fighting and dying for they know not what, and fancying that\nposterity will take the trouble to put laurel wreaths on their rusty and\nbattered helmets. Could you help smiling, Prince Jason, to see the\nself-conceit of that last fellow, just as he tumbled down?\"\n\n\"It made me very sad,\" answered Jason, gravely. \"And, to tell you the\ntruth, princess, the Golden Fleece does not appear so well worth the\nwinning, after what I have here beheld.\"\n\n\"You will think differently in the morning,\" said Medea. \"True, the\nGolden Fleece may not be so valuable as you have thought it; but then\nthere is nothing better in the world; and one must needs have an object,\nyou know. Come! Your night's work has been well performed; and to-morrow\nyou can inform King AEetes that the first part of your allotted task is\nfulfilled.\"\n\nAgreeably to Medea's advice, Jason went betimes in the morning to the\npalace of King AEetes. Entering the presence-chamber, he stood at the\nfoot of the throne, and made a low obeisance.\n\n\"Your eyes look heavy, Prince Jason,\" observed the king; \"you appear to\nhave spent a sleepless night. I hope you have been considering the\nmatter a little more wisely, and have concluded not to get yourself\nscorched to a cinder, in attempting to tame my brazen-lunged bulls.\"\n\n\"That is already accomplished, may it please your Majesty,\" replied\nJason. \"The bulls have been tamed and yoked; the field has been\nploughed; the dragon's teeth have been sown broadcast, and harrowed into\nthe soil; the crop of armed warriors has sprung up, and they have slain\none another, to the last man. And now I solicit your Majesty's\npermission to encounter the dragon, that I may take down the Golden\nFleece from the tree, and depart, with my nine-and-forty comrades.\"\n\nKing AEetes scowled, and looked very angry and excessively disturbed; for\nhe knew that, in accordance with his kingly promise, he ought now to\npermit Jason to win the fleece, if his courage and skill should enable\nhim to do so. But, since the young man had met with such good luck in\nthe matter of the brazen bulls and the dragon's teeth, the king feared\nthat he would be equally successful in slaying the dragon. And\ntherefore, though he would gladly have seen Jason snapped up at a\nmouthful, he was resolved (and it was a very wrong thing of this wicked\npotentate) not to run any further risk of losing his beloved fleece.\n\n\"You never would have succeeded in this business, young man,\" said he,\n\"if my undutiful daughter Medea had not helped you with her\nenchantments. Had you acted fairly, you would have been, at this\ninstant, a black cinder, or a handful of white ashes. I forbid you, on\npain of death, to make any more attempts to get the Golden Fleece. To\nspeak my mind plainly, you shall never set eyes on so much as one of its\nglistening locks.\"\n\nJason left the king's presence in great sorrow and anger. He could think\nof nothing better to be done than to summon together his forty-nine\nbrave Argonauts, march at once to the grove of Mars, slay the dragon,\ntake possession of the Golden Fleece, get on board the Argo, and spread\nall sail for Iolchos. The success of the scheme depended, it is true, on\nthe doubtful point whether all the fifty heroes might not be snapped up,\nat so many mouthfuls, by the dragon. But, as Jason was hastening down\nthe palace steps, the Princess Medea called after him, and beckoned him\nto return. Her black eyes shone upon him with such a keen intelligence,\nthat he felt as if there were a serpent peeping out of them; and\nalthough she had done him so much service only the night before, he was\nby no means very certain that she would not do him an equally great\nmischief before sunset. These enchantresses, you must know, are never to\nbe depended upon.\n\n\"What says King AEetes, my royal and upright father?\" inquired Medea,\nslightly smiling. \"Will he give you the Golden Fleece, without any\nfurther risk or trouble?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" answered Jason, \"he is very angry with me for taming\nthe brazen bulls and sowing the dragon's teeth. And he forbids me to\nmake any more attempts, and positively refuses to give up the Golden\nFleece, whether I slay the dragon or no.\"\n\n\"Yes, Jason,\" said the princess, \"and I can tell you more. Unless you\nset sail from Colchis before to-morrow's sunrise, the king means to burn\nyour fifty-oared galley, and put yourself and your forty-nine brave\ncomrades to the sword. But be of good courage. The Golden Fleece you\nshall have, if it lies within the power of my enchantments to get it for\nyou. Wait for me here an hour before midnight.\"\n\nAt the appointed hour, you might again have seen Prince Jason and the\nPrincess Medea, side by side, stealing through the streets of Colchis,\non their way to the sacred grove, in the centre of which the Golden\nFleece was suspended to a tree. While they were crossing the\npasture-ground, the brazen bulls came towards Jason, lowing, nodding\ntheir heads, and thrusting forth their snouts, which, as other cattle\ndo, they loved to have rubbed and caressed by a friendly hand. Their\nfierce nature was thoroughly tamed; and, with their fierceness, the two\nfurnaces in their stomachs had likewise been extinguished, insomuch that\nthey probably enjoyed far more comfort in grazing and chewing their cuds\nthan ever before. Indeed, it had heretofore been a great inconvenience\nto these poor animals, that, whenever they wished to eat a mouthful of\ngrass, the fire out of their nostrils had shrivelled it up, before they\ncould manage to crop it. How they contrived to keep themselves alive is\nmore than I can imagine. But now, instead of emitting jets of flame and\nstreams of sulphurous vapor, they breathed the very sweetest of cow\nbreath.\n\nAfter kindly patting the bulls, Jason followed Medea's guidance into the\ngrove of Mars, where the great oak-trees, that had been growing for\ncenturies, threw so thick a shade that the moonbeams struggled vainly to\nfind their way through it. Only here and there a glimmer fell upon the\nleaf-strewn earth, or now and then a breeze stirred the boughs aside,\nand gave Jason a glimpse of the sky, lest, in that deep obscurity, he\nmight forget that there was one, overhead. At length, when they had gone\nfarther and farther into the heart of the duskiness, Medea squeezed\nJason's hand.\n\n\"Look yonder,\" she whispered. \"Do you see it?\"\n\nGleaming among the venerable oaks, there was a radiance, not like the\nmoonbeams, but rather resembling the golden glory of the setting sun. It\nproceeded from an object, which appeared to be suspended at about a\nman's height from the ground, a little farther within the wood.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jason.\n\n\"Have you come so far to seek it,\" exclaimed Medea, \"and do you not\nrecognize the meed of all your toils and perils, when it glitters before\nyour eyes? It is the Golden Fleece.\"\n\nJason went onward a few steps farther, and then stopped to gaze. Oh, how\nbeautiful it looked, shining with a marvellous light of its own, that\ninestimable prize, which so many heroes had longed to behold, but had\nperished in the quest of it, either by the perils of their voyage, or by\nthe fiery breath of the brazen-lunged bulls.\n\n\"How gloriously it shines!\" cried Jason, in a rapture. \"It has surely\nbeen dipped in the richest gold of sunset. Let me hasten onward, and\ntake it to my bosom.\"\n\n\"Stay,\" said Medea, holding him back. \"Have you forgotten what guards\nit?\"\n\nTo say the truth, in the joy of beholding the object of his desires, the\nterrible dragon had quite slipped out of Jason's memory. Soon, however,\nsomething came to pass that reminded him what perils were still to be\nencountered. An antelope, that probably mistook the yellow radiance for\nsunrise, came bounding fleetly through the grove. He was rushing\nstraight towards the Golden Fleece, when suddenly there was a frightful\nhiss, and the immense head and half of the scaly body of the dragon was\nthrust forth (for he was twisted round the trunk of the tree on which\nthe fleece hung), and seizing the poor antelope, swallowed him with one\nsnap of his jaws.\n\nAfter this feat, the dragon seemed sensible that some other living\ncreature was within reach on which he felt inclined to finish his meal.\nIn various directions he kept poking his ugly snout among the trees,\nstretching out his neck a terrible long way, now here, now there, and\nnow close to the spot where Jason and the princess were hiding behind an\noak. Upon my word, as the head came waving and undulating through the\nair, and reaching almost within arm's-length of Prince Jason, it was a\nvery hideous and uncomfortable sight. The gape of his enormous jaws was\nnearly as wide as the gateway of the king's palace.\n\n\"Well, Jason,\" whispered Medea (for she was ill-natured, as all\nenchantresses are, and wanted to make the bold youth tremble), \"what do\nyou think now of your prospect of winning the Golden Fleece?\"\n\nJason answered only by drawing his sword and making a step forward.\n\n\"Stay, foolish youth,\" said Medea, grasping his arm. \"Do not you see you\nare lost, without me as your good angel? In this gold box I have a magic\npotion, which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than\nyour sword.\"\n\nThe dragon had probably heard the voices; for, swift as lightning, his\nblack head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again, darting\nfull forty feet at a stretch. As it approached, Medea tossed the\ncontents of the gold box right down the monster's wide open throat.\nImmediately, with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle,--flinging\nhis tail up to the tip-top of the tallest tree, and shattering all its\nbranches as it crashed heavily down again,--the dragon fell at full\nlength upon the ground, and lay quite motionless.\n\n\"It is only a sleeping potion,\" said the enchantress to Prince Jason.\n\"One always finds a use for these mischievous creatures, sooner or\nlater; so I did not wish to kill him outright. Quick! Snatch the prize,\nand let us begone. You have won the Golden Fleece.\"\n\nJason caught the fleece from the tree, and hurried through the grove,\nthe deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed by the golden\nglory of the precious object that he bore along. A little way before\nhim, he beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with\nher peacock beside her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him\nto make haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the\ntwo winged sons of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the\nmoonlight, a few hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of\nthe Argonauts to embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his\nsharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden\nFleece, although several stone-walls, a hill, and the black shadows of\nthe grove of Mars intervened between. By his advice, the heroes had\nseated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held\nperpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.\n\nAs Jason drew near, he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more\nthan ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice:--\n\n\"Make haste, Prince Jason! For your life, make haste!\"\n\nWith one hound he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of\nthe Golden Fleece, the nine-and-forty heroes gave a mighty shout, and\nOrpheus, striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of\nwhich the galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering\nalong with wings!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"A Wonder Book and Tanglewood Tales, for Girls and Boys","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":117775}