{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9258/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9258","id":"gutenberg_9258","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9258","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's Literature","Mythology, Greek","Mythology, Greek -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"Produced by David Widger.  HTML version by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                 A WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS\n\n                     By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\n                     THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n  THE HILLSIDE.--Introductory to \"The Miraculous Pitcher\"\n  THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n  THE HILLSIDE--After the Story\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY 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 tiptop of its bald\nhead.  To be sure, it was not quite so high as  Chimborazo, or Mont\nBlanc, and was even a good deal lower than old Graylock.  But, at any\nrate, it was  higher than a thousand ant-hillocks, or a million of mole\nhills; and, when measured by the short strides of little children, might\nbe reckoned 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\nthe spring 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.\nSetting aside this mark of mature manhood, you might have considered\nCousin Eustace just as much a boy as when you first became acquainted\nwith him.  He was as merry, as playful, as good-humored, as light of\nfoot and of spirits, and equally a favorite with the little folks, as he\nhad always been.  This expedition up the mountain was entirely of his\ncontrivance.  All the way up the steep ascent, he had encouraged the\nelder children with his cheerful voice; and when Dandelion, Cowslip, and\nSquash-blossom grew weary, he had lugged them along, alternately, on his\nback.  In this manner, they had passed through the orchards and pastures\non the lower part of the hill, and had reached the wood, which extends\nthence towards its 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\nHousatonia, was very abundant.  It is a flower that never lives alone,\nbut which loves its own kind, and is always fond of dwelling with a\ngreat many friends and relatives around it.  Sometimes you see a family\nof them, 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 periwig 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 return\nof the rest of the party from the summit.  And because they complain a\nlittle, and do not quite like to stay behind, he gives them some apples\nout of his pocket, and proposes to tell them a very pretty story.\nHereupon they brighten up, and change their grieved looks into the\nbroadest 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\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 cahn 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\nvegetables, with sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and\nnow and then a bunch of grapes, that had ripened against the cottage-wall.\nBut they were two of the kindest old people in the world, and\nwould cheerfully have gone without their dinners, any day, rather than\nrefuse a slice of their brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of\nhoney, to the weary traveller who might pause before their door.  They\nfelt as if such guests had a sort of holiness, and that they ought,\ntherefore, to treat them better and more bountifully than their own\nselves.\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\nprobably been the bed of a lake.  There, fishes had glided to and fro in\nthe depths, and water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and\nhills had seen their reflected images in the broad, and peaceful mirror.\nBut, as the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built\nhouses on it, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of\nthe ancient lake, except a very small brook, which meandered through the\nmidst of the village, and supplied the inhabitants with water.  The\nvalley had been dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up, and grown\ngreat and high, and perished with old age, and been succeeded by others;\nas tall and stately as the first.  Never was there a prettier or more\nfruitful valley.  The very sight of the plenty around them should have\nmade the inhabitants kind and gentle, and ready to show their gratitude\nto Providence 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 hum 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\nwould seize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it happened; and\nif he were ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object\nbefore he had time to run away.  This was a very terrible thing to poor\ntravellers, as you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick,\nor feeble, or lame, or old.  Such persons (if they once knew how badly\nthese unkind people, and their unkind children and curs, were in the\nhabit of behaving) would go miles and miles out of their way, rather\nthan try to pass 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.\nThis would have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers\ncared much about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and\nnothing whatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar\nand the prince.\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,\nwhich lasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth\nof the valley.\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\nlittle farther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries,\nand flung stones at the two strangers, with all their might.  Once or\ntwice, the younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active\nfigure) turned about, and drove back the dogs with a staff which he\ncarried in his hand.  His companion, who was a very tall person, walked\ncalmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or\nthe pack 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\nhill.\"\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-ball; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough\nalready.  But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I think\nyou 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 about\nhim, perhaps because his under garments were shabby.  Philemen\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 Philemen 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 olive-wood, 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!\nIt would 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\nsupper.  We are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have\nin the cupboard.\"\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\nfrom the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of\nwings, it half hopt, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of\nthe cottage.  There it stood quite still, except that the snakes\ncontinued to wriggle.  But, in my private opinion, old Philemon's\neyesight had been playing 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,\nas you see.  There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are\nnow, and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the\nmidst of the valley.  My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it\notherwise, so far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same,\nwhen old Philemon 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\na roll 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\nyou call 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\nodd name!  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\nanother so very much, it was the wish of both that death might not\nseparate them, 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\nmaster entered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what\nshould it do but immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping and\nfluttering up the doorsteps!  Tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen\nfloor; nor did it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the\ngreatest gravity and decorum, beside Quicksilver's chair.  Old Philemon,\nhowever, as well as his wife, was so taken up in attending to their\nguests, that no notice 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 hands 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\nkept wishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were\npossible, by so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful\nsupper.\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\nin the pitcher.  O husband! husband! why did n't we go without our\nsupper?\"\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,\ntherefore, when such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl,\nthat it was immediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the\ntable!  The two snakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but\nneither Baucis nor Philemon happened to observe this circumstance)\nstretched out their heads, 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\nyou, my 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\ncould it 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\nthink, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a\ndream.  If I had poured out the milk, I should have seen through the\nbusiness, at once.  There happened to be a little more in the pitcher\nthan you thought,--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.\nIt was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been\nproduced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage-wall.\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\nthem with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions.\nAnd when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun\na fountain of milk could have got into air old earthen pitcher, this\nlatter personage 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\nto make of my staff.  It is always playing such odd tricks as this;\nsometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away.\nIf I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was\nbewitched!\"\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,\nhowever, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their\njourney before the heat of the day should come on.  They, therefore,\npersisted in setting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to\nwalk forth with them a short distance, and show them the road which they\nwere to take.\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 quick-witted,\nand also that he would fling away his staff, which looked so\nmysteriously 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\nit is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their\ndogs, and 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 then 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\nI do 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 bills 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\nbut little 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\"Ah,\" 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\nof white 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\nan honest, 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 overnight 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 once,--\"Philemon!\nBaucis!  Baucis!  Philemon!\"--as if one were both and both\nwere one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart.  It\nwas plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed their\nage, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so,\nPhilemon 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\n\n\nTHE HILLSIDE.\n\nAFTER THE STORY.\n\n\"How much did the pitcher hold?\" asked Sweet Fern.\n\n\"It did not hold quite a quart,\" answered the student; \"but you might\nkeep pouring milk out of it, till you should fill a hogshead, if you\npleased.  The truth is, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at\nmidsummer,--which is more than can be said of yonder rill, that goes\nbabbling down the hillside.\"\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\nhe was just as black as a bear.  Ben, being elderly, and of very\ncircumspect habits, was respectfully requested, by Cousin Eustace, to\nstay behind with the four little children, in order to keep them out of\nmischief.  As for black Bruin, who was himself nothing but a child, the\nstudent thought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play with\nthe other children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling and\ntumbling down the bill.  Advising Cowslip, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, and\nSquashblossom 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.","title":"The Miraculous Pitcher: (From: \"A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys\")","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":7793}