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October 16, 189 6
Number 16
WONDER-BOOK
FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
SELECTED STORIES FOR USE IN SCHOOLS WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES
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The Latest Text-Books on Arithmetic
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UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NEW YORK and NEW ORLEANS.
STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES
A WONDER-BOOK
FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
BY /
NATHANIEL ^AWTHORNE
SELECTED STORIES FOR USE IN SCHOOLS WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES
NEW YORK AND NEW ORLEANS UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 1896
Copyright, 1896, by
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY
1811
Press of J, J, Little & Co, Astor Place, New York
INTRODUCTION.
Nathaniel Hawthorne was born at Salem, Mass., July 4, 1804. He was but four years old when his father died, leaving his mother in strait- ened circumstances, with the boy and two sisters. In his ninth year Nathaniel met with an accident that caused lameness, and confined him to his home until his thirteenth year. During this time he acquired a great love of reading. When he was fourteen the family removed to Ray- mond, Me. Here, in the quietness of rural life, he became fond of soli- tude. He received his college education at Bowdoin, where he graduated in 1825, Longfellow being a classmate. During his college career he gave indications of a taste and talent for literary work, having begun his first novel while an undergraduate.
The conditions existing in the United States at that time were un- favorable to native writers, so Hawthorne was obliged to wait many years, toiling hard in the meantime, before he won popular recognition as an author. After his return to Salem he shut himself up for twelve years in seclusion, writing tales and verses. Few of the latter are now much known. His first novel, “Fanshawe,” published in 1828, was unsuccess- ful. He contributed to various annuals and magazines under different names. In 1836 he wrote “ Peter Parley’s Universal History,” a venture very profitable for the publisher, but not for Hawthorne, who received only one hundred dollars for his work.
During this period of seclusion Hawthorne also wrote a series of sketches and stories, which appeared from time to time in newspapers and magazines. As they were favorably received and noticed, a collec- tion of them was republished in 1837 under the title, “ Twice-Told Tales.” Longfellow reviewed the book and gave it high praise. This recognition was the beginning of Hawthorne’s fame. His earnings by his pen were not yety however, sufficient for his support; and in January, 1839, the historian Bancroft, then collector of the port of Boston, appointed him weigher and gauger in the custom-house, an office which he held until 1841.
Authors generally have adult readers in mind when they write, .but Hawthorne did not forget the children. “Grandfather’s Chair,” “ Fa- mous Old People,” and “Liberty Tree” (published in 1841), ^“^Bio-
4
INTRODUCTION.
graphical Stories ” (1842), and “ The Wonder Book” (1851), were written for the young.
In July, 1842, Hawthorne married Miss Peabody, of Salem, who was to him “a blessing and illumination wherever she went.” Removing to Concord, Mass., he lived for four years in the old colonial manse pre- viously occupied by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and overlooking the field of the first battle of the Revolution. Here he dwelt happily but in comparative seclusion, and wrote “ Mosses from an Old Manse ” (1846). This year he was appointed surveyor in the custom-house in his native town, Salem, where he remained four years.
In 1850 Hawthorne’s greatest work, ‘‘The Scarlet Letter,” was pub- lished. He now resided at Lenox, Mass., where he wrote “ The House of the Seven Gables” (1851), and prepared “The Snow Image,” which did not appear until the following year. In the winter he wrote at West Newton “The Blithedale Romance.” He changed his residence to Con- cord in 1852, and his next work was the “ Tangle wood Tales,” a continua- tion of “ The Wonder Book.”
Hawthorne went to England in 1853, having been appointed by Presi- dent Pierce to the office of consul at Liverpool, which he held till 1857. He travelled through Great Britain and the Continent, gathering mate- rials for new work, and publishing “The Marble Faun” in 1860. In J line of this year he returned to Concord, broken in health. A number of brilliant sketches on England and the English, written by him, were soon issued in the Atlantic Monthly. These were afterwards republished under the title, “Our Old Home” (1863). He died May 18, 1864, at Plymouth, N. H., where he had gone for the benefit of his health, with his old friend, ex-President Pierce. He was buried at Concord, Mass., in a spot near the grave of Emerson.
In personal appearance Hawthorne was tall and commanding. He was a fine specimen of physical manhood, yet his manner showed the gentleness of woman.
In his style he was free from constraint or affectation. Clearness of expression is one of his characteristics. This makes his work especially adapted to children. His fame was of slow growth, but it has rapidly increased since his death. Several of his works have been translated into foreign languages. He is now generally regarded as one of the greatest imaginative minds of the century, holding high rank among English prose writers.
PREFACE.
The author has long been of opinion that many of the classical myths were capable of being ren- dered into very capital reading for children. In the little volume here offered to the public he has worked up half a dozen of them with this end in view. A great freedom of treatment was necessary to his plan ; but it will be observed by every one who attempts to render these legends malleable in his intellectual furnace, that they are marvellously independent of all temporary modes and circum- stances. They remain essentially the same, after changes that would affect the identity of almost anything else.
He does not, therefore, plead guilty to a sacrilege in having sometimes shaped anew, as his fancy dic- tated, the forms that have been hallowed by an antiquity of two or three thousand years. No epoch of time can claim a copyright in these im- mortal fables. They seem never to have been made ; and certainly, so long as man exists, they can never perish ; but, by their indestructibility itself, they are legitimate subjects for every age
6
PREFACE.
to clothe with its own garniture of manners and sentiment, and to imbue with its own morality. In the present version they may have lost much of their classical aspect (or, at all events, the author has not been careful to preserve it), and have, per- haps, assumed a Gothic or romantic guise.
In performing this pleasant task — for it has been really a task fit for hot weather, and one of the most agreeable, of a literary kind, which he ever undertook — the author has not always thought it necessary to write downward, in order to meet the comprehension of children. He has generally suf- fered the theme to soar, whenever such was its ten- dency, and when he himself was buoyant enough to follow without an effort. Children possess an un- estimated sensibility to whatever is deep or high in imagination or feeling, so long as it is simple, like- wise. It is only the artificial and the complex that bewilder them.
Lexox, July 15, 1851.
The “Wonder-Book” stories selected for this
volume are :
PAGE
The Goldex Touch 7
The Paradise of Children 34
The Three Goldex Apples 60
The Miraculous Pitcher 92
THE GOLDEN TOtJCH.'^
1.
Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose name was Midas ; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself ever heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have entirely forgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to call her Marygold.
This King Midas was fonder of gold than of any- thing else in the world. He valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that precious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the one little maiden who played so merrily around her father’s footstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolish man ! that the best thing he could possibly do for this dear child would
* Midas {p’on. mr'das), according to the Greek mythology, was a king of Phrygia, whose request that whatsoever he touched should turn to gold was granted by Diony'sus (Bacchus). In this way even his food became gold, and it was not till he had bathed in the Pacto'lus that he was relieved of the fatal gift.
8
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
be to bequeath her the immensest pile of yellow, glis- tening coin, that had ever been heaped together since the world was made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the gold- tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold, and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. When little Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he used to say, “ Poh, poh, child ! If these flowers were as golden as they look, they would be worth the plucking ! ”
And yet, in his earlier days, before he was so en- tirely possessed of this insane desire for riches. King Midas had shown a great taste for flowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and beautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt. These roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and as fragrant, as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them, and inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it was only to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of the innumer- able rose-petals were a thin plate of gold. And though he once was fond of music (in spite of an idle story about his ears, which were said to re- semble those of an ass), the only music for poor
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
9
Midas, now, was the chink of one coin against another.
At length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take care to grow wiser and wiser), Midas had got to be so exceedingly unreason- able, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object that was not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large portion of every day in a dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at the basement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal hole — for it was little better than a dungeon — Midas betook himself, when- ever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, after carefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a wash- bowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of the room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window. He valued the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treas- ure would not shine without its help. And then would he reckon o\^er the coins in the bag ; toss up the bar, and catch it as it came down ; sift the gold- dust through his fingers ; look at the funny image of his own face, as reflected in the burnished circum- ference of the cup ; and whisper to himself, O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man aH
10
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
thou ! ’’ But it was laughable to see how the image of his face kept grinning at him, out of the polished surface of the cup. It seemed to be aware of his foolish behavior, and to have a naughty inclination to make fun of him.
Midas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so happy as he might be. The very tiptop of enjoyment would never be reached, unless the whole world were to become his treasure- room, and be filled with yellow metal which should be all his own.
Now, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in the old, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things came to pass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to happen in our own day and country. And, on the other hand, a great many things take place nowa- days, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at which the people of old times would have stared their eyes out. On the whole, I regard our own times as the strangest of the two ; but, however that may be, I must go on with my story.
Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, one day, as usual, when he perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold ; and, looking suddenly up, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, standing in the bright and narrow sunbeam! It
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
11
was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy face. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help fancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind of golden radiance in it. Certainly, although his figure intercepted the sunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures than before. Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles of Are.
As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and that no mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure-room; he, of course, concluded that his visitor must be something more than mortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when the earth was compara- tively a new affair, it was supposed 'to be often the resort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to interest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children, half playfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings be- fore now, and was not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger’s aspect, indeed, was so good- humored and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief. It was far more probable that he
i
12
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
came to do Midas a favor. And what could that favor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure ?
II.
The stranger gazed about the room ; and when his lustrous smile had glistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again to Midas.
^^You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!” he ob- served. “ I doubt whether any other four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived to pile up in this room.”
I have done pretty well, — pretty well,” answered Midas, in a discontented tone. “ But, after all, it is but a trihe, when you consider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one could live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich ! ” “ What 1 ” exclaimed the stranger. Then you are not satisfied ? ”
Midas shook his head.
And pray what would* satisfy you ? ” asked the stranger. Merely for the curiosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.”
Midas paused and meditated. He felt a presenti- ment that this stranger, with such a golden lustre in his good-humored smile, had come hither with both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
13
wishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and obtain whatever pos- sible, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come into his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without being able to imagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred to King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which he loved so much.
Raising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.
“Well, Midas,” observed his visitor, “I see that you have at length hit upon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.”
“ It is only this,” replied Midas. “ I am weary of collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and beholding the heap so diminutive, after I have done my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold ! ”
The stranger’s smile grew so very broad, that it seemed to fill the room like an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the yellow au- tumnal leaves — for so looked the lumps and parti- cles of gold — lie strewn in the glow of light. /
“ The Golden Touch ! ” exclaimed he. “ You cer- tainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out
14
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
SO brilliant a conception.* But are you quite sure that this will satisfy you ? ”
How could it fail ? ” said Midas.
“ And will you never regret the possession of it ? ” What could induce me ? ” asked Midas. I ask nothing else, to render me perfectly happy.”
^^Be it as you wish, then,” replied the stranger, waving his hand in token of farewell. To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted with the Golden Touch.”
The figure of the stranger then became exceed- ingly bright, and Midas involuntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the precious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.
Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say. Asleep or awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child’s, to whom a beautiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any rate, day had hardly peeped over the hills, when King Midas was broad awake, and, stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects that were within reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch had really come, according to the stranger’s promise. So he laid his
thought.
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
15
finger on a chair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was grievously disappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the same substance as before. Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had only dreamed about the lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had been making game of him. And what a miserable affair would it be, if, after all his hopes, Midas must content him- self with what little gold he could scrape together by ordinary means, instead of creating it by a touch !
All this while, it was only the gray of the morn- ing, with but a streak of brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it. He lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through the win- dow, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was re- flected in rather a singular way on the white cover- ing of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his astonishment and delight, when he found that this linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold ! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam !
Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room, grasping at everything that
16
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
happened to be in his way. He seized one of the bedposts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his hand,— a mass of gold. He took up a book from the table. At his first touch, it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and gilt- edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays ; but, on running his fingers through the leaves, be- hold ! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible. He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness, although it bur- dened him a little with its weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That was likewise gold, with the dear child’s neat and pretty stitches running all along the border, in gold thread !
Somehow or other, this last transformation did not ,quite please King Midas. He would rather that his little daughter’s handiwork should have re- mained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his hand.
But it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now took his spectacles from his
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
17
pocket, and put them on kis nose, in order that he might see more distinctly what he was about. In those days, spectacles for common people had not been invented, but were already worn by kings; else, how could Midas have had any ? To his great perplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, he discovered that he could not possibly see through them. But this was the most natural thing in the world ; for, on taking them off, the transparent crys- tals turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of course, were worthless as spectacles, though valua- ble as gold. It struck Midas as rather inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.
^Mt is no great matter, nevertheless,” said he to himself, very philosophically. ^^We cannot expect any great good, without its being accompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth the sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one’s very eyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little Marygold will soon be old enough to read to me.”
Wise King Midas was so exalted by his good for- tune, that the palace seemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went down stairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the stair- case became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand
2
18
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
passed over it, in his descent. He lifted the door- latch (it was brass only a moment ago, but golden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the garden. Here, as it happened, he found a great number of beautiful roses in full bloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very delicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate blush was one of the fairest sights in the world ; so gentle, so modest, and so full of sweet tranquillity, did these roses seem to be.
But Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his way of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most indefatigably * ; until every individual fiower and bud, and even the worms at the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time this good work was completed. King Midas was summoned to breakfast ; and as the morning air had given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back to the palace.
What was usually a king’s breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do not know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my belief, however, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot cakes, some nice little brook-trout, roasted
* for a long time without getting tired.
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
19
potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set before a king ; and, whether he had it or not. King Midas could not have had a better.
III.
Little Marygold had not yet made her appear- ance. Her father ordered her to be called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child’s coming, in order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really loved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning, on account of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great while before he heard her coining along the passageway crying bitterly. This circumstance sur- prised him, because Marygold was one of the cheer- fullest little people whom you would see in a summer’s day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Marygold into better spirits, by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he touched his daughter’s bowl (which was a China one, with pretty figures all around it), and transmuted* it to gleaming gold.
* changed it to something of a different nature.
20
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and showed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would break.
“ How now, my little lady ! ” cried Midas. Pray what is the matter with you, this bright morning ? ” Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand, in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.
Beautiful ! ” exclaimed her father. “ And what is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you cry ? ”
Ah, dear father ! ” answered the child, as well as her sobs would let her ; it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew ! As soon as I was dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for you; because I know you like them, and like them the better when gathered by your little daughter. But, oh dear, dear me ! What do you think has happened ? Such a misfortune ! All the beautiful roses, that smelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and spoilt ! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no longer any fragrance! What can have been the matter with them ? ”
'' Poh, my dear little girl,— pray don’t cry about it ! ” said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
21
he himself had wrought the change which so greatly afflicted her. ^‘Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will find it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a day.”
“ I don’t care for such roses as this ! ” cried Mary- gold, tossing it contemptuously away. ^Mt has no smell, and' the hard petals prick my nose ! ”
The child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief for the blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful transmu- tation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for Marygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer figures, and strange trees and houses, that were painted on the circum- ference of the bowl ; and these ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow hue of the metal.
Midas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of course, the coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took it up, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it was rather an extravagant style of splendor, in a king of his simple habits, to breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled with the difficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and the kitchen would no longer be a secure place of
THE (^lOLHEN TOUCH.
deposit for articles so valuable as golden bowls and coffee-pots.
Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and, sipping it, was astonished to per- ceive that, the instant his lips touched the li(][uid, it became molten gold, and, the next moment, hard- ened into a lump !
Ha ! ” exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.
What is the matter, father ? ” asked little Mary- gold, gazing at him, with the tears still standing in her eyes.
‘‘ Nothing, child, nothing ! ” said Midas. “ Eat your milk, before it gets quite cold.”
He took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of experiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was immediately trans- muted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a gold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep in glass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a metallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the nicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires ; its fins and tail were thin plates of gold ; and there were the marks of the fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely fried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as you may suppose ;
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
23
only King Midas, just at that moment, would much rather have had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable imitation of one.
“ I don’t quite see,” thought he to himself, “ how I am to get any breakfast !
He took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it, when, to his cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been of the whitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say the truth, if it had really been a hot Indian cake, Midas would have prized it a good deal more than he now did, when its solidity and increased weight made him too bitterly sensible that it w^as gold. Almost in despair, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent a change similar to those of the trout and the cake. The egg, indeed, might have been mistaken for one of those which the famous goose, in the story-book, was in the habit of laying ; but King Midas was the only goose that had had anything to do with the matter.
^^Well, this is a quandary!” thought he, leaning back in his chair, and looking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread and milk with great satisfaction. “ Such a costly break- fast before me, and nothing that can be eaten 1 ”
Hoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might
24
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
avoid what he now felt to be a considerable incon- venience, King Midas next snatched a hot potato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swal- low it in a hurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his mouth full, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began to dance and stamp about the room, both with pain and affright.
Father, dear father ! ” cried little Marygold, who was a very affectionate child, “pray what is the matter ? Have you burnt your mouth ? ”
“Ah, dear child,” groaned Midas, dolefully, “I don’t know what is to become of your poor father ! ” And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable case in all your lives ? Here was literally the richest breakfast that could be set before a king, and its very richness made it abso- lutely good for nothing. The poorest laborer, sit- ting down to his crust of bread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose delicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be done ? Already, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be less so by dinner-time ? And how ravenous would be his ap- petite for supper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of indigestible dishes as those now
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
25
before him ! How many days, think you, would he survive a continuance of this rich fare ?
These reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt whether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world, or even the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So fascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he would still have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a con- sideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal’s victuals ! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions of money (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon up) for some fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee !
It would be quite too dear,” thought Midas.
Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his situation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our pretty Mary- gold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing at her father, and trying, with all the might of her little wits, to And out what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful im- pulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, and, running to Midas, threw her arms affectionately about his knees. He bent down and kissed her. He felt that his little daughter’s love was worth a
26
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
thousand times more than he had gained by the Golden Touch.
“ My precious, precious Marygold ! ” cried he.
But Marygold made no answer.
Alas, what had he done ? How fatal was the gift which the stranger bestowed ! The moment the lips of Midas touched Mary gold’s forehead, a change had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as it had been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow tear-drops congealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint. Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within her father’s encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune ! The victim of his insatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no longer, but a golden statue !
Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and pity, hardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woful sight that ever mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold Avere there ; even the beloved little dimple remained in her golden chin. But, the more perfect was the re- semblance, the greater was the father’s agony at beholding this golden image, which was all that was left him of a daughter. It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt particularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
27
in gold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And now, at last, when it was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt the earth and sky !
It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the fulness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and bemoan himself ; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor yet to look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the image, he could not possibly believe that she was changed to gold. But, stealing another glance, there was the precious little figure, with a yellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and tender, that it seemed as if that* very expression must needs soften the gold, and make it fiesh again. This, however, could not be. So Midas had only to wring his hands, and to wish that he were the poorest man in the wide world, if the loss of all his wealth might bring back the faintest rose-color to his dear child’s face.
IV.
While he was in this tumult of despair, he sud- denly beheld a stranger standing near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for
28
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
lie recognized tlie same figure which had appeared to him, the day before, in the treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of the Golden Touch. The stranger’s countenance still wore a smile, which seemed to shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and gleamed on little Marygold’s image, and on the other objects that had been trans- muted by the touch of Midas.
“Well, friend Midas,” said the stranger, “pray how do you succeed with the Golden Touch ? ” Midas shook his head.
“ I am very miserable,” said he.
“ Very miserable, indeed ! ” exclaimed the stranger. “And how happens that? Have I not faithfully kept my promise with you ? Have you not every- thing that your heart desired ? ”
“ Gold is not everything,” answered Midas. “ And I have lost all that my heart really cared for.”
“ Ah ! So you have made a discovery, since yes- terday ? ” observed the stranger. “ Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is really worth the most, — ^the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of clear cold water ? ”
“ O blessed water ! ” exclaimed Midas. “ It will never moisten my parched throat again 1 ”
“ The Golden Touch,” continued the stranger, “ or a crust of bread ? ”
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
29
‘‘A piece of bread,” answered Midas, “is worth all the gold on earth ! ”
“The Golden Touch,” asked the stranger, “or your own little Marygold, warm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago ? ”
“ O my child, my dear child ! ” cried poor Midas, wringing his hands. “ I would not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the power of changing this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold ! ”
“ You are wiser than you were. King Midas ! ” said the stranger, looking seriously at him. “Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely changed from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be desperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that the commonest things, such as lie within everybody’s grasp, are more valu- able than the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle after. Tell me, now, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden Touch ? ”
“ It is hateful to me ! ” replied Midas.
A fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor ; for it, too, had become gold. Midas shud- dered.
“ Go, then,” said the stranger, “ and plunge into the river that glides past the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water, and sprinkle
30
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
it over any object that you may desire to change back again from gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and sincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has occasioned.”
King Midas bowed low ; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger had vanished.
You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great earthen pitcher (but, alas me ! it was no longer earthen after he touched it), and hastening to the river-side. As he scampered along, and forced his way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvellous to see how the foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and nowhere else. On reaching the river’s brink, he plunged headlong in, without waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.
Poof ! poof ! poof ! ” snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the water. “Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have quite washed aw^ay the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher ! ”
As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it glad- dened his very heart to see it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which it had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change within himself. A cold, hard, and heavy
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
31
weight seemed to have gone out of his bosom. No doubt, his heart had been gradually losing its human substance, and transmuting itself into insen- sible metal, but had now softened back again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed to find that the delicate dower retained its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had, there- fore, really been removed from him.
King Midas hastened back to the palace ; and, I suppose, the servants knew not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so carefully bring- ing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water, which was to undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more precious to Midas than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The first thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls over the golden figure of little Marygold.
No sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the rosy color came back to the dear child’s cbeek ! and how she began to sneeze and sputter ! — and how astonished she was to find her- self dripping wet, and her father still throwing more water over her !
Pray do not, dear father ! ” cried she. “ See how
32
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
you have wet my nice frock, which I put on only this morning ! ”
For Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor could she remember any- thing that had happened since the moment when she ran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.
Her father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very foolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser he had now grown. For this purpose, he led little Marygold into the garden, where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the rose-bushes, and with such good effect that above five thousand roses recovered their beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however, which, as long as he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Golden Touch. One was, that the sands of the river sparkled like gold ; the other, that little Mary- gold’s hair had now a golden tinge, which he had never observed in it before she had been transmuted by the effect of his kiss. This change of hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold’s hair richer than in her babyhood.
When King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold’s children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvellous story,
THE GOLDEN TOUCH.
33
pretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their glossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.
“And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks,” quoth King Midas, diligently trotting the children all the while, “ever since that morning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!”
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN;
I.
Long, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was a child, named Epime- theus, who never had either father or mother ; and, that he might not be lonely, another child, father- less and motherless like himself, was sent from a far country, to live with him, and be his playfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora.
The first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where Epimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which she put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this, —
“ Epimetheus, what have you in that box ? ”
My dear little Pandora,” answered Epimetheus, that is a secret, and you must be kind enough not
* According to the Greek mythology, Pandora {‘pron. pan-do'ra) was the first woman sent to the earth, and Epimetheus {pron. ep-i- me'thus) was her husband. Mercury (called Quicksilver in this story) was the messenger of Zeus {pron. zus ; the Roman Jupiter), the king of the gods. He wore a winged cap and winged shoes, and bore in his hand a rod entwined with two serpents, called the caduceus.
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
35
to ask any questions about it. The box was left here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it contains.”
“ But who gave it to you ? ” asked Pandora. And where did it come from ? ”
That is a secret, too,” replied Epimetheus.
How provoking ! ” exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. “ I wish the great ugly box were out of the way ! ”
“Oh come, don’t think of it any more,” cried Epimetheus. “ Let us run out of doors, and have some nice play with the other children.”
It is thousands of years since Epimetheus and Pandora were alive ; and the world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it was in their time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed no fathers and mothers to take care of the children ; because there was no danger, nor trouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was always plenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted his dinner, he found it growing on a tree ; and, if he looked at the tree in the morning, he could see the expanding blossom of that night’s supper ; or, at eventide, he saw the tender bud of to-morrow’s breakfast. It was a very pleasant life indeed. No labor to be done, no tasks to be studied ; nothing but sports and dances, and sweet
36
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
voices of children talking, or carolling like birds, or gushing out in merry laughter, throughout the live- long day.
What was most wonderful of all, the children never quarrelled among themselves ; neither had they any crying fits ; nor, since time first began, had a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart into a corner, and sulked. Oh, what a good time was that to be alive in ! The truth is, those ugly little winged monsters, called Troubles, which are now almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never yet been seen on the earth. It is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a child had ever experienced was Pandora’s vexation at not being able to discover the secret of the mysterious box.
This was at first only the faint shadow of a Trouble ; but, every day, it grew more and more substantial, until, before a great while, the cottage of Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than those of the other children.
Whence can the box have come ? ” Pandora con- tinually kept saying to herself and to Epimetheus. “ And what in the world can be inside of it ? ”
“Always talking about this box!” said Epime- theus, at last ; for he had grown extremely tired of the subject. “ I wish, dear Pandora, you would try to talk of something else. Come, let us go and
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
37
gather some ripe figs, and eat them under the trees, for our supper. And I know a vine that has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.”
“ Always talking about grapes and figs ! ” cried Pandora, pettishly.
“Well, then,” said Epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child, like a multitude of children in those days, “ let us run out and have a merry time with our playmates.”
“ I am tired of merry times, and don’t care if I never have any more ! ” answered our pettish little Pandora. “ And, besides, I never do have any. This ugly box ! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the time. I insist upon your telling me what is inside of it.”
“As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know ! ” replied Epimetheus, getting a little vexed. “ How, then, can I tell you what is inside ? ”
“You might open it,” said Pandora, looking side- ways at Epimetheus, “and then we could see for ourselves.”
“ Pandora, what are you thinking of ? ” exclaimed Epimetheus.
And his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box, which had been confided to him on the condition of his never opening it, that Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more.
38
THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN.
Still, however, she could not help thinking and talk- ing about the box.
At least,” said she, “ you can tell me how it came here.”
^^It was left at the door,” replied Epimetheus, ^^just before you came, by a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly forbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an odd kind of a cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so that it looked almost as if it had wings.”
What sort of a staff had he ? ” asked Pandora.
Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw ! ” cried Epimetheus. “It was like two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally that I, at first, thought the serpents were alive.”
“ I know him,” said Pandora, thoughtfully. “ 'No- body else has such a staff. It was Quicksilver ; and he brought me hither, as well as the box. No doubt he intended it for me ; and, most probably, it contains j)Totty dresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or something very nice for us both to eat ! ”
“Perhaps so,” answered Epimetheus, turning away. “But until Quicksilver comes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift the lid of the box.”
THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN.
39
“ What a dull boy he is ! ” muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the cottage. I do wish he had a little more enterprise ! ”
For the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without asking Pandora to accompany him. He went to gather figs and grapes by himself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society than his little playfellow’s. He was tired to death of hearing about the box, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the mes- senger’s name, had left it at some other child’s door, where Pandora would never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as she did babble about this one thing ! The box, the box, and nothing but the box ! It seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage were not big enough to hold it, without Pandora’s continually stumbling over it, and making Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising all four of their shins.
Well, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his ears from morning till night ; especially as the little people of the earth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that they knew not how to deal with them. Thus, a small vexation made as much disturbance then, as a far bigger one would in our own times.
After Epimetheus was gone. Pandora stood gaz-
40
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
ing at the box. She had called it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she had said against it, it v^as positively a very handsome article of furniture, and would have been quite an ornament to any room in which it should be placed. It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark and rich veins spreading over its surface, which was so highly polished that little Pandora could see her face in it. As the child had no other looking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on this account.
The edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful skill. Around the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a profusion of flowers and foliage ; and these various objects were so exquisitely represented, and were wrought together in such harmony, that flowers, foliage, and human beings seemed to com- bine into a wreath of mingled beauty. But here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved foliage. Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so lovely, or something or other that was disagreeable, and which stole the beauty out of all the rest. Nevertheless, on looking more closely, and touching the spot with her finger, she could discover nothing of the kind. Some face, that was
THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN.
41
really beautiful, bad been made to look ugly by her catching a sideway glimpse at it.
The most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief, in the centre of the lid. There was nothing else, save the dark, smooth richness of the polished wood, and this one face in the centre, - with a garland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this face a great many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked, or be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The features, indeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression, which looked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips, and utter itself in words.
Had the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this :
Do not be afraid. Pandora ! What harm can there be in opening the box? Never mind that poor, simple Epimetheus ! You are wiser than he, and have ten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not find something very pretty ! ”
II.
The box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fas- tened ; not by a lock, nor by any other such contriv- ance, but by a very intricate knot of gold cord.
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THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN.
There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning. Never was a knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which roguishly defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. And yet, by the very difficulty that there was in it. Pandora was the more tempted to examine the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or three times, already, she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between her thumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.
I really believe,” said she to herself, that I begin to see how it was done. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again, after undoing it. There would be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not blame me for that. I need not open the box, and should not, of course, without the foolish boy’s con- sent, even if the knot were untied.”
It might have been better for Pandora if she had had a little work to do, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly thinking of this one subject. But children led so easy a life, before any Troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal too much leisure. They could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among the fiower-shrubs, or at blind-man’s-buff with gar- lands over their eyes, or at whatever other games had been found out, while Mother Earth was in her
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
43
babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the real play. There was absolutely nothing to do. A little sweeping and dusting about the cottage, I suppose, and the gathering of fresh flowers (which were only too abundant everywhere), and arranging them in vases, — and poor little Pandora’s day’s work was over. And then, for the rest of the day, there was the box.
After all, I am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her in its way. It supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of, and to talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen ! When she was in good-humor, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and the rich border of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it. Or, if she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or kick it with her naughty little foot. And many a kick did the box — (but it was a mis- chievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it got) — many a kick did it receive. But, certain it is, if it had not been for the box, our active-minded little Pandora would not have known half so well how to spend her time as she now did.
For it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside. What could it be, indeed ? Just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your wits would be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as
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THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN.
you miglit have reason to suppose, contained some- thing new and pretty for your Christmas or New- Year’s gifts. Do you think that you should be less curious than Pandora ? If you were left alone with the box, might you not feel a little tempted to lift the lid ? But you would not do it. Oh, fie ! No, no ! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it would be so very hard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one peep ! I know not whether Pandora expected any toys ; for none had yet begun to be made, probably, in those days, when the world itself was one great plaything for the children that dwelt upon it. But Pandora was convinced that there was something very beautiful and valuable in the box; and therefore she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any of these little girls, here around me, would have felt. And, possibly, a little more so; but of that I am not quite so certain.
On this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking about, her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that, at last, she approached the box. She was more than half deter- mined to open it, if she could. Ah, naughty Pan- dora !
First, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy ; quite too heavy for the slender strength of a child, like Pandora. She raised one end of the box a few
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
45
inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a pretty loud thump. A moment afterwards, she almost fancied that she heard something stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely as pos- sible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be a kind of stifled murmur, within ! Or was it merely the singing in Pandora’s ears ? Or could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not quite satisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at all events, her curiosity was stronger than ever.
As she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.
It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,” said Pandora to herself. “But I think I could untie it nevertheless. I am resolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.”
So she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its intricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it, or quite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in at- tempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sun- shine came through the open window ; as did like- wise the merry voices of the children, playing at a distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus among them. Pandora stopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was ! Would it not be wiser, if she
46
THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about the box, but run and join her little playfellows, and be happy ?
All this time, however, her fingers were half un- consciously busy with the knot ; and happening to glance at the flower- wreathed face on the lid of the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grin- ning at her.
^‘That face looks very mischievous,” thought Pan- dora. wonder whether it smiles because I am doing wrong ! I have the greatest mind in the world to run away ! ”
But just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a twist, which produced a won- derful result. The gold cord untwined itself, as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.
This is the strangest thing I ever knew ! ” said Pandora. What will Epimetheus say ? And how can I possibly tie it up again ? ”
She made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it quite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that she could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. Nothing was to be done, therefore, but to let the
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47
box remain as it was until Epimetheus should come in.
“But,” said Pandora, “when he finds the knot untied, he will know that I have done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked into the box ? ”
And then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since she would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just as well do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora ! You should have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone what was wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus would have said or believed. And so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the lid of the box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly than before, the murmur of small voices within. She could not tell whether it was fancy or no ; but there was quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear, — or else it was her curiosity that whispered, —
“ Let us out, dear Pandora, — pray let us out ! We will be such nice pretty playfellows for you ! Only let us out ! ”
“ What can it be ? ” thought Pandora. “ Is there something alive in the box? Well! — yes! — I am resolved to take just one peep ! Only one peep ;
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THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN.
and then the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever ! There cannot possibly be any harm in just one little peep ! ”
III.
But it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.
This was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell with him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did not partake. But nothing went right ; nor was he nearly so happy as on other days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus had a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs) ; or, if ripe at all, they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. There was no mirth in his heart, such as usually made his voice gush out, of its own accord, and swell the merriment of his companions. In short, he grew so uneasy and discontented, that the other children could not imagine what was the matter with Epimetheus. Neither did he himself know what ailed him, any better than they did. For you must recollect that, at the time we are speaking of, it was everybody’s nature, and constant habit, to be happy. The world had not yet learned to be other- wise. Not a single soul or body, since these chil-
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dren were first sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful earth, had ever been sick or out of sorts.
At length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in a humor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her pleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which he meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely, — roses, and lilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail of fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried them along ; and the wreath was put together with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always ap- peared to me, are the fittest to twine flower- wreaths ; but boys could do it, in those days, rather better than they can now.
And here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in the sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun. But, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.
He entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora, and fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be aware of his ap- proach. But, as it happened, there was no need of 4
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his treading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he pleased, — as heavily as a grown man, — as heavily, I was going to say, as an elephant, — without much probability of Pandora’s hearing his footsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his entering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and was on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epime- theus beheld her. If he had cried out. Pandora would probably have withdrawn her hand, and the fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.
But Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his own share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that Pandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow should not be the only wise per- son in the cottage. And if there were anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to himself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora about restraining her curiosity, Epime- theus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly as much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame Pandora for what happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise.
As Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal ; for the black cloud had now
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swept quite over tlie sun, and seemed to have buried it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low growling and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But Pandora, heed- ing nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures brushed past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same instant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as if he were in pain.
Oh, I am stung ! ” cried he. I am stung ! Naughty Pandora ! why have you opened this wicked box ? ”
Pandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see what had befallen Epimetheus, The thunder-cloud had so darkened the room that she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic mosquitoes, or those in- sects which we call dor-bugs, and pinching-dogs. were darting about. And, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats’ wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus. Nor was it a great while before Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain and
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affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub about it. An odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and would have stung her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.
Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had made their escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the whole family of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions ; there were a great many species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty Sorrows ; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful shapes; there were more kinds of Naughti- ness than it would be of any use to talk about. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given to Epimetheus and Pan- dora to be kept safely, in order that the happy chil- dren of the world might never be molested by them. Had they been faithful to their trust, all would have gone well. No grown person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear, from that hour until this moment.
But — and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a calamity to the whole world — by Pandora’s lifting the lid of that miserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not prevent-
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ing her, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem very likely to be driven aw^ay in a hurry. For it was impossible, as you will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarm in their own little cottage. On the con- trary, the first thing that they did was to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of them ; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all abroad, and so pestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none of them so much as smiled for many days afterwards. And, what was very singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth, not one of which had hith- erto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a day or two. The children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in their childhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing.
IV.
Meanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus, remained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung, and were in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more in- tolerable to them, because it was the very first pain
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that had ever been felt since the world began. Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could have no idea what it meant. Besides all this, they were in exceedingly bad humor, both with themselves and with one another. In order to in- dulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sul- lenly in a corner with his back towards Pandora ; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was ciying bitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.
Suddenly there was a gentle little tap on the in- side of the lid.
What can that be ? ” cried Pandora, lifting her head.
But either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of humor to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.
“You are very unkind,” said Pandora, sobbing anew, “ not to speak to me ! ”
Again the tap ! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy’s hand, knocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.
“ Who are you ? ” asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity. “ Who are you, inside of this naughty box ? ”
A sweet little voice spoke from within, —
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Only lift the lid, and you shall see.”
“ No, no,” answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, have had enough of lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and there you shall stay ! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters already flying about the world. You need never think that I shall be so foolish as to let you out ! ”
She looked towards Epimetheus, as she spoke, per- haps expecting that he woruld commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered that she was wise a little too late.
^^Ah,” said the sweet little voice again, ^^you had much better let me out. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their tails. They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at once, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty Pandora ! I am sure you will let me out ! ”
And, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that made it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice asked. Pandora’s heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word that came from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner, had turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than before.
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^‘My dear Epimetlieus,” cried Pandora, ^^have you heard this little voice ? ”
“Yes, to be sure I have,” answered he, but in no very good-humor as yet. “ And what of it ? ”
“ Shall I lift the lid again ? ” asked Pandora.
“Just as you please,” said Epimetheus. “You have done so much mischief already, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other Trou- ble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can make no very great difference.”
“You might speak a little more kindly! ’’mur- mured Pandora, wiping her eyes.
“Ah, naughty boy ! ” cried the little voice within the box, in an arch and laughing tone. “ He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear Pandora, lift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only let me have some fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are not quite so dismal as you think them ! ”
“ Epimetheus,” exclaimed Pandora, “ come what may, I am resolved to open the box ! ”
“ And, as the lid seems very heavy,” cried Epime- theus, running across the room, “ I will help you ! ” So, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew a sunny and smiling little person- age, and hovered about the room, throwing a light wherever she went. Have you never made the sun-
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shine dance into dark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking-glass? Well, so looked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger, amid the gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the least touch of her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had stung him, and imme- diately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.
After performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered sportively over the children’s heads, and looked so sweetly at them, that they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened the box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a prisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.
“ Pray, who are you, beautiful creature ?” inquired Pandora.
I am to be called Hope ! ” answered the sunshiny figure. ^^And because I am such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box, to make amends to the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was destined to be let loose among them. Never fear ! we shall do pretty well in spite of them all.”
Your wings are colored like the rainbow ! ” ex- claimed Pandora. How very beautiful ! ”
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‘^Yes, they are like the rainbow,” said Hope, because, glad as my nature is, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles.”
And will you stay with us,” asked Epimetheus, forever and ever ? ”
“ As long as you need me,” said Hope, with her pleasant smile, — “and that will be as long as you live in the world, — I promise never to desert you. There may come times and seasons, now and then, when you will think that I have . utterly vanished. But again, and again, and again, when perhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my wings on the ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and I know something very good and beautiful that is to be given you hereafter ! ”
“ Oh tell us,” they exclaimed, — “ tell us what it is ! ”
“ Do not ask me,” replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth. “ But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on this earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.”
“We do trust you ! ” cried Epimetheus and Pan- dora, both in one breath.
And so they did ; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope, that has since been alive. And to tell you the truth, I cannot help being glad — (though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly
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naughty thing for her to do) — but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora peeped into the box. No doubt — no doubt — the Troubles are still flying about the world, and have increased in multi- tude, rather than lessened, and are a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their tails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel them more, as I grow older. But then that lovely and lightsome little figure of Hope ! What in the world could we do without her? Hope spiritual- izes the earth; Hope makes it always new; and, even in the earth’s best and brightest aspect, Hope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter !
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES *
1.
Did you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the Hesperides ? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price, by the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of nowadays ! But there is not, I sup- pose, a graft of that wonderful fruit on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those apples exists any longer.
And, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of the Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted whether
* The Hesperides {'pron. hes-per'i-dez), in the Grecian mythology, were maiden daughters of Hesperis. They lived in a garden where they were guardians of the golden apples that Juno, queen of the gods, had entrusted to their care. They were assisted by a many- headed dragon. Hercules {pron. her'ku.-l6z) undertook to kill the dragon and bring away the apples. Also mentioned in this story are Mars {pron. marz), god of war ; Venus {pron. ve'nus), goddess of love ; Geryon {pron. j5'ri-on), a six-legged man-monster ; Hippolyta {pron. hip-pol'i-ta), queen of the Amazons ; Antaeus {pron. an-t6'us), a huge giant, and Atlas, another mighty giant who was condemned to bear the sky upon his head.
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there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon their branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have seen any. Chil- dren, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to stories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when they should be big enough. Ad- venturous young men, who desired to do a braver thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of them returned no more ; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder that they found it impossible to gather them ! It is said that there was a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of which were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.
In my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a solid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed that would be another matter. There might then have been some sense in trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.
But, as I have already told you, it was quite a com- mon thing with young persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the garden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the world. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wander-
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ing through the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous, and noble, there was a good deal of the lion’s fierce- ness in his heart. As he went on his way, he con- tinually inquired whether that were the right road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed at the ques- tion, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.
So he Journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women sat twin- ing wreaths of flowers.
^‘Can you tell me, pretty maidens,” asked the stranger, whether this is the right way to the garden of the Hesperides ? ”
The young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the flowers into wreaths, and crowning one another’s heads. And there seemed to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter fragrance, while they
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played with them, than even when they had been growing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger’s question, they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with astonishment.
The garden of the Hesperides ! ” cried one. “We thought mortals had been weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray, adven- turous traveller, what do you want there ? ”
“A certain king, who is my cousin,” replied he, “has ordered me to get him three of the golden apples.”
“ Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,” observed another of the damsels, “ desire to obtain them for themselves, or to present them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this king, your cousin, so very much ? ”
“ Perhaps not,” replied the stranger, sighing. “ He has often been severe and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.”
“ And do you know,” asked the damsel who had first spoken, “ that a terrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden apple-tree ? ”
“ I know it well,” answered the stranger, calmly. “But, from my cradle upwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with serpents and dragons.”
The young women looked at his massive club, and
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at the shaggy lion’s skin which he wore, and like- wise at his heroic limbs and figure ; and they whis- pered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who might reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other men. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads ! What mortal, even if he possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a monster? So kind- hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to see this brave and handsome traveller attempt what was so very dangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the dragon’s hundred ravenous mouths.
Go back,” cried they all, — go back to your own home ! Your mother, beholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy ; and what can she do more, should you win ever so great a victory ? No matter for the golden apples ! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin ! We do not wish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up ! ”
The stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He carelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay half buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow, the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the ‘stranger no more effort to achieve this feat of a giant’s strength than for one of the
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young maidens to toucli her sister’s rosy cheek with a hower.
“Do you not believe,” said he, looking at the damsels with a smile, “ that such a blow would have crashed one of the dragon’s hundred heads ? ”
Then he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or as much of it as he could remem- ber, from the day when he was first cradled in a warrior’s brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense serpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to devour him ; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the fierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death. When he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as the one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The next thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of monster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and exceedingly sharp teeth in every one.
“ But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,” observed one of the damsels, “has a hundred heads!”
“Nevertheless,” replied the stranger, “I would rather fight two such dragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two others grew in its place ; and, besides, there was one of the heads 5
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that could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long after it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where it is doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra’s body, and its eight other heads, will never do any further mischief.”
The damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might refresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would put a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful to eat alone.
II.
The traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag, for a twelvemonth together, with- out ever stopping to take breath, and had at last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he had fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly figures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.
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Do you call tliat a wonderful exploit ? ” asked one of the young maidens, with a smile. “Any clown in the country has done as much ! ”
“Had it been an ordinary stable,” replied the stranger, “ I should not have mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have taken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of turning the channel of a river through the stable- door. That did the business in a very short time ! ” Seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how he had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and let him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had conquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned, likewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta’s enchanted girdle, and had given it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.
“Was it the girdle of Venus,” inquired the prettiest of the damsels, “ which makes women beautiful ? ”
“ No,” answered the stranger. “ It had formerly been the sword-belt of Mars ; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous.”
“ An old sword-belt ! ” cried the damsel, tossing her head. “Then I should not care about having it ! ” “You are right,” said the stranger.
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Going on with his wonderful narrative, he in- formed the maidens that as strange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geiyon, the six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sold of figure, as you may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking along together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was no more than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming. But it was only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six legs !
Six legs, and one gigantic body ! Certainly, he must have been a very queer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather !
When the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
Perhaps you may have heard of me before,” said he, modestly. My name is Hercules ! ”
‘‘We had already guessed it,” replied the maid- ens ; “ for your wonderful deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any longer, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with fiowers ! ”
Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately
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head and mighty shoulders, so that the lion’s skin was almost entirely covered with roses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not a finger’s breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all like a huge bunch of fiowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and grew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules.
And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was not satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done. was worthy of so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure to be undertaken.
^^Dear maidens,” said he, when they paused to take breath, ^^now that you know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the Hesperides ? ”
Ah ! must you go so soon ? ” they exclaimed.
You — that have performed so many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life — cannot you content your- self to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river ? ”
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Hercules shook his head.
“ I must depart now,” said he.
^^We will then give you the best directions we can,” replied the damsels. “You must go to the sea- shore, and find out the Old One, and compel him to inform you where the golden apples are to be found.”
“ The Old One ! ” repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. “ And, pray, who may the Old One be?”
“ Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure ! ” an- swered one of the damsels. “ He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful ; but we do not think it proper to be acquainted with them, be. cause they have sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old Man of the Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and knows all about the garden of the Hesperides ; for it is situated in an island which he is often in the habit of visiting.”
Hercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met with. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their kindness, — for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the lovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances wherewith they had done him honor, — and he thanked them, most of all, for telling him the
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right way, — and immediately set forth upon his journey.
But, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.
“ Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him ! ” cried she, smiling, and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. Do not be as- tonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will tell you what you wish to know.”
Hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way^ while the maidens resumed their pleasant labor of making flower- wreaths. They talked about the hero, long after he was gone.
‘^We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,” said they, when he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon with a hundred heads.”
Meanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and through the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and splintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of the giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to fight, that perhaps he mis- took the great tree for a giant or a monster. And so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had under- taken, that he almost regretted to have spent so
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inucli time witli the damsels, wasting idle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always is with persons who are destined to perform great things. What they have already done seems less than nothing. What they have taken in hand to do seems worth toil, danger, and life itself.
Persons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been affrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a single blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of light- ning, and the broad boughs came rustling and crash- ing down.
Hastening forward, without ever pausing or look- ing behind, he by and by heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased his speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one end of the beach, how- ever, there was a pleasant spot, where some green shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with sweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of the cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old man, fast asleep !
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III.
But was it really and truly an old man? Cer- tainly, at first sight, it looked very like one ; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and arms there were scales, such as fishes have ; he was web-footed and web-fingered, after the fashion of a duck ; and his long beard, being of a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea- weed than of an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with barnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up from the very deepest bottom of the sea ? Well, the old man would have put you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar ! But Hercules, the in- stant he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could be no other than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.
Yes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable maidens had talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of finding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe to- wards him, and caught him by the arm and leg.
Tell me,” cried he, before the Old One was well
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awake, whicli is the way to the garden of tke Hes- perides ? ”
As you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright. But his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of Hercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to disappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the fore and hind leg ! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag disap- peared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, flutter- ing and screaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw ! But the bird could not get away. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly three- headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped flercely at the hands by which he held him ! But Hercules would not let him go. In an- other minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should appear but Geryon, the six-legged man-mon- ster, kicking at Hercules with flve of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty ! But Hercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a huge snake, like one of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a hundred times as big ; and it ^twisted and twined about the hero’s neck and body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly jaws as if to devour him outright ; so that it was really a very
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terrible spectacle ! But Hercules was no whit dis- heartened, and squeezed the great snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.
You must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally looked so much like the wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the power of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly seized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such surprise and ter- ror, by these magical transformations, that the hero would be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old One would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea, whence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in order to answer any impertinent ques- tions. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred, I sup- pose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the very first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at once. For, one of the hardest things in this world is, to see the difference between real dangers and imaginary ones.
But, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no small tor- ture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure. So there he was again, a fishy, scaly,
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web-footed sort of personage, with something like a tuft of sea- weed at his chin.
Pray, what do you want with me ? ” cried the Old One, as soon as he could take breath ; for it is quite a tiresome alfair to go through so many false shapes. Why do you squeeze me so hard ? Let me go, this moment, or I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person ! ”
My name is Hercules ! ” roared the mighty stranger. “And you will never get out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the ■garden of the Hesperides ! ”
When the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with half an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he wanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must recollect, and roamed about every- where, like other sea-faring people. Of course, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the wonderful things that he was constantly perform- ing, in various parts of the earth, and how deter- mined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook. He therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how to find the garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many difficulties which must be overcome, before he could arrive thither.
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“ You must go on, thus and thus,” said the Old Man of the Sea, after taking the points of the com- pass, till you come in sight of a very tall giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he happens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of the Hesperides lies.”
“ And if the giant happens not to be in the hu- mor,” remarked Hercules, balancing his club on the tip of his finger, “ perhaps I shall find means to per- suade him ! ”
Thanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having squeezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his Journey. He met with a great many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing, if I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.
It was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a prodigious giant, who was so wonder- fully contrived by nature, that, every time he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever he had been before. His name was Antaeus. You may see, plainly enough, that it was a very difiicult busi- ness to fight with such a fellow ; for, as often as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger, fiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than if his enemy had let him alone. Thus, the harder Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the
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further he seemed from winning the victory. I have sometimes argued with such people, but never fought with one. The only way in which Hercules found it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting Antaeus off his feet into the air, and squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him, until, finally, the strength was quite squeezed out of his enormous body.
When this affair was finished, Hercules continued his travels, and went to the land of Egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have been put to death, if he had not slain the king of the country, and made his escape. Passing through the deserts of Africa, and going as fast as he could, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean. And here, unless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his journey must needs be at an end.
Nothing was before him, save the foaming, dash- ing, measureless ocean. But, suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a great way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed very brightly, almost as you may have be- held the round, golden disk of the sun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently drew nearer ; for, at every instant, this wonderful object became larger and more lustrous. At length, it had come so nigh that Hercules discovered it to
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be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or burnished brass. How it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can tell you. There it was, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it up and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without ever throwing their spray over the brim.
I have seen many giants, in my time,” thought Hercules, but never one that would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this ! ”
And, true enough, what a cup it must have been ! It was as large — as large — but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it was. To speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great mill-wheel ; and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving surges more lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves tumbled it onward, until it grazed against the shore, within a short dis- tance of the spot where Hercules was standing.
IV.
As soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done ; for he had hot gone through so many re- markable adventures without learning pretty well how to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little out of the common rule. It was just as
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clear as daylight that this marvellous cup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hither- ward, in order to carry Hercules across the sea, on his way to the garden of the Hesperides. Accordingly, without a moment’s delay, he clambered over the brim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading out his lion’s skin, he proceeded to take a little repose. He had scarcely rested, until now, since he bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the river. The waves dashed, with a pleasant and ring- ing sound, against the circumference of the hollow cup ; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the motion was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules into an agreeable slumber.
His nap had probably lasted a good while, when ^ the cup chanced to graze against a rock, and, in con- sequence, immediately resounded and reverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times as loudly as ever you heard a church -bell. The noise awoke Hercules, who instantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he was. He was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across a great part of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed to be an island. And, on that island, what do you think he saw ?
No ; you will never guess it, not if you were to
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try fifty thousand times ! It positively appears to me that this was the most marvellous spectacle that had ever been seen by Hercules, in the whole course of his wonderful travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than the hydra with nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut off ; greater than the six-legged man-monster ; greater than Antaeus ; greater than anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since the days of Hercules, or than anything that remains to be be- held, by travellers in all time to come. It was a giant !
But such an intolerably big giant ! A giant as tall as a mountain; so vast a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle, and hung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge eyes, so that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in which he was voyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as Hercules could discern through the clouds, was resting upon his head ! This does really seem almost too much to believe.
Meanwhile, the bright cup continued to float on- ward, and finally touched the strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from before the giant’s visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its
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enormous features ; eyes each of them as big as yon- der lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth of the same width. It was a countenance terrible from its enormity of size, but disconsolate and weary, even as you may see the faces of many people, nowadays, who are compelled to sustain burdens above their strength. What the sky was to the giant, such are the cares of earth to those who let themselves be weighed down by them. And whenever men under- take what is beyond the just measure of their abili- ties, they encounter precisely such a doom as had befallen this poor giant.
Poor fellow ! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient forest had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees, of six or seven centuries old, had sprung from* the acorn, and forced themselves between his toes.
The giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and, perceiving Hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder, proceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.
Who are you, down at my feet there ? And whence do you come, in that little cup ? ”
I am Hercules ! ” thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or quite as loud as the giant’s own. ^‘And I am seeking for the garden of the Hesperides ! ”
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Ho ! ho ! ho ! ” roared the giant, in a fit of im- mense laughter. That is a wise adventure, truly ! ” And why not ? ” cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant’s mirth. Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads ? ”
Just at this time, while they were talking to- gether, some black clouds gathered about the giant’s middle, and burst into a tremendous storm of thun- der and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercu- les found it impossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant’s immeasurable legs were to be seen, stand- ing up into the obscurity of the tempest ; and, now and then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a volume of mist. He seemed to be speaking, most of the time ; but his big, deep, rough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thun- der-claps, and rolled away over the hills, like them. Thus, by talking out of season, the ’foolish giant expended an incalculable quantity of breath, to no purpose ; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly as he.
At last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it had come. And there again was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the pleasant sun- shine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it against the background of the sullen thunder- clouds. So far above the shower had been his head,
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that not a hair of it was moistened by the rain- drops !
When the giant could see Hercules still standing on the sea-shore, he roared out to him anew.
I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world ! And I hold the sky upon my head !
So I see,” answered Hercules. But, can you show me the way to the garden of the Hesperides?”
What do you want there ? ” asked the giant.
I want three of the golden apples,” shouted Her- cules, “for my cousin, the king.”
“ There is nobody but myself,” quoth the giant, “ that can go to the garden of the Hesperides, and gather the golden apples. If it were not for this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a dozen steps across tbe sea, and get them for yon.”
“You are very kind,” replied Hercules. “And cannot you rest the sky upon a mountain ? ”
“None of them are quite high enough,” said Atlas, shaking his head. “ But, if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one, your head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be a fellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your shoulders, while I do your errand for you ? ”
Hercules, as you must be careful to remember.
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was a remarkably strong man; and tbough it cer- tainly requires a great deal of muscular power to uphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of such an exploit, he was the one. Never- theless, it seemed so difficult an undertaking, that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.
“ Is the sky very heavy ? ” he inquired.
‘‘ Why, not particularly so, at first,” answered the giant, shrugging his shoulders. But it gets to be a little burdensome, after a thousand years ! ”
And how long a time,” asked the hero, “ will it take you to get the golden apples ? ”
“ Oh ! that will be done in a few moments,” cried Atlas. “ I shall take ten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again before your shoulders begin to ache.”
“Well, then,” answered Hercules, “I will climb the mountain behind you there, and relieve you of your burden.”
The truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered that he should be doing the giant a favor, by allowing him this opportunity for a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would be still more for his own glory, if he could boast of upholding the sky, than merely to do so ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a hundred beads. Accordingly, without more words, the sky was
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shifted from the shoulders of Atlas, and placed upon those of Hercules.
V.
When this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did was to stretch himself ; and you may imagine what a prodigious spectacle he was then. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of the forest that had grown up around it ; then, the other. Then, all at once, he began to caper, and leap, and dance, for joy at his freedom ; fiinging himself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering down again with a shock that made the earth tremble. Then he laughed — Ho ! ho ! ho ! — with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the mountains, far and near, as if they and the giant had been so many rejoicing brothers. When his joy had a little subsided, he stepped into the sea ; ten miles at the first stride, which brought him midleg deep ; and ten miles at the second, when the water came just above his knees; and ten miles more at the third, by which he was immersed nearly to his waist. This was the greatest depth of the sea.
Hercules watched the giant, as he still went on- ward; for it was really a wonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles otf.
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half hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and misty, and blue, as a distant mountain. At last the gigantic shape faded entirely out of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he should do, in case Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were to be stung to death by the dragon with the hundred heads, which guarded the golden apples of the Hesperides. If any such mis- fortune were to happen, how could he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by, its weight began already to be a little irksome to his head and shoulders.
really pity the poor giant,” thought Hercules.
If it wearies me so much in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand years ? ”
O my sweet little people, you have no idea what a weight there was in that same blue sky, which looks so soft and aerial above our heads ! And there, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill and watery clouds, and the blazing sun, all taking their turns to make Hercules uncomfortable ! He began to be afraid that the giant would never come back. He gazed wistfully at the world beneath him, and acknowledged to himself that it was a far happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the foot of a mountain, than to stand on its dizzy summit, and bear up the firmament with his might and main.
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For, of course, as you will easily understand, Hercules liad an immense responsibility on his mind, as well as a weight on his head and shoul- ders. Why, if he did not stand perfectly still, and keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be put ajar ! Or, after nightfall, a great many of the stars might be loosened from their places, and shower down, like fiery rain, upon the people’s heads ! And how ashamed would the hero be, if, owing to his unsteadiness beneath its weight, the sky should crack, and show a great fissure quite across it !
I know not how long it was before, to his unspeak- able joy, he beheld the huge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the sea. At his nearer approach. Atlas held up his hand, in which Hercules could perceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins, all hanging from one branch.
“ I am glad to see you again,” shouted Hercules, when the giant was within hearing. So you have got the golden apples ? ”
Certainly, certainly,” answered Atlas ; “ and very fair apples they are. I took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah ! it is a beautiful spot, that garden of the Hesperides. Yes ; and the dragon with a hundred heads is a sight worth any man’s
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seeing. After all, you had better have gone for the apples yourself.”
‘‘ No matter,” replied Hercules. “You have had a pleasant ramble, and have done the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for your trouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and am rather in haste, — and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden apples, — will you be kind enough to take the sky olf my shoulders again ? ”
“Why, as to that,” said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the air twenty miles high, or thereabouts, and catching them as they came down, — “ as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little • unreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your cousin, much quicker than you could ? As his majesty is in such a hurry to get them, I promise you to take my longest strides. And, besides, I have no fancy for burdening myself with the sky, just now.”
Here Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders. It being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble out of their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in affright, thinking that the sky might be going to fall next.
“ Oh, that will never do ! ” cried Giant Atlas, with
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a great roar of laughter. have not let fall so many stars within the last five centuries. By the time you have stood there as long as I did, you will begin to learn patience ! ”
“ What ! shouted Hercules, very wrathfully,
" do you intend to make me bear this burden for- ever ? ”
“We will see about that, one of these days,” an- swered the giant. “At all events, you ought not to complain, if you have to bear it the next hundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while longer, in spite of the back-ache. Well, then, after a thousand years, if I happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again. You are certainly a very strong man, and can never have « a better opportunity to prove it. Posterity will talk of you, I warrant it ! ”
“ Pish ! a fig for its talk ! ” cried Hercules, with another hitch of his shoulders. “ Just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you ? I want to make a cushion of my lion’s skin, for the weight to rest upon. It really chafes me, and will cause un- necessary inconvenience in so many centuries as I am to stand here.”
“ That’s no more than fair, and I’ll do it ! ” quoth the giant; for he had no unkind feeling towards Hercules, and was merely acting with a too selfish
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consideration of liis own ease. ^^For just five min- utes, then, I’ll take back the sky. Only for five minutes, recollect ! I have no idea of spending an- other thousand years as I spent the last. Variety is the spice of life, say I.”
Ah, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant ! He threw down the golden apples, and received back the sky, from the head and shoulders of Hercules, upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked up the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins, and straight- way set out on his journey homeward, without pay- ing the slightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed after him to come back. An- other forest sprang up around his feet, and grew ancient there ; and again might be seen oak-trees, of six or seven centuries old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.
And there stands the giant to this day ; or, at any rate, there stands a mountain as tall as he, and which bears his name ; and when the thunder rum- bles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of Giant Atlas, bellowing after Hercules !
THE MIEACULOUS PITCHER*
I.
One evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his old wife Baucis sat at their cottage-door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They had already eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend a quiet hour or two before bedtime. So they talked together about their garden, and their cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered over the cottage-wall, and on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple. But the rude shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs, in the village near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was hardly possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak.
‘^Ah, wife,” cried Philemon, fear some poor traveller is seeking hospitality among our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him food and lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is ! ”
‘AVell-a-day ! ” answered old Baucis, I do wish
* In Greek legend, Baucis {pron. bau'sis) was a Phrygian woman, who, with her husband, Philemon (pron. fil-6'mon), showed hospi- tality to Zeus (the elder of the “two strangers” in this story) and Hermes {pron. her'mez ; the Roman Mercury, here called Quick- silver) when every one else had refused them admission.
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our neighbors felt a little more kindness for their fellow-creatures. And only think of bringing up their children in this naughty way, and patting them on the head when they fling stones at stran- gers ! ”
Those children will never come to any good,” said Philemon, shaking his white head. “To tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some terrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village, unless they mend their manners. But, as for you and me, as long as Providence affords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any poor, homeless stranger, that may come along and need it.”
“ That’s right, husband ! ” said Baucis. “ So we will ! ”
These old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work pretty hard for a living. Old Philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while Baucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a little butter and cheese with their cow’s milk, or doing one thing and another about the cottage. Their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, and vegetables, with sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and now and then a bunch of grapes, that had ripened against the cottage-wall. But they were two of the kindest old people in the
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world, and would cheerfully have gone without their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of their brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of honey, to the weary traveller who might pause before their door. They felt as if such guests had a sort of holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to treat them better and more bountifully than their own selves.
Their cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a village, which lay in a hollow valley, that was about half a mile in breadth. This valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had probably been the bed of a lake. There, fishes had glided to and fro in the depths, and water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and hills had seen their reflected images in the broad and peace- ful mirror. But, as the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built houses on it, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the ancient lake, except a very small brook, which me- andered through the midst of the village, and sup- plied the inhabitants with water. The valley had been dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up, and grown great and high, and perished with old age, and been succeeded by others, as tall and stately as the first. Never was there a prettier or more fruit- ful valley. The very sight of the plenty around
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them should have made the iuhabitants kind and gentle, and ready to show their gratitude to Provi- dence by doing good to their fellow-creatures.
But, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not worthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently. They were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for the poor, nor sympathy with the homeless. They would only have laughed, had anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to one another, because there is no other method of paying the debt of love and care which all of us owe to Providence. You will hardly believe what 1 am going to tell you. These naughty people taught their children to be no better than themselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of encouragement, when they saw the little boys and girls run after some poor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelt- ing him with stones. They kept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show himself in the village street, this pack of disagree- able curs scampered to meet him, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth. Then they would seize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it hap- pened ; and if he were ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object before he had time to run away. This was a very terrible thing to
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poor travellers, as you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble, or lame, or old. Such persons (if they once knew how badly these unkind people, and their unkind children and curs, were in the habit of behaving) would go miles and miles out of their way, rather than try to pass through the village again.
What made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons came in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their servants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil and obsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They would take off their hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the children were rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for the dogs, if a single cur in the p^ck presumed to yelp, his master in- stantly beat him with a club, and tied him up with- out any supper. This would have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers cared much about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and nothing whatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar and the prince.
II.
So now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he heard the shouts of
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the children and the barking of the dogs, at the farther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din, which lasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth of the valley.
I never heard the dogs so loud ! ” observed the good old man.
Nor the children so rude ! ” answered his good old wife.
They sat shaking their heads, one to another, ^ while the noise came nearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which their cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot. Close behind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A little farther oft, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shiill cries, and flung stones at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or twice, the younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active figure) turned about and drove back the dogs with a staff which he carried in his hand. His companion, who was a very tall person, walked calmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or the pack of curs, whose man- ners the children seemed to imitate.
Both of the travellers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they might not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night’s lodging. And this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers 7
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had allowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely.
“Come, wife,” said Philemon to Baucis, “let us go and meet these poor people. No doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the hill.”
“ Go you and meet them,” answered Baucis, “ while I make haste within doors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper. A comfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising their spirits.”
Accordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Phile- mon, on his part, went forward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there was no need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest tone imaginable, —
“Welcome, strangers ! welcome ! ”
“ Thank you ! ” replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way, notwithstanding his weariness and trouble. “ This is quite another greeting than we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why do you live in such a bad neighborhood ? ”
“ Ah ! ” observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smile, “Providence put me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I may make you what amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbors.”
“Well said, old father!” cried the traveller.
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laughing ; and, if the truth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends. Those children (the little rascals !) have bespattered us finely with their mud-balls ; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough already. But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I think you may have heard him yelp, even thus far off.”
Philemon was glad to see him in such good spirits ; nor, indeed, would you have fancied, by the traveller’s look and manner, that he was weary with a long day’s journey, besides being disheart- ened by rough treatment at the end of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. Though it was a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about him, per- haps because his undergarments were shabby. Phile- mon perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was now growing dusk, and as the old man’s eyesight was none the sharpest, he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness con- sisted. One thing, certainly, seemed queer. The traveller was so wonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be kept down by an effort.
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used to be light-footed, in my youth,” said Philemon to the traveller. “ But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.”
There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,” answered the stranger ; and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.”
This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever beheld. It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a little pair of wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented as twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully executed that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather dim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and twisting.
“ A curious piece of work, sure enough ! ” said he. “ A staff with wings ! It would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride of ! ”
By this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage door.
Friends,” said the old man, sit down and rest yourselves here on this bench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper. We are poor folks ; but you shall be welcome to what- ever we have in the cupboard.”
The younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his staff fall, as he did so. And
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here happened something rather marvellous, though trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up from the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of wings, it half hopped, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of the cottage. There it stood quite still, except that the snakes continued to wriggle. But, in my private opinion, old Philemon’s eyesight had been playing him tricks again.
Before he could ask any questions, the elder stran- ger drew his attention from the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.
Was there not,” asked the stranger, in a remark- ably deep tone of voice, “a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands yonder village ? ”
“Not in my day, friend,” answered Philemon; “ and yet I am an old man, as you see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now, and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst of the valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it otherwise, so far as I know ; and doubtless it will still be the same, when old Philemon shall be gone and forgotten.”
“That is more than can be safely foretold,” ob- served the stranger ; and there was something very stern in his deep voice. He shook his head, too, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement. “ Since the inhabitants of yonder vil-
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lage have forgotten the affections and sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be rippling over their dwellings again ! ”
The traveller looked so stern, that Philemon was really almost frightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed suddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder in the air.
But, in a moment afterwards, the stranger’s face became so kindly and mild, that the old man quite forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could not help feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary personage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly and to be journeying on foot. Not that Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise, or any charactei* of that sort ; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who went about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly objects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom. This idea appeared the more probable, because, when Philemon raised his eyes to the stranger’s face, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look, than he could have studied out in a lifetime.
III.
While Baucis was getting the supper, the travel- lers both began to talk very sociably with Philemon.
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The younger, indeed, was extremely loquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old man continually burst out a-laughing, and pro- nounced him the merriest fellow whom he had seen for many a day.
Pray, my young friend,” said he, as they grew familiar together, “ what may I call your name ? ” Why, I am very nimble, as you see,” answered the traveller. “ So, if you call me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well.”
“Quicksilver? Quicksilver?” repeated Philemon, looking in the traveller’s face, to see if he were making fun of him. “ It is a very odd name ! And your companion there ? Has he as strange a one ? ”
“You must ask the thunder to tell it you !” re- plied Quicksilver, putting on a mysterious look. “No other voice is loud enough.”
This remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused Philemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on venturing to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his visage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grand, est figure that ever sat so humbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it was with gravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt ir- resistibly moved to tell him everything which he
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had most at heart. This is always the feeling that people have, when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend all their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.
But Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many secrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the events of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been a score of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself had dwelt in the cot- tage from their youth upward, earning their bread by honest labor, always poor, but still contented. He told what excellent butter and cheese Baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he raised in his garden. He said, too, that, because they loved one another so very much, it was the wish of both that death might not separate them, but they should die, as they had lived, together.
As the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made its expression as sweet as it was grand.
You are a good old man,” said he to Philemon, and you have a good old wife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted.”
And it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds tlire^v up a bright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.
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Baucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her guests.
“ Had we known you were coming,” said she, “ my good man and myself would have gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper. But I took the most part of to-day’s milk to make cheese ; and our last loaf is already half eaten. Ah me ! I never feel the sorrow of being poor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door.”
“All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,” replied the elder stranger kindly, “ An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works mira- cles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.”
“ A welcome you shall have,” cried Baucis, “ and likewise a little hon-ey that we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.”
“ Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast ! ” exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing, “ an absolute feast ! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at it ! I think I never felt hungrier in my life.”
“ Mercy on us ! ” whispered Baucis to her hus- band. “ If the young man has such a terrible appe- tite, I am afraid there will not be half enough supper ! ”
They all went into the cottage.
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And now, my little auditors, shall I tell you some- thing that will make you open your eyes very wide? It is really one of the oddest circumstances in the whole story. Quicksilver’s staff, you recollect, had set itself up against the wall of the cottage. Well ; when its master entered the door, leaving this won- derful staff behind, what should it do but immedi- ately spread its little wings, and go hopping and fluttering up the door steps ! Tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen floor ; nor did it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity and decorum, beside Quicksilver’s chair. Old Phile- mon, however, as well as his wife, was so taken up in attending to their guests, that no notice was given to what the staff had been about.
As Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry travellers. In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf, with a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the other. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests. A moderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a corner of the board ; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and set them before the strangers, only a little milk re- mained in the bottom of the pitcher. Alas ! it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds itself pinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances.
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Poor Baucis kept wishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were possible, by so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper.
And, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help wishing that their appetites had not been quite so large. Why, at their very first sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the milk in their two bowls, at a draught.
“A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,” said Quicksilver. “ The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.”
“Now, my dear people,” answered Baucis, in great confusion, “ I am so sorry and ashamed ! But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in the pitcher. O husband ! husband ! why didn’t we go without our supper ? ”
“ Why, it appears- to me,” cried Quicksilver, start- ing up from table and taking the pitcher by the handle, “ it really appears to me that matters are not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is cer- tainly more milk in the pitcher.”
So saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to fill, not only his own bowl, but his companion’s likewise, from the pitcher, that was supposed to be almost empty. The good woman could scarcely believe her eyes. She had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and had peeped in
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afterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set it down upon the table.
“ But I am old,’^ thought Baucis to herself, “ and apt to be forgetful. I suppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot help being empty now, after tilling the bowls twice over.”
“What excellent milk!” observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the contents of the second bowl. “ Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask you for a little more.”
Now Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that Quicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had poured out every drop of milk, in tilling the last bowl. Of course, there could not possibly be any left. How- ever, in order to let him know precisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture as if pouring milk into Quicksilver’s bowl, but with- out the remotest idea that any milk would stream forth. What was her surprise, therefore, when such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, that it was immediately filled to the brim, and over- fiowed upon the table ! The two snakes that were twisted about Quicksilver’s staff (but neither Baucis nor Philemon happened to observe this circum- stance) stretched out their heads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.
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And tlien what a delicious fragrance the milk had ! It seemed as if Philemon’s only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage that could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish that each of you, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at supper-time !
“And now a slice of your brown loaf. Mother Baucis,” said Quicksilver, “ and a little of that honey ! ”
Baucis cut him a slice, accordingly ; and though the loaf, when she and her husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be palatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of the oven. Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it more delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking. Yet, what other loaf could it possibly be?
But, oh the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to describe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its color was that of the purest and most transparent gold ; and it had the odor of a thousand flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to seek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds. The wonder is, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so delicious fragrance and immortal bloom, they should
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have been content to fly down again to their hive in Philemon’s garden. Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt. The perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that, had you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgot- ten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbor, with celestial honey- suckles creeping over it.
IV.
Although good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but think that there was some- thing rather out of the common way, in all that had been going on. So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and laying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by Philemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.
Did you ever hear the like ? ” asked she.
“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a smile. “ And I rather think, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream. If I had poured out the milk, I should have seen through the business at once. There happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you thought, — that is all.”
“ Ah, husband,” said Baucis, “ say what you will, these are very uncommon people.”
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Ill
“ W ell, well,” replied Philemon, still smiling, “ perhaps they are. They certainly do look as if they had seen better days ; and I am heartily glad to see them making so comfortable a supper.”
Each of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate. Baucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of opinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each separate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice. It was entirely a mys- tery to her how such grapes could ever have been produced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage wall.
“ Y ery admirable grapes these ! ” observed Quick- silver, as he swallowed one after another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. “ PPRy, uiy good host, whence did you gather them ? ”
“ From my own vine,” answered Philemon. “ You may see one of its branches twisting across the win- dow, yonder. But wife and I never thought the grapes very fine ones.”
I never tasted better,” said the guest. “ An- other cup of this delicious milk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince.”
This time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher ; for he was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels which
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Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old wife was incapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she supposed to be true ] but this was so very singular a case, that he wanted to see into it with his own eyes. On taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied that it contained not so much as a single drop. All at once, however, he beheld a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant milk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the miraculous pitcher from his hand.
“Who are ye, wonder-working strangers ! ” cried he, even more bewildered than his wife had been.
“ Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends,” replied the elder traveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and awe-inspiring in it. “ Give me likewise a cup of the milk ; and may your pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for the needy wayfarer ! ”
The supper being now over, the strangers re- quested to be shown to their place of repose. The old people would gladly have talked to them a little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their delight at finding the poor and
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meagre supper prove so much better and more abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller had inspired them with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions. And when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a fountain of milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter personage pointed to his stalf.
There is the whole mystery of the affair,” quoth Quicksilver ; “ and if you can make it out, I’ll thank you to let me know. I can’t tell what to make of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this ; sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched ! ”
He said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather fancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his heels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old couple spent some little time in con- versation about the events of the evening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They had given up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed for themselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their own hearts.
The old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the strangers likewise arose 8
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with the sun, and made their preparations to depart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer, until Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and, perhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast. The guests, how- ever, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their journey before the heat of the day should come on. They, therefore, persisted in set- ting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to walk forth with them a short distance, and show them the road which they were to take.
So they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old friends. It was very remarkable, indeed, how familiar the old couple insensibly grew with the elder traveller, and how their good and simple spirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the illimitable ocean. And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick, laughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but peeped into their minds, before they sus- pected it themselves. They sometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so quick-witted, and also that he would fling away his staff, which looked so mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing about it. But then, again. Quick- silver showed himself so very good-humored, that they would have been rejoiced to keep him in their
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cottage, staff, snakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.
“Ah me! Well-a-day 1 ” exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little way from their door. “ If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing it is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their dogs, and never allow their children to fling another stone.”
“It is a sin and shame for them to behave so, — that it is ! ” cried good old Baucis, vehemently. “ And I mean to go this very day, and tell some of them what naughty people they are ! ”
“ I fear,” remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, “ that you will find none of them at home.”
The elder traveller’s brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and awful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon dared to speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, as if they had been gazing at the sky.
“When men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a brother,” said the traveller, in tones so deep that they sounded like those of an organ, “ they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was created as the abode of a great human brother- hood!”
“And, by the by, my dear old people,” cried Quicksilver, with the liveliest look of fun and mis-
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chief in his eyes, “where is this same village that you talk about ? On which side of us does it lie ? Methinks I do not see it hereabouts.”
V.
Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset, only the day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the clumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing in it, and all the tokens of business, enjoy- ment, and prosperity. But what was their astonish- ment ! There was no longer any appearance of a village ! Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had ceased to have existence. In its stead, they beheld the broad, blue surface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the valley from brim to brim, and reflected the surrounding hills in its bosom with as tranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the creation of the world. For an instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth. Then, a little breeze sprang up, and caused the water to dance, glitter, and sparkle in the early sunbeams, and to dash, with a pleasant rippling murmur, against the hither shore.
The lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were greatly perplexed, and felt as if
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117
they could only have been dreaming about a village having lain there. But, the next moment, they remembered the vanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far too distinctly for a dream. The village had been there yesterday, and now was gone !
Alas ! ” cried these kind-hearted old people, ^‘what has become of our poor neighbors?”
They exist no longer as men and women,” said the elder traveller, in his grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a dis- tance. There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs ; for they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the exercise of kindly affections between man and man. They retained no image of the better life in their bosoms ; therefore, the lake, that was of old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the sky ! ”
And as for those foolish people,” said Quicksil- ver, with his mischievous smile, “ they are all trans- formed to Ashes, There needed but little change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the coldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind Mother Baucis, whenever you or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can throw in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbors ! ”
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“ Ah,” cried Baucis, shuddering, “ I would not, for the world, put one of them on the gridiron ! ”
“ No,” added Philemon, making a wry face, we could never relish them ! ”
As for you, good Philemon,” continued the elder traveller, — ‘^and you, kind Baucis, — you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt hos- pitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger, that the milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and the honey were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, at your board, off the same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus. You have done well, my dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever favor you have most at heart, and it is granted.”
Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then, — I know not which of the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both their hearts.
“Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same instant, when we die ! For we have always loved one another ! ”
“ Be it so ! ” replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. “ Now, look towards your cottage ! ”
They did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of white marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their humble residence had so lately stood !
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119
There is your home,” said the stranger, benefi- cently smiling on them both. “ Exercise your hos- pitality in yonder palace as freely as in the poor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening.”
The old folks fell on their knees to thank him ; but, behold ! neither he nor Quicksilver was there.
So Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and spent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making everybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way. The milk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvellous quality of being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an hon- est, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this pitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid that ever ran down his throat. But, if a cross and disagree- able curmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage into a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk !
Thus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew older and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there came a summer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their appearance, as on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their pleasant faces, to invite the guests of over-night to breakfast.
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The guests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace, and all to no purpose. But, after a great deal of perplexity, they espied, in front of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could remember to have seen there the day before. Yet there they stood, with their roots fastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage over- shadowing the whole front of the edifice. One was an oak, and the other a linden-tree. Their boughs — it was strange and beautiful to see — were inter- twined together, and embraced one another, so that each tree seemed to live in the other tree’s bosom much more than in its own.
While the guests were marvelling how these trees, that must have required at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and venerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and .set their intermingled boughs astir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in the air, as if the two myste- rious trees were speaking.
I am old Philemon ! ” murmured the oak.
“ I am old Baucis ! ” murmured the linden-tree.
But, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at once, — Philemon ! Baucis ! Baucis ! Phile- mon ! ” — as if one were both and both were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart. It was plain enough to perceive that the
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good old couple had renewed their age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so, Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden- tree. And oh, what a hospitable shade did they fling around them ! Whenever a wayfarer paused beneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head, and wondered how the sound should so much resemble words like these : —
“ Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome ! ” And some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old Philemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where, for a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty used to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out of the miraculous pitcher.
And I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now !
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NEW ORLEANS: BOSTON:
7 1 4-7 1 6 Canal Street. 352 Washington Sticeet.
SUPPLEMENTARY READING
Standard Literature Series
Works of standard authors — selections or abridgments — for use in schools, with introductory and explanatory notes. Single numbers, in stiff paper sides, 64 to 128 pages, 1234 cents; double numbers, 100 to 224 pages, 20 cents. In cloth, 20 cents and 30 cents.
No. 1 (Single). THE SPY, - - - - By J. Fenimore Cooper.
“ 2 (Double). THE PILOT, - - - By J. Fenimore Cooper.
“ 3 (Single). ROB ROY, - - - - By Sir Walter Scott.
“ 4(Single). THE ALHAMBRA, - By Washington Irving.
“ 5(Single). CHRISTMAS STORIES, By Charles Dickens.
“ 6 (Single). ENOCH ARDEN and Other Poems,
By Alfred Lord Tennyson.
“ 7 (Double). KENILWORTH, - - By Sir Walter Scott.
“ 8 (Double). THE DEERSLAYER, By J. Fenimore Cooper.
“ 9 (Double). LADY OF THE LAKE, By Sir Walter Scott.
“ 10 (Double). HORSE-SHOE ROBl NSON, By John P. Kennedy. “ ll(Single). THE PRISONER OF CHILLON and Other Poems
By Lord Byron.
“ 12 (Double). HAROLD, - - - By Sir E. Bulwer-Lytton.
“ 13 (Single). GULLIVER’S TRAVELS, By Jonathan Swift.
“ 14 (Single). PAUL DOMBEY, - By Charles Dickens.
“ 15 (Single). TWICE-TOLD TALES, By Nath’l Hawthorne. “ 16 (Single). A WONDER-BOOK, - By Nath’l Hawthorne. “ 17 (Single). THE SKETCH BOOK, By Washington Irving. “ 18 (Double). NINETY-THREE. By Victor Hugo.
Etc., Etc., Etc.
The Golden-Rod Books
Contain choice children’s literature, selected and adapted from a wide range of well-known writers, and graded to supplement First, Second, Third, and Fourth Readers with reading of an interesting character. Illustrated. These are the titles ;
I. RHYMES AND FABLES, - - 64 pages, 12 cents.
II. SONGS AND STORIES, - - _ 96 pages, 1 5 cents.
III. FAIRY LIFE, _ _ - _ _ 128 pages, 20 cents.
IV. BALLADS AND TALES, - - 1 60 pages, 25 cents.
On these and the Standard Literature Series special discounts to schools and dealers.
Correspondence is invited. Address
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY
43-47 E. Tenth Street, New York.
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