summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/976-h/976-h.htm
blob: ba81a38a979903d10c7abd7c693ec892b8818812 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?>

<!DOCTYPE html
   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >

<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
  <head>
    <title>
      Tanglewood Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne,
    </title>
    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">

    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
               text-align: right;}
    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}

</style>
  </head>
  <body>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tanglewood Tales, by Nathaniel Hawthorne

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Tanglewood Tales

Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne

Release Date: August 6, 2008 [EBook #976]
Last Updated: January 30, 2015

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TANGLEWOOD TALES ***




Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Widger





</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      TANGLEWOOD TALES
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      by Nathaniel Hawthorne
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      Contents
    </h2>
    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE WAYSIDE. INTRODUCTORY. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE MINOTAUR. </a>
          </p>
<p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_pyg"> THE PYGMIES. </a>
          </p>
<p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_dragon"> THE DRAGON'S TEETH. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> CIRCE'S PALACE. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE GOLDEN FLEECE. </a>
          </p>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      THE WAYSIDE. INTRODUCTORY.
    </h2>
    <p>
      A short time ago, I was favored with a flying visit from my young friend
      Eustace Bright, whom I had not before met with since quitting the breezy
      mountains of Berkshire. It being the winter vacation at his college,
      Eustace was allowing himself a little relaxation, in the hope, he told me,
      of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made upon
      his health; and I was happy to conclude, from the excellent physical
      condition in which I saw him, that the remedy had already been attended
      with very desirable success. He had now run up from Boston by the noon
      train, partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he is pleased to
      honor me, and partly, as I soon found, on a matter of literary business.
    </p>
    <p>
      It delighted me to receive Mr. Bright, for the first time, under a roof,
      though a very humble one, which I could really call my own. Nor did I fail
      (as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world) to parade the
      poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly rejoicing,
      nevertheless, that the disarray of the inclement season, and particularly
      the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him from observing
      the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the place had lapsed.
      It was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest from Monument
      Mountain, Bald Summit, and old Graylock, shaggy with primeval forests,
      could see anything to admire in my poor little hillside, with its growth
      of frail and insect-eaten locust trees. Eustace very frankly called the
      view from my hill top tame; and so, no doubt, it was, after rough, broken,
      rugged, headlong Berkshire, and especially the northern parts of the
      county, with which his college residence had made him familiar. But to me
      there is a peculiar, quiet charm in these broad meadows and gentle
      eminences. They are better than mountains, because they do not stamp and
      stereotype themselves into the brain, and thus grow wearisome with the
      same strong impression, repeated day after day. A few summer weeks among
      mountains, a lifetime among green meadows and placid slopes, with outlines
      forever new, because continually fading out of the memory&mdash;such would
      be my sober choice.
    </p>
    <p>
      I doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a
      bore, until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic summer
      house, midway on the hillside. It is a mere skeleton of slender, decaying
      tree trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a tracery of
      branches and twigs, which the next wintry blast will be very likely to
      scatter in fragments along the terrace. It looks, and is, as evanescent as
      a dream; and yet, in its rustic network of boughs, it has somehow enclosed
      a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true emblem of the subtile
      and ethereal mind that planned it. I made Eustace Bright sit down on a
      snow bank, which had heaped itself over the mossy seat, and gazing through
      the arched windows opposite, he acknowledged that the scene at once grew
      picturesque.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simple as it looks," said he, "this little edifice seems to be the work
      of magic. It is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a
      cathedral. Ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer
      afternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from the
      classic myths!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would, indeed," answered I. "The summer house itself, so airy and so
      broken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and these
      living branches of the Baldwin apple tree, thrusting so rudely in, are
      like your unwarrantable interpolations. But, by the by, have you added any
      more legends to the series, since the publication of the 'Wonder-Book'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Many more," said Eustace; "Primrose, Periwinkle, and the rest of them,
      allow me no comfort of my life unless I tell them a story every day or
      two. I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of these
      little wretches! But I have written out six of the new stories, and have
      brought them for you to look over."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are they as good as the first?" I inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Better chosen, and better handled," replied Eustace Bright. "You will say
      so when you read them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Possibly not," I remarked. "I know from my own experience, that an
      author's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it
      quite loses the red heat of composition. After that, it falls into its
      true place, quietly enough. But let us adjourn to my study, and examine
      these new stories. It would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you to
      bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow bank!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So we descended the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves up
      in the south-eastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and
      brightly, through the better half of a winter's day. Eustace put his
      bundle of manuscript into my hands; and I skimmed through it pretty
      rapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my
      fingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      It will be remembered that Mr. Bright condescended to avail himself of my
      literary experience by constituting me editor of the "Wonder-Book." As he
      had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by the
      public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position with
      respect to the present volume, which he entitled TANGLEWOOD TALES. Not, as
      Eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my services as
      introducer, inasmuch as his own name had become established in some good
      degree of favor with the literary world. But the connection with myself,
      he was kind enough to say, had been highly agreeable; nor was he by any
      means desirous, as most people are, of kicking away the ladder that had
      perhaps helped him to reach his present elevation. My young friend was
      willing, in short, that the fresh verdure of his growing reputation should
      spread over my straggling and half-naked boughs; even as I have sometimes
      thought of training a vine, with its broad leafiness, and purple fruitage,
      over the worm-eaten posts and rafters of the rustic summer house. I was
      not insensible to the advantages of his proposal, and gladly assured him
      of my acceptance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Merely from the title of the stories I saw at once that the subjects were
      not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did I at all doubt that
      Mr. Bright's audacity (so far as that endowment might avail) had enabled
      him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they offered. Yet, in
      spite of my experience of his free way of handling them, I did not quite
      see, I confess, how he could have obviated all the difficulties in the way
      of rendering them presentable to children. These old legends, so brimming
      over with everything that is most abhorrent to our Christianized moral
      sense some of them so hideous, others so melancholy and miserable, amid
      which the Greek tragedians sought their themes, and moulded them into the
      sternest forms of grief that ever the world saw; was such material the
      stuff that children's playthings should be made of! How were they to be
      purified? How was the blessed sunshine to be thrown into them?
    </p>
    <p>
      But Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in the
      world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began to relate
      one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the childish purity
      of his auditors. The objectionable characteristics seem to be a
      parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the original
      fable. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant he puts his
      imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle, whose wide-open
      eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories (not by any strained
      effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their inherent germ)
      transform themselves, and re-assume the shapes which they might be
      supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world. When the first
      poet or romancer told these marvellous legends (such is Eustace Bright's
      opinion), it was still the Golden Age. Evil had never yet existed; and
      sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which the mind fancifully
      created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny realities; or, at most,
      but prophetic dreams to which the dreamer himself did not yield a waking
      credence. Children are now the only representatives of the men and women
      of that happy era; and therefore it is that we must raise the intellect
      and fancy to the level of childhood, in order to re-create the original
      myths.
    </p>
    <p>
      I let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly as he pleased,
      and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in himself
      and his performances. A few years will do all that is necessary towards
      showing him the truth in both respects. Meanwhile, it is but right to say,
      he does really appear to have overcome the moral objections against these
      fables, although at the expense of such liberties with their structure as
      must be left to plead their own excuse, without any help from me. Indeed,
      except that there was a necessity for it&mdash;and that the inner life of
      the legends cannot be come at save by making them entirely one's own
      property&mdash;there is no defense to be made.
    </p>
    <p>
      Eustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in
      various situations&mdash;in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the
      dell of Shadow Brook, in the playroom, at Tanglewood fireside, and in a
      magnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his little
      friends to build. His auditors were even more delighted with the contents
      of the present volume than with the specimens which have already been
      given to the world. The classically learned Mr. Pringle, too, had listened
      to two or three of the tales, and censured them even more bitterly than he
      did THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES; so that, what with praise, and what with
      criticism, Eustace Bright thinks that there is good hope of at least as
      much success with the public as in the case of the "WonderBook."
    </p>
    <p>
      I made all sorts of inquiries about the children, not doubting that there
      would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare, among some good little
      folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths. They are
      all, I am happy to say (unless we except Clover), in excellent health and
      spirits. Primrose is now almost a young lady, and, Eustace tells me, is
      just as saucy as ever. She pretends to consider herself quite beyond the
      age to be interested by such idle stories as these; but, for all that,
      whenever a story is to be told, Primrose never fails to be one of the
      listeners, and to make fun of it when finished. Periwinkle is very much
      grown, and is expected to shut up her baby house and throw away her doll
      in a month or two more. Sweet Fern has learned to read and write, and has
      put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons&mdash;all of which improvements I
      am sorry for. Squash Blossom, Blue Eye, Plantain, and Buttercup have had
      the scarlet fever, but came easily through it. Huckleberry, Milkweed, and
      Dandelion were attacked with the whooping cough, but bore it bravely, and
      kept out of doors whenever the sun shone. Cowslip, during the autumn, had
      either the measles, or some eruption that looked very much like it, but
      was hardly sick a day. Poor Clover has been a good deal troubled with her
      second teeth, which have made her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in
      temper; nor, even when she smiles, is the matter much mended, since it
      discloses a gap just within her lips, almost as wide as the barn door. But
      all this will pass over, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very
      pretty girl.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Mr. Bright himself, he is now in his senior year at Williams
      College, and has a prospect of graduating with some degree of honorable
      distinction at the next Commencement. In his oration for the bachelor's
      degree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths,
      viewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss the
      expediency of using up the whole of ancient history, for the same purpose.
      I do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving college, but
      trust that, by dabbling so early with the dangerous and seductive business
      of authorship, he will not be tempted to become an author by profession.
      If so I shall be very sorry for the little that I have had to do with the
      matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing Primrose, Periwinkle,
      Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Clover Plantain, Huckleberry, Milkweed, Cowslip,
      Buttercup, Blue Eye, and Squash Blossom again. But as I do not know when I
      shall re-visit Tanglewood, and as Eustace Bright probably will not ask me
      to edit a third "WonderBook," the public of little folks must not expect
      to hear any more about those dear children from me. Heaven bless them, and
      everybody else, whether grown people or children!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE MINOTAUR.
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the old city of Troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there lived,
      a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His grandfather, King
      Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was reckoned a very wise
      man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the royal palace, and being
      naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting by the old king's
      instructions. His mother's name was Aethra. As for his father, the boy had
      never seen him. But, from his earliest remembrance, Aethra used to go with
      little Theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a moss-grown rock, which was
      deeply sunken into the earth. Here she often talked with her son about his
      father, and said that he was called Aegeus, and that he was a great king,
      and ruled over Attica, and dwelt at Athens, which was as famous a city as
      any in the world. Theseus was very fond of hearing about King Aegeus, and
      often asked his good mother Aethra why he did not come and live with them
      at Troezene.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my dear son," answered Aethra, with a sigh, "a monarch has his people
      to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in the place of
      children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own children as
      other parents do. Your father will never be able to leave his kingdom for
      the sake of seeing his little boy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but, dear mother," asked the boy, "why cannot I go to this famous
      city of Athens, and tell King Aegeus that I am his son?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That may happen by and by," said Aethra. "Be patient, and we shall see.
      You are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how soon shall I be strong enough?" Theseus persisted in inquiring.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are but a tiny boy as yet," replied his mother. "See if you can lift
      this rock on which we are sitting?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping
      the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got
      himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone.
      It seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it;
      for it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it out
      of its earthy bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and in
      her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy. She
      could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient to
      begin his adventures in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see how it is, my dear Theseus," said she. "You must possess far more
      strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell King
      Aegeus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock, and show me
      what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to depart."
    </p>
    <p>
      Often and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was yet
      time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the rock,
      and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong enough to
      move it. And again and again the rosy-checked and curly-headed boy would
      tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as he was, to do
      what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of his great hands
      to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking farther and farther
      into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and thicker, until at last
      it looked almost like a soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of
      granite peeping out. The overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves
      upon it, as often as the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild
      flowers, some of which crept quite over its surface. To all appearance,
      the rock was as firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth's
      substance.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be such
      a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly come
      when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of stone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother, I do believe it has started!" cried he, after one of his
      attempts. "The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, child!" his mother hastily answered. "It is not possible you can
      have moved it, such a boy as you still are!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place where he
      fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by the movement
      of the rock. But Aethra sighed, and looked disquieted; for, no doubt, she
      began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and that, in a
      little while hence, she must send him forth among the perils and troubles
      of the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on the
      moss-covered stone. Aethra had once more told him the oft-repeated story
      of his father, and how gladly he would receive Theseus at his stately
      palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the people, and
      tell them that here was the heir of his dominions. The eyes of Theseus
      glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear his mother
      speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear mother Aethra," he exclaimed, "I never felt half so strong as now! I
      am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel myself a man! It
      is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my dearest Theseus," replied his mother "not yet! not yet!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, mother," said he, resolutely, "the time has come!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained every
      sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole brave heart
      into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish stone, as if it had
      been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he resolved now to succeed, or
      else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument forever! Aethra
      stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with a mother's pride,
      and partly with a mother's sorrow. The great rock stirred! Yes, it was
      raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth, uprooting the shrubs and
      flowers along with it, and was turned upon its side. Theseus had
      conquered!
    </p>
    <p>
      While taking breath, he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled upon
      him through her tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Theseus," she said, "the time has come, and you must stay no longer
      at my side! See what King Aegeus, your royal father, left for you beneath
      the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms, and laid it on the spot
      whence you have now removed it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Theseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab of
      stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a
      roughly-made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the
      lid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of
      sandals.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was your father's sword," said Aethra, "and those were his sandals.
      When he went to be king of Athens, he bade me treat you as a child until
      you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone. That task
      being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in order to follow in
      your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you may fight
      giants and dragons, as King Aegeus did in his youth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will set out for Athens this very day!" cried Theseus.
    </p>
    <p>
      But his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got
      ready some necessary articles for his journey. When his grandfather, the
      wise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to present himself at his
      father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a vessel, and
      go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles of Athens,
      without either fatigue or danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The roads are very bad by land," quoth the venerable king; "and they are
      terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad, like Theseus, is
      not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey, all by himself. No, no;
      let him go by sea."
    </p>
    <p>
      But when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears,
      and was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to
      be met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell to
      his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness; and, after
      affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth with a good many of her
      tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told, that
      had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun and wind dry them, and
      walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword, and taking
      very manly strides in his father's sandals.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell Theseus
      on the road to Athens. It is enough to say, that he quite cleared that
      part of the country of the robbers about whom King Pittheus had been so
      much alarmed. One of these bad people was named Procrustes; and he was
      indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of making fun of the poor
      travelers who happened to fall into his clutches. In his cavern he had a
      bed, on which, with great pretense of hospitality, he invited his guests
      to lie down; but, if they happened to be shorter than the bed, this wicked
      villain stretched them out by main force; or, if they were too tall, he
      lopped off their heads or feet, and laughed at what he had done, as an
      excellent joke. Thus, however weary a man might be, he never liked to lie
      in the bed of Procrustes. Another of these robbers, named Scinis, must
      likewise have been a very great scoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging
      his victims off a high cliff into the sea; and, in order to give him
      exactly his deserts, Theseus tossed him off the very same place. But if
      you will believe me, the sea would not pollute itself by receiving such a
      bad person into its bosom; neither would the earth, having once got rid of
      him, consent to take him back; so that, between the cliff and the sea,
      Scinis stuck fast in the air, which was forced to bear the burden of his
      naughtiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      After these memorable deeds, Theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran
      wild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did
      not consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he
      killed this monstrous creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people
      for bacon. The great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping about the
      woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into
      joints, and smoking on I know not how many dinner tables.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus, by the time he reached his journey's end, Theseus had done many
      valiant feats with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained the
      renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame traveled
      faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he entered the city,
      he heard the inhabitants talking at the street corners, and saying that
      Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and Castor and Pollux likewise, but
      that Theseus, the son of their own king, would turn out as great a hero as
      the best of them. Theseus took longer strides on hearing this, and fancied
      himself sure of a magnificent reception at his father's court, since he
      came thither with Fame to blow her trumpet before him, and cry to King
      Aegeus, "Behold your son!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this very
      Athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited him than any
      which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the truth. You must
      understand that the father of Theseus, though not very old in years, was
      almost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus grown aged
      before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to live a very great
      while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into their own hands.
      But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in Athens, and learned what a
      gallant young man he was, they saw that he would not be at all the kind of
      a person to let them steal away his father's crown and scepter, which
      ought to be his own by right of inheritance. Thus these bad-hearted
      nephews of King Aegeus, who were the own cousins of Theseus, at once
      became his enemies. A still more dangerous enemy was Medea, the wicked
      enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and wanted to give the
      kingdom to her son Medus, instead of letting it be given to the son of
      Aethra, whom she hated.
    </p>
    <p>
      It so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who he
      was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all their
      evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's best
      friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance. They proposed
      to him that he should come into the king's presence as a stranger, in
      order to try whether Aegeus would discover in the young man's features any
      likeness either to himself or his mother Aethra, and thus recognize him
      for a son. Theseus consented; for he fancied that his father would know
      him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart. But, while he waited
      at the door, the nephews ran and told King Aegeus that a young man had
      arrived in Athens, who, to their certain knowledge, intended to put him to
      death, and get possession of his royal crown.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And he is now waiting for admission to your majesty's presence," added
      they.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!" cried the old king, on hearing this. "Why, he must be a very wicked
      young fellow indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      In reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. As I have
      already told you, she was a famous enchantress. According to some stories,
      she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron, under
      pretense of making them young again; but King Aegeus, I suppose, did not
      fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps was contented
      to be old, and therefore would never let himself be popped into the
      caldron. If there were time to spare from more important matters, I should
      be glad to tell you of Medea's fiery chariot, drawn by winged dragons, in
      which the enchantress used often to take an airing among the clouds. This
      chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first brought her to Athens, where
      she had done nothing but mischief ever since her arrival. But these and
      many other wonders must be left untold; and it is enough to say, that
      Medea, amongst a thousand other bad things, knew how to prepare a poison,
      that was instantly fatal to whomsoever might so much as touch it with his
      lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty woman
      had an answer ready at her tongue's end.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leave that to me, please your majesty," she replied. "Only admit this
      evil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite him
      to drink a goblet of wine. Your majesty is well aware that I sometimes
      amuse myself by distilling very powerful medicines. Here is one of them in
      this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is one of my secrets of
      state. Do but let me put a single drop into the goblet, and let the young
      man taste it; and I will answer for it, he shall quite lay aside the bad
      designs with which he comes hither."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she meant
      nothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus, before his father's
      eyes. And King Aegeus, like most other kings, thought any punishment mild
      enough for a person who was accused of plotting against his life. He
      therefore made little or no objection to Medea's scheme, and as soon as
      the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that the young stranger should
      be admitted into his presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      The goblet was set on a table beside the king's throne; and a fly, meaning
      just to sip a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead.
      Observing this, Medea looked round at the nephews, and smiled again.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object that he
      seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat on his
      magnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a scepter in his
      hand. His aspect was stately and majestic, although his years and
      infirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump of lead,
      and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up together,
      and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears both of joy and sorrow sprang
      into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it was to see his dear
      father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to support him with his own
      youthful strength, and to cheer him up with the alacrity of his loving
      spirit. When a son takes a father into his warm heart it renews the old
      man's youth in a better way than by the heat of Medea's magic caldron. And
      this was what Theseus resolved to do. He could scarcely wait to see
      whether King Aegeus would recognize him, so eager was he to throw himself
      into his arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Advancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little speech,
      which he had been thinking about, as he came up the stairs. But he was
      almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out of his heart
      and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find utterance together.
      And therefore, unless he could have laid his full, over-brimming heart
      into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what to do or say. The cunning
      Medea observed what was passing in the young man's mind. She was more
      wicked at that moment than ever she had been before; for (and it makes me
      tremble to tell you of it) she did her worst to turn all this unspeakable
      love with which Theseus was agitated to his own ruin and destruction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does your majesty see his confusion?" she whispered in the king's ear.
      "He is so conscious of guilt, that he trembles and cannot speak. The
      wretch lives too long! Quick! offer him the wine!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Now King Aegeus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger, as he
      drew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either in his
      white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his beautiful
      and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he had seen this
      youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his knee when a baby,
      and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man, while he himself grew
      old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and would not suffer him to
      yield to these natural sensibilities; although they were the voice of his
      deepest heart, telling him as plainly as it could speak, that here was our
      dear son, and Aethra's son, coming to claim him for a father. The
      enchantress again whispered in the king's ear, and compelled him, by her
      witchcraft, to see everything under a false aspect.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made up his mind, therefore, to let Theseus drink off the poisoned
      wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Young man," said he, "you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality to
      so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this goblet.
      It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as I bestow
      only on those who are worthy of it! None is more worthy to quaff it than
      yourself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, King Aegeus took the golden goblet from the table, and was
      about to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities, and
      partly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's
      life, however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his heart
      was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of what he
      was going to do&mdash;for all these reasons, the king's hand trembled so
      much that a great deal of the wine slopped over. In order to strengthen
      his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the precious poison should be
      wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to him:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? This is the very
      sword with which he meant to slay you. How sharp, and bright, and terrible
      it is! Quick!&mdash;let him taste the wine; or perhaps he may do the deed
      even yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words, Aegeus drove every thought and feeling out of his breast,
      except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be put to
      death. He sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of wine with a
      steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly severity; for, after
      all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a treacherous enemy with a
      deceitful smile upon his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Drink!" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn a
      criminal to be beheaded. "You have well deserved of me such wine as this!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Theseus held out his hand to take the wine. But, before he touched it,
      King Aegeus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted sword
      that hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That sword!" he exclaimed: "how came you by it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was my father's sword," replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice.
      "These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is Aethra) told me his
      story while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since I grew
      strong enough to lift the heavy stone, and take the sword and sandals from
      beneath it, and come to Athens to seek my father."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My son! my son!" cried King Aegeus, flinging away the fatal goblet, and
      tottering down from the throne to fall into the arms of Theseus. "Yes,
      these are Aethra's eyes. It is my son."
    </p>
    <p>
      I have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the
      wicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs, she hurried out of the room,
      and going to her private chamber, lost no time to setting her enchantments
      to work. In a few moments, she heard a great noise of hissing snakes
      outside of the chamber window; and behold! there was her fiery chariot,
      and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and twisting in the air,
      flourishing their tails higher than the top of the palace, and all ready
      to set off on an aerial journey. Medea staid only long enough to take her
      son with her, and to steal the crown jewels, together with the king's best
      robes, and whatever other valuable things she could lay hands on; and
      getting into the chariot, she whipped up the snakes, and ascended high
      over the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he could
      to the window, and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never to come
      back. The whole people of Athens, too, who had run out of doors to see
      this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect of getting
      rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered precisely such a
      hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more venomous and spiteful;
      and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the chariot, she shook her hands
      over the multitude below, as if she were scattering a million of curses
      among them. In so doing, however, she unintentionally let fall about five
      hundred diamonds of the first water, together with a thousand great
      pearls, and two thousand emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes,
      to which she had helped herself out of the king's strong box. All these
      came pelting down, like a shower of many-colored hailstones, upon the
      heads of grown people and children, who forthwith gathered them up, and
      carried them back to the palace. But King Aegeus told them that they were
      welcome to the whole, and to twice as many more, if he had them, for the
      sake of his delight at finding his son, and losing the wicked Medea. And,
      indeed, if you had seen how hateful was her last look, as the flaming
      chariot flew upward, you would not have wondered that both king and people
      should think her departure a good riddance.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father. The
      old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his throne (which
      was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell about his dear
      mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts to lift the
      ponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and active a young
      man to be willing to spend all his time in relating things which had
      already happened. His ambition was to perform other and more heroic deeds,
      which should be better worth telling in prose and verse. Nor had he been
      long in Athens before he caught and chained a terrible mad bull, and made
      a public show of him, greatly to the wonder and admiration of good King
      Aegeus and his subjects. But pretty soon, he undertook an affair that made
      all his foregone adventures seem like mere boy's play. The occasion of it
      was as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      One morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have had a
      very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind, even now
      that his eyes were opened. For it appeared as if the air was full of a
      melancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he could hear
      sobs, and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep, quiet sighs,
      which came from the king's palace, and from the streets, and from the
      temples, and from every habitation in the city. And all these mournful
      noises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts, united themselves
      into one great sound of affliction, which had startled Theseus from
      slumber. He put on his clothes as quickly as he could (not forgetting his
      sandals and gold-hilted sword), and, hastening to the king, inquired what
      it all meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! my son," quoth King Aegeus, heaving a long sigh, "here is a very
      lamentable matter in hand! This is the wofulest anniversary in the whole
      year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of the youths
      and maids of Athens shall go to be devoured by the horrible Minotaur!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Minotaur!" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and like a brave young prince as
      he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. "What kind of a monster
      may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to slay him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But King Aegeus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that it
      was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole affair.
      It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain dreadful
      monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a man and partly
      like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of a creature that it
      is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were suffered to exist at
      all, it should have been on some desert island, or in the duskiness of
      some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be tormented by his abominable
      aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over Crete, laid out a vast deal of
      money in building a habitation for the Minotaur, and took great care of
      his health and comfort, merely for mischief's sake. A few years before
      this time, there had been a war between the city of Athens and the island
      of Crete, in which the Athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for
      peace. No peace could they obtain, however, except on condition that they
      should send seven young men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured
      by the pet monster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past, this
      grievous calamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks,
      with which the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe,
      because the fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be
      chosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters
      might be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they themselves
      might be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that detestable man-brute.
    </p>
    <p>
      But when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that he
      seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face it was indignant,
      despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one look.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let the people of Athens this year draw lots for only six young men,
      instead of seven," said he, "I will myself be the seventh; and let the
      Minotaur devour me if he can!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O my dear son," cried King Aegeus, "why should you expose yourself to
      this horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to hold
      yourself above the destinies of common men."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your
      kingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects,"
      answered Theseus, "And you, my father, being king over these people, and
      answerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what is
      dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest
      citizen should come to any harm."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old king shed tears, and besought Theseus not to leave him desolate in
      his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to know the
      happiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus, however, felt
      that he was in the right, and therefore would not give up his resolution.
      But he assured his father that he did not intend to be eaten up,
      unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur devoured him, it
      should not be without a battle for his dinner. And finally, since he could
      not help it, King Aegeus consented to let him go. So a vessel was got
      ready, and rigged with black sails; and Theseus, with six other young men,
      and seven tender and beautiful damsels, came down to the harbor to embark.
      A sorrowful multitude accompanied them to the shore. There was the poor
      old king, too, leaning on his son's arm, and looking as if his single
      heart held all the grief of Athens.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as Prince Theseus was going on board, his father bethought himself of
      one last word to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My beloved son," said he, grasping the Prince's hand, "you observe that
      the sails of this vessel are black; as indeed they ought to be, since it
      goes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair. Now, being weighed down with
      infirmities, I know not whether I can survive till the vessel shall
      return. But, as long as I do live, I shall creep daily to the top of
      yonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea. And, dearest
      Theseus, if by some happy chance, you should escape the jaws of the
      Minotaur, then tear down those dismal sails, and hoist others that shall
      be bright as the sunshine. Beholding them on the horizon, myself and all
      the people will know that you are coming back victorious, and will welcome
      you with such a festal uproar as Athens never heard before."
    </p>
    <p>
      Theseus promised that he would do so. Then going on board, the mariners
      trimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew faintly off the
      shore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that everybody kept pouring
      forth on this melancholy occasion. But by and by, when they had got fairly
      out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from the north-west, and drove them
      along as merrily over the white-capped waves as if they had been going on
      the most delightful errand imaginable. And though it was a sad business
      enough, I rather question whether fourteen young people, without any old
      persons to keep them in order, could continue to spend the whole time of
      the voyage in being miserable. There had been some few dances upon the
      undulating deck, I suspect, and some hearty bursts of laughter, and other
      such unseasonable merriment among the victims, before the high blue
      mountains of Crete began to show themselves among the far-off clouds. That
      sight, to be sure, made them all very grave again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theseus stood among the sailors, gazing eagerly towards the land;
      although, as yet, it seemed hardly more substantial than the clouds,
      amidst which the mountains were looming up. Once or twice, he fancied that
      he saw a glare of some bright object, a long way off, flinging a gleam
      across the waves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you see that flash of light?" he inquired of the master of the
      vessel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, prince; but I have seen it before," answered the master. "It came
      from Talus, I suppose."
    </p>
    <p>
      As the breeze came fresher just then, the master was busy with trimming
      his sails, and had no more time to answer questions. But while the vessel
      flew faster and faster towards Crete, Theseus was astonished to behold a
      human figure, gigantic in size, which appeared to be striding, with a
      measured movement, along the margin of the island. It stepped from cliff
      to cliff, and sometimes from one headland to another, while the sea foamed
      and thundered on the shore beneath, and dashed its jets of spray over the
      giant's feet. What was still more remarkable, whenever the sun shone on
      this huge figure, it flickered and glimmered; its vast countenance, too,
      had a metallic lustre, and threw great flashes of splendor through the
      air. The folds of its garments, moreover, instead of waving in the wind,
      fell heavily over its limbs, as if woven of some kind of metal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The nigher the vessel came, the more Theseus wondered what this immense
      giant could be, and whether it actually had life or no. For, though it
      walked, and made other lifelike motions, there yet was a kind of jerk in
      its gait, which, together with its brazen aspect, caused the young prince
      to suspect that it was no true giant, but only a wonderful piece of
      machinery. The figure looked all the more terrible because it carried an
      enormous brass club on its shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is this wonder?" Theseus asked of the master of the vessel, who was
      now at leisure to answer him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is Talus, the Man of Brass," said the master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is he a live giant, or a brazen image?" asked Theseus.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, truly," replied the master, "is the point which has always
      perplexed me. Some say, indeed, that this Talus was hammered out for King
      Minos by Vulcan himself, the skilfullest of all workers in metal. But who
      ever saw a brazen image that had sense enough to walk round an island
      three times a day, as this giant walks round the island of Crete,
      challenging every vessel that comes nigh the shore? And, on the other
      hand, what living thing, unless his sinews were made of brass, would not
      be weary of marching eighteen hundred miles in the twenty-four hours, as
      Talus does, without ever sitting down to rest? He is a puzzler, take him
      how you will."
    </p>
    <p>
      Still the vessel went bounding onward; and now Theseus could hear the
      brazen clangor of the giant's footsteps, as he trod heavily upon the
      sea-beaten rocks, some of which were seen to crack and crumble into the
      foaming waves beneath his weight. As they approached the entrance of the
      port, the giant straddled clear across it, with a foot firmly planted on
      each headland, and uplifting his club to such a height that its butt-end
      was hidden in the cloud, he stood in that formidable posture, with the sun
      gleaming all over his metallic surface. There seemed nothing else to be
      expected but that, the next moment, he would fetch his great club down,
      slam bang, and smash the vessel into a thousand pieces, without heeding
      how many innocent people he might destroy; for there is seldom any mercy
      in a giant, you know, and quite as little in a piece of brass clockwork.
      But just when Theseus and his companions thought the blow was coming, the
      brazen lips unclosed themselves, and the figure spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whence come you, strangers?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And when the ringing voice ceased, there was just such a reverberation as
      you may have heard within a great church bell, for a moment or two after
      the stroke of the hammer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From Athens!" shouted the master in reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On what errand?" thundered the Man of Brass.
    </p>
    <p>
      And he whirled his club aloft more threateningly than ever, as if he were
      about to smite them with a thunderstroke right amidships, because Athens,
      so little while ago, had been at war with Crete.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We bring the seven youths and the seven maidens," answered the master,
      "to be devoured by the Minotaur!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pass!" cried the brazen giant.
    </p>
    <p>
      That one loud word rolled all about the sky, while again there was a
      booming reverberation within the figure's breast. The vessel glided
      between the headlands of the port, and the giant resumed his march. In a
      few moments, this wondrous sentinel was far away, flashing in the distant
      sunshine, and revolving with immense strides round the island of Crete, as
      it was his never-ceasing task to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of King
      Minos came down to the water side, and took charge of the fourteen young
      men and damsels. Surrounded by these armed warriors, Prince Theseus and
      his companions were led to the king's palace, and ushered into his
      presence. Now, Minos was a stern and pitiless king. If the figure that
      guarded Crete was made of brass, then the monarch, who ruled over it,
      might be thought to have a still harder metal in his breast, and might
      have been called a man of iron. He bent his shaggy brows upon the poor
      Athenian victims. Any other mortal, beholding their fresh and tender
      beauty, and their innocent looks, would have felt himself sitting on
      thorns until he had made every soul of them happy by bidding them go free
      as the summer wind. But this immitigable Minos cared only to examine
      whether they were plump enough to satisfy the Minotaur's appetite. For my
      part, I wish he himself had been the only victim; and the monster would
      have found him a pretty tough one.
    </p>
    <p>
      One after another, King Minos called these pale, frightened youths and
      sobbing maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke in the ribs with
      his sceptre (to try whether they were in good flesh or no), and dismissed
      them with a nod to his guards. But when his eyes rested on Theseus, the
      king looked at him more attentively, because his face was calm and brave.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Young man," asked he, with his stern voice, "are you not appalled at the
      certainty of being devoured by this terrible Minotaur?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have offered my life in a good cause," answered Theseus, "and therefore
      I give it freely and gladly. But thou, King Minos, art thou not thyself
      appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this dreadful wrong, by
      giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to be devoured by a
      monster? Dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn yhine eyes inward on
      thine own heart? Sitting there on thy golden throne, and in thy robes of
      majesty, I tell thee to thy face, King Minos, thou art a more hideous
      monster than the Minotaur himself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha! do you think me so?" cried the king, laughing in his cruel way.
      "To-morrow, at breakfast time, you shall have an opportunity of judging
      which is the greater monster, the Minotaur or the king! Take them away,
      guards; and let this free-spoken youth be the Minotaur's first morsel."
    </p>
    <p>
      Near the king's throne (though I had no time to tell you so before) stood
      his daughter Ariadne. She was a beautiful and tender-hearted maiden, and
      looked at these poor doomed captives with very different feelings from
      those of the iron-breasted King Minos. She really wept indeed, at the idea
      of how much human happiness would be needlessly thrown away, by giving so
      many young people, in the first bloom and rose blossom of their lives, to
      be eaten up by a creature who, no doubt, would have preferred a fat ox, or
      even a large pig, to the plumpest of them. And when she beheld the brave,
      spirited figure of Prince Theseus bearing himself so calmly in his
      terrible peril, she grew a hundred times more pitiful than before. As the
      guards were taking him away, she flung herself at the king's feet, and
      besought him to set all the captives free, and especially this one young
      man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, foolish girl!" answered King Minos.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What hast thou to do with an affair like this? It is a matter of state
      policy, and therefore quite beyond thy weak comprehension. Go water thy
      flowers, and think no more of these Athenian caitiffs, whom the Minotaur
      shall as certainly eat up for breakfast as I will eat a partridge for my
      supper."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour Theseus and all the rest
      of the captives himself, had there been no Minotaur to save him the
      trouble. As he would hear not another word in their favor, the prisoners
      were now led away, and clapped into a dungeon, where the jailer advised
      them to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the Minotaur was in the
      habit of calling for breakfast early. The seven maidens and six of the
      young men soon sobbed themselves to slumber. But Theseus was not like
      them. He felt conscious that he was wiser, and braver, and stronger than
      his companions, and that therefore he had the responsibility of all their
      lives upon him, and must consider whether there was no way to save them,
      even in this last extremity. So he kept himself awake, and paced to and
      fro across the gloomy dungeon in which they were shut up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just before midnight, the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle Ariadne
      showed herself, with a torch in her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you awake, Prince Theseus?" she whispered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," answered Theseus. "With so little time to live, I do not choose to
      waste any of it in sleep."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then follow me," said Ariadne, "and tread softly."
    </p>
    <p>
      What had become of the jailer and the guards, Theseus never knew. But,
      however that might be, Ariadne opened all the doors, and led him forth
      from the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Theseus," said the maiden, "you can now get on board your vessel, and
      sail away for Athens."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered the young man; "I will never leave Crete unless I can first
      slay the Minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver Athens from
      this cruel tribute."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew that this would be your resolution," said Ariadne. "Come, then,
      with me, brave Theseus. Here is your own sword, which the guards deprived
      you of. You will need it; and pray Heaven you may use it well."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she led Theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark, shadowy
      grove, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the trees, without
      shedding hardly so much as a glimmering beam upon their pathway. After
      going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a high marble wall,
      which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made it shaggy with their
      verdure. The wall seemed to have no door, nor any windows, but rose up,
      lofty, and massive, and mysterious, and was neither to be clambered over,
      nor, as far as Theseus could perceive, to be passed through. Nevertheless,
      Ariadne did but press one of her soft little fingers against a particular
      block of marble and, though it looked as solid as any other part of the
      wall, it yielded to her touch, disclosing an entrance just wide enough to
      admit them They crept through, and the marble stone swung back into its
      place.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are now," said Ariadne, "in the famous labyrinth which Daedalus built
      before he made himself a pair of wings, and flew away from our island like
      a bird. That Daedalus was a very cunning workman; but of all his artful
      contrivances, this labyrinth is the most wondrous. Were we to take but a
      few steps from the doorway, we might wander about all our lifetime, and
      never find it again. Yet in the very center of this labyrinth is the
      Minotaur; and, Theseus, you must go thither to seek him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how shall I ever find him," asked Theseus, "if the labyrinth so
      bewilders me as you say it will?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as he spoke, they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which
      greatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort of
      sound like the human voice. Theseus even fancied a rude articulation in
      it, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to shape his hoarse
      breath into words. It was at some distance, however, and he really could
      not tell whether it sounded most like a bull's roar or a man's harsh
      voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is the Minotaur's noise," whispered Ariadne, closely grasping the
      hand of Theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart, which was
      all in a tremble. "You must follow that sound through the windings of the
      labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him. Stay! take the end of this
      silken string; I will hold the other end; and then, if you win the
      victory, it will lead you again to this spot. Farewell, brave Theseus."
    </p>
    <p>
      So the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand, and
      his gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the other, and
      trod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth. How this labyrinth was built
      is more than I can tell you. But so cunningly contrived a mizmaze was
      never seen in the world, before nor since. There can be nothing else so
      intricate, unless it were the brain of a man like Daedalus, who planned
      it, or the heart of any ordinary man; which last, to be sure, is ten times
      as great a mystery as the labyrinth of Crete. Theseus had not taken five
      steps before he lost sight of Ariadne; and in five more his head was
      growing dizzy. But still he went on, now creeping through a low arch, now
      ascending a flight of steps, now in one crooked passage and now in
      another, with here a door opening before him, and there one banging
      behind, until it really seemed as if the walls spun round, and whirled him
      round along with them. And all the while, through these hollow avenues,
      now nearer, now farther off again, resounded the cry of the Minotaur; and
      the sound was so fierce, so cruel, so ugly, so like a bull's roar, and
      withal so like a human voice, and yet like neither of them, that the brave
      heart of Theseus grew sterner and angrier at every step; for he felt it an
      insult to the moon and sky, and to our affectionate and simple Mother
      Earth, that such a monster should have the audacity to exist.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the labyrinth
      grew so dusky that Theseus could no longer discern the bewilderment
      through which he was passing. He would have left quite lost, and utterly
      hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path, if, every little while,
      he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch at the silken cord. Then he
      knew that the tender-hearted Ariadne was still holding the other end, and
      that she was fearing for him, and hoping for him, and giving him just as
      much of her sympathy as if she were close by his side. O, indeed, I can
      assure you, there was a vast deal of human sympathy running along that
      slender thread of silk. But still he followed the dreadful roar of the
      Minotaur, which now grew louder and louder, and finally so very loud that
      Theseus fully expected to come close upon him, at every new zizgag and
      wriggle of the path. And at last, in an open space, at the very center of
      the labyrinth, he did discern the hideous creature.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head belonged to
      a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull all over,
      preposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if you happened to view him
      in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all the more monstrous for
      being so. And there he was, the wretched thing, with no society, no
      companion, no kind of a mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable of
      knowing what affection means. Theseus hated him, and shuddered at him, and
      yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the more, the
      uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he kept striding to and
      fro, in a solitary frenzy of rage, continually emitting a hoarse roar,
      which was oddly mixed up with half-shaped words; and, after listening a
      while, Theseus understood that the Minotaur was saying to himself how
      miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody, and how he
      longed to eat up the human race alive.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ah! the bull-headed villain! And O, my good little people, you will
      perhaps see, one of these days, as I do now, that every human being who
      suffers any thing evil to get into his nature, or to remain there, is a
      kind of Minotaur, an enemy of his fellow-creatures, and separated from all
      good companionship, as this poor monster was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero like
      Theseus afraid! Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull-heads instead of one.
      Bold as he was, however, I rather fancy that it strengthened his valiant
      heart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the silken cord,
      which he was still holding in his left hand. It was as if Ariadne were
      giving him all her might and courage; and much as he already had, and
      little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice as much. And to
      confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now the Minotaur,
      turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and instantly lowered his
      horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does when he means to rush
      against an enemy. At the same time, he belched forth a tremendous roar, in
      which there was something like the words of human language, but all
      disjointed and shaken to pieces by passing through the gullet of a
      miserably enraged brute.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that
      rather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's horns were
      sharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than his
      tongue. But probably this was the sense of what he uttered:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and toss
      you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come on, then, and try it!" was all that Theseus deigned to reply; for he
      was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent language.
    </p>
    <p>
      Without more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight
      between Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or
      moon. I really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster, in
      his first headlong rush against Theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's
      breadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the stone wall. On
      this mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of the labyrinth
      tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook the noise for an
      uncommonly heavy thunder storm. Smarting with the pain, he galloped around
      the open space in so ridiculous a way that Theseus laughed at it, long
      afterwards, though not precisely at the moment. After this, the two
      antagonists stood valiantly up to one another, and fought, sword to horn,
      for a long while. At last, the Minotaur made a run at Theseus, grazed his
      left side with his horn, and flung him down; and thinking that he had
      stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in the air, opened his bull
      mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap his head off. But Theseus by
      this time had leaped up, and caught the monster off his guard. Fetching a
      sword stroke at him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck, and
      made his bull head skip six yards from his human body, which fell down
      flat upon the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      So now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as brightly as
      if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness and the ugliness
      that infest human life, were past and gone forever. And Theseus, as he
      leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch of the silken
      cord; for all through the terrible encounter, he had held it fast in his
      left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success, he followed the
      guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the entrance of the
      labyrinth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou hast slain the monster," cried Ariadne, clasping her hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne," answered Theseus, "I return victorious."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said Ariadne, "we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them
      and thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds thee here,
      my father will avenge the Minotaur."
    </p>
    <p>
      To make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and, hardly
      knowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what Theseus had
      done, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak. Hastening
      down to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except Prince Theseus,
      who lingered behind them on the strand, holding Ariadne's hand clasped in
      his own.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear maiden," said he, "thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art too gentle
      and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King Minos. He cares
      no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little flower that
      grows in one of its crevices. But my father, King Aegeus, and my dear
      mother, Aethra, and all the fathers and mothers in Athens, and all the
      sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their benefactress.
      Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when he knows what
      thou hast done."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus and
      Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden did
      really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger whose
      life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who would have
      died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world) ungratefully
      deserted Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel touched on its
      voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus heard these falsehoods, he
      would have served their slanderous authors as he served the Minotaur! Here
      is what Ariadne answered, when the brave prince of Athens besought her to
      accompany him:
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Theseus," the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then drawing back a
      step or two, "I cannot go with you. My father is old, and has nobody but
      myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it would break to lose
      me. At first, King Minos will be angry; but he will soon forgive his only
      child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more youths and
      maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur. I have saved
      you, Theseus, as much for my father's sake as for your own. Farewell!
      Heaven bless you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      All this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a
      dignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer. Nothing
      remained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an affectionate farewell,
      and to go on board the vessel, and set sail.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as
      Prince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor, with a
      whistling breeze behind them. Talus, the brazen giant, on his
      never-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of
      the coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his
      polished surface, while he was yet a great way off. As the figure moved
      like clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides nor
      retard them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the reach
      of his club. Nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland, as his
      custom was, Talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel, and,
      overreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which splashed
      high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg turns a somerset. There
      he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by means of brass had
      better go thither with a diving bell, and fish up Talus.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in excellent
      spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their time in
      dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope too much. In
      due season, they came within sight of the coast of Attica, which was their
      native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you, happened a sad
      misfortune.
    </p>
    <p>
      You will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father,
      King Aegeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshiny sails, instead of
      black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return
      victorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports,
      dancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the
      time, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or
      rainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether
      they had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with
      the same sable wings that had wafted her away. But poor King Aegeus, day
      after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that
      overhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward
      bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails, than
      he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so proud
      of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought of
      living any longer; so, first flinging his crown and sceptre into the sea
      (useless baubles that they were to him now), King Aegeus merely stooped
      forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor soul, in
      the waves that foamed at its base!
    </p>
    <p>
      This was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped ashore,
      found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no; and such a
      turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very much out of
      spirits. However, he sent for his dear mother to Athens, and, by taking
      her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent monarch, and was
      greatly beloved by his people.
    </p>

<p>
      <a name="link2H_4_pyg" id="link2H_4_pyg">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>


    <h2>
      THE PYGMIES.
    </h2>
    <p>
      A great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there lived an
      earth-born Giant, named Antaeus, and a million or more of curious little
      earth-born people, who were called Pygmies. This Giant and these Pygmies
      being children of the same mother (that is to say, our good old
      Grandmother Earth), were all brethren, and dwelt together in a very
      friendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot
      Africa. The Pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts
      and such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind, that nobody
      could get a peep at them oftener than once in a hundred years. As for the
      Giant, being of a very lofty stature, it was easy enough to see him, but
      safest to keep out of his sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the Pygmies, I suppose, if one of them grew to the height of six or
      eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously tall man. It must have been
      very pretty to behold their little cities, with streets two or three feet
      wide, paved with the smallest pebbles, and bordered by habitations about
      as big as a squirrel's cage. The king's palace attained to the stupendous
      magnitude of Periwinkle's baby house, and stood in the center of a
      spacious square, which could hardly have been covered by our hearth-rug.
      Their principal temple, or cathedral, was as lofty as yonder bureau, and
      was looked upon as a wonderfully sublime and magnificent edifice. All
      these structures were built neither of stone nor wood. They were neatly
      plastered together by the Pygmy workmen, pretty much like birds' nests,
      out of straw, feathers, egg shells, and other small bits of stuff, with
      stiff clay instead of mortar; and when the hot sun had dried them, they
      were just as snug and comfortable as a Pygmy could desire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The country round about was conveniently laid out in fields, the largest
      of which was nearly of the same extent as one of Sweet Fern's flower beds.
      Here the Pygmies used to plant wheat and other kinds of grain, which, when
      it grew up and ripened, overshadowed these tiny people as the pines, and
      the oaks, and the walnut and chestnut trees overshadow you and me, when we
      walk in our own tracts of woodland. At harvest time, they were forced to
      go with their little axes and cut down the grain, exactly as a woodcutter
      makes a clearing in the forest; and when a stalk of wheat, with its
      overburdened top, chanced to come crashing down upon an unfortunate Pygmy,
      it was apt to be a very sad affair. If it did not smash him all to pieces,
      at least, I am sure, it must have made the poor little fellow's head ache.
      And O, my stars! if the fathers and mothers were so small, what must the
      children and babies have been? A whole family of them might have been put
      to bed in a shoe, or have crept into an old glove, and played at
      hide-and-seek in its thumb and fingers. You might have hidden a year-old
      baby under a thimble.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now these funny Pygmies, as I told you before, had a Giant for their
      neighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than they were little.
      He was so very tall that he carried a pine tree, which was eight feet
      through the butt, for a walking stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy, I can
      assure you, to discern his summit without the help of a telescope; and
      sometimes, in misty weather, they could not see his upper half, but only
      his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by themselves. But at
      noonday in a clear atmosphere, when the sun shone brightly over him, the
      Giant Antaeus presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to stand, a
      perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling down upon
      his little brothers, and his one vast eye (which was as big as a cart
      wheel, and placed right in the center of his forehead) giving a friendly
      wink to the whole nation at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Pygmies loved to talk with Antaeus; and fifty times a day, one or
      another of them would turn up his head, and shout through the hollow of
      his fists, "Halloo, brother Antaeus! How are you, my good fellow?" And
      when the small distant squeak of their voices reached his ear, the Giant
      would make answer, "Pretty well, brother Pygmy, I thank you," in a
      thunderous roar that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest
      temple, only that it came from so far aloft.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a happy circumstance that Antaeus was the Pygmy people's friend;
      for there was more strength in his little finger than in ten million of
      such bodies as this. If he had been as ill-natured to them as he was to
      everybody else, he might have beaten down their biggest city at one kick,
      and hardly have known that he did it. With the tornado of his breath, he
      could have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings and sent thousands
      of the inhabitants whirling through the air. He might have set his immense
      foot upon a multitude; and when he took it up again, there would have been
      a pitiful sight, to be sure. But, being the son of Mother Earth, as they
      likewise were, the Giant gave them his brotherly kindness, and loved them
      with as big a love as it was possible to feel for creatures so very small.
      And, on their parts, the Pygmies loved Antaeus with as much affection as
      their tiny hearts could hold. He was always ready to do them any good
      offices that lay in his power; as for example, when they wanted a breeze
      to turn their windmills, the Giant would set all the sails a-going with
      the mere natural respiration of his lungs. When the sun was too hot, he
      often sat himself down, and let his shadow fall over the kingdom, from one
      frontier to the other; and as for matters in general, he was wise enough
      to let them alone, and leave the Pygmies to manage their own affairs&mdash;which,
      after all, is about the best thing that great people can do for little
      ones.
    </p>
    <p>
      In short, as I said before, Antaeus loved the Pygmies, and the Pygmies
      loved Antaeus. The Giant's life being as long as his body was large, while
      the lifetime of a Pygmy was but a span, this friendly intercourse had been
      going on for innumerable generations and ages. It was written about in the
      Pygmy histories, and talked about in their ancient traditions. The most
      venerable and white-bearded Pygmy had never heard of a time, even in his
      greatest of grandfathers' days, when the Giant was not their enormous
      friend. Once, to be sure (as was recorded on an obelisk, three feet high,
      erected on the place of the catastrophe), Antaeus sat down upon about five
      thousand Pygmies, who were assembled at a military review. But this was
      one of those unlucky accidents for which nobody is to blame; so that the
      small folks never took it to heart, and only requested the Giant to be
      careful forever afterwards to examine the acre of ground where he intended
      to squat himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is a very pleasant picture to imagine Antaeus standing among the
      Pygmies, like the spire of the tallest cathedral that ever was built,
      while they ran about like pismires at his feet; and to think that, in
      spite of their difference in size, there were affection and sympathy
      between them and him! Indeed, it has always seemed to me that the Giant
      needed the little people more than the Pygmies needed the Giant. For,
      unless they had been his neighbors and well wishers, and, as we may say,
      his playfellows, Antaeus would not have had a single friend in the world.
      No other being like himself had ever been created. No creature of his own
      size had ever talked with him, in thunder-like accents, face to face. When
      he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone, and had been
      so for hundreds of years, and would be so forever. Even if he had met
      another Giant, Antaeus would have fancied the world not big enough for two
      such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with him, would have
      fought him till one of the two was killed. But with the Pygmies he was the
      most sportive and humorous, and merry-hearted, and sweet-tempered old
      Giant that ever washed his face in a wet cloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      His little friends, like all other small people, had a great opinion of
      their own importance, and used to assume quite a patronizing air towards
      the Giant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor creature!" they said one to another. "He has a very dull time of it,
      all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting a little of our
      precious time to amuse him. He is not half so bright as we are, to be
      sure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and
      happiness. Let us be kind to the old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had not
      been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been Giants too."
    </p>
    <p>
      On all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with Antaeus. He
      often stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he looked
      like the long ridge of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk, no doubt,
      for a short-legged Pygmy to journey from head to foot of the Giant. He
      would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge the tallest
      of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to finger. So
      fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in among the folds
      of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the earth, they would march
      boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his mouth, and take it all as
      a joke (as indeed it was meant) when Antaeus gave a sudden snap of his
      jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty of them at once. You would have
      laughed to see the children dodging in and out among his hair, or swinging
      from his beard. It is impossible to tell half of the funny tricks that
      they played with their huge comrade; but I do not know that anything was
      more curious than when a party of boys were seen running races on his
      forehead, to try which of them could get first round the circle of his one
      great eye. It was another favorite feat with them to march along the
      bridge of his nose, and jump down upon his upper lip.
    </p>
    <p>
      If the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to the Giant
      as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a fondness for
      mischief, and liked to prick his skin with their little swords and lances,
      to see how thick and tough it was. But Antaeus took it all kindly enough;
      although, once in a while, when he happened to be sleepy, he would grumble
      out a peevish word or two, like the muttering of a tempest, and ask them
      to have done with their nonsense. A great deal oftener, however, he
      watched their merriment and gambols until his huge, heavy, clumsy wits
      were completely stirred up by them; and then would he roar out such a
      tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter, that the whole nation of
      Pygmies had to put their hands to their ears, else it would certainly have
      deafened them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho! ho! ho!" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides. "What a
      funny thing it is to be little! If I were not Antaeus, I should like to be
      a Pygmy, just for the joke's sake."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were
      constantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since the
      long-lived Giant could remember. From time to time, very terrible battles
      had been fought in which sometimes the little men won the victory, and
      sometimes the cranes. According to some historians, the Pygmies used to go
      to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and rams; but such animals as
      these must have been far too big for Pygmies to ride upon; so that, I
      rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or rabbit-back, or rat-back,
      or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly quills would be very terrible
      to the enemy. However this might be, and whatever creatures the Pygmies
      rode upon, I do not doubt that they made a formidable appearance, armed
      with sword and spear, and bow and arrow, blowing their tiny trumpet, and
      shouting their little war cry. They never failed to exhort one another to
      fight bravely, and recollect that the world had its eyes upon them;
      although, in simple truth, the only spectator was the Giant Antaeus, with
      his one, great, stupid eye in the middle of his forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward, flapping
      their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps snatch up
      some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. Whenever this happened, it
      was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of might kicking and
      sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down the crane's long,
      crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know, must hold himself in
      readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the glory of the thing was a
      consolation to him, even in the crane's gizzard. If Antaeus observed that
      the battle was going hard against his little allies, he generally stopped
      laughing, and ran with mile-long strides to their assistance, flourishing
      his club aloft and shouting at the cranes, who quacked and croaked, and
      retreated as fast as they could. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward
      in triumph, attributing the victory entirely to their own valor, and to
      the warlike skill and strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain
      general; and for a tedious while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but
      grand processions, and public banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and
      shows of wax-work, with likenesses of the distinguished officers, as small
      as life.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a crane's
      tail feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or twice, if
      you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of the nation for
      no other merit in the world than bringing home such a feather.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people
      these were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows
      how many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Antaeus. In
      the remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more
      astonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the
      cranes.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his little
      friends. His pine-tree walking stick lay on the ground, close by his side.
      His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended across the
      boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever comfort he could
      get, while the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped into his cavernous
      mouth, and played among his hair. Sometimes, for a minute or two, the
      Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a whirlwind. During one
      of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced to climb upon his
      shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from the summit of a
      hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which made him rub the
      bright specks of his eyes, and look sharper than before. At first he
      mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had grown up so suddenly
      out of the earth. But soon he saw the mountain move. As it came nearer and
      nearer, what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so big as
      Antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous figure, in comparison with
      Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men we see nowadays.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him, he
      scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear, and
      stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree
      walking stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle with
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poh, poh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. "None of your nonsense, my
      little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy? There is not a Giant on earth for
      whom I would take the trouble to get up."
    </p>
    <p>
      But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was coming
      directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With every step, he looked
      less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large man. He was
      soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about the matter.
      There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and flashing from
      his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and a lion's skin
      over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a club, which looked
      bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick of Antaeus.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time, the whole nation of the Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and
      a million of them set up a shout all together; so that it really made
      quite an audible squeak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes another
      Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my nap out,
      come who may."
    </p>
    <p>
      Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly discern
      that, if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his shoulders
      were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders they must have
      been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld the sky. The
      Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great numskull of a
      brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and were determined
      to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him, and even went so
      far as to prick him with their swords.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get up, get up, get up," they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones! The
      strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the
      broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
    </p>
    <p>
      Antaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so
      mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper
      than their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave a
      gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eyes, and finally turned his stupid
      head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly pointing.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner did he set eyes on the stranger, than, leaping on his feet, and
      seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all the
      while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so that it whistled through the
      air.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in my
      dominions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not yet told
      you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might not believe
      much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that whenever this
      redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his hand, his foot, or
      any other part of his body, he grew stronger than ever he had been before.
      The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and was very fond of him, as
      being almost the biggest of her children; and so she took this method of
      keeping him always in full vigor. Some persons affirm that he grew ten
      times stronger at every touch; others say that it was only twice as
      strong. But only think of it! Whenever Antaeus took a walk, supposing it
      were but ten miles, and that he stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you
      may try to cipher out how much mightier he was, on sitting down again,
      than when he first started. And whenever he flung himself on the earth to
      take a little repose, even if he got up the very next instant, he would be
      as strong as exactly ten just such giants as his former self. It was well
      for the world that Antaeus happened to be of a sluggish disposition and
      liked ease better than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the
      Pygmies, and touched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago
      have been strong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears. But
      these great lubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in
      their disinclination to move.
    </p>
    <p>
      Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now
      encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's
      ferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at all
      disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his hand,
      measuring Antaeus with his eye, from head to foot, not as if
      wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants
      before, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the
      Giant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their
      ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger
      could not have been less afraid of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who are you, I say?" roared Antaeus again. "What's your name? Why do you
      come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your skull
      with my walking-stick!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger quietly, "and I
      shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we part. As for
      my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is my most
      convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am going to get
      three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, putting on a grimmer
      look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and hated him
      because he was said to be so strong. "Neither shall you go back whence you
      came!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither I please?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By hitting you a rap with this pine tree here," shouted Antaeus, scowling
      so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. "I am fifty times
      stronger than you; and now that I stamp my foot upon the ground, I am five
      hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a puny little dwarf as
      you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise be the
      slave of my brethren here, the Pygmies. So throw down your club and your
      other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I intend to have a pair of
      gloves made of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules, lifting his
      club.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards the stranger
      (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous blow at
      him with his pine tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and being
      more skilful than Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the sconce,
      that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon the ground.
      The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that anybody in the
      world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were a good deal
      dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up he bounced
      again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was horrible to
      behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry, being blinded
      with wrath, and only hit his poor innocent Mother Earth, who groaned and
      trembled at the stroke. His pine tree went so deep into the ground, and
      stuck there so fast, that, before Antaeus could get it out, Hercules
      brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty thwack, which
      made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises had come
      screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that one cry.
      Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I know, was heard
      on the other side of the African deserts.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the concussion
      and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough without
      their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of little
      throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow by at
      least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his feet
      again, and pulled his pine tree out of the earth; and, all aflame with
      fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at Hercules, and
      brought down another blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."
    </p>
    <p>
      But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the
      Giant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which
      flew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think
      about. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive again,
      and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over head, but
      served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable strength. As
      for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it had now got to
      be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame. Having now no
      weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger than a hogshead),
      smote one against the other, and danced up and down with absolute frenzy,
      flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant not merely to kill
      Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but one box on
      the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the sky
      up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he kept
      on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard blows,
      the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother Earth, become
      stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his club,
      with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood ready to
      receive his antagonist with naked arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine tree, we'll try
      which is the better man at a wrestling match."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if there was
      one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill
      in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself
      up again."
    </p>
    <p>
      On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his rage,
      and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion, every time he
      hopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull of a
      Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him&mdash;huge, earth-born
      monster that he was&mdash;and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his
      Mother Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad Giant
      made a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both hands,
      lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just imagine it, my dear little friends. What a spectacle it must have
      been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downwards,
      kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby
      when its father holds it at arm's length towards the ceiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was fairly off
      the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by touching it.
      Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was growing
      weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence, and
      because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth
      was that unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in five
      minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of his life,
      would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and it may be
      well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have to fight a
      battle with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born creatures are only
      difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may easily be managed if we
      can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region. So it proved
      with the poor Giant, whom I am really a little sorry for, notwithstanding
      his uncivil way of treating strangers who came to visit him.
    </p>
    <p>
      When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge body
      a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and lay with
      no more motion than a sand hill. It was too late for the Giant's Mother
      Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his ponderous bones were
      lying on the same spot to this very day, and were mistaken for those of an
      uncommonly large elephant.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when they
      saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If Hercules
      heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps fancied them
      only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that had been
      frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between himself
      and Antaeus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with the
      Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew that
      there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he had
      traveled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions in the
      fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and, reclining himself
      upon it, fell fast asleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded their
      little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes. And when
      his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was asleep, they
      assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a space of about
      twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent orators (and a
      valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at any other weapon
      as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool, and, from that
      elevated position, addressed the multitude. His sentiments were pretty
      much as follows; or, at all events, something like this was probably the
      upshot of his speech:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what a
      public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here been
      offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antaeus, our great
      friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant who took
      him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in a
      way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of fighting, until
      this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong already done us,
      the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as if nothing were to be
      dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you, fellow-countrymen, to consider in
      what aspect we shall stand before the world, and what will be the verdict
      of impartial history, should we suffer these accumulated outrages to go
      unavenged.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we owe
      the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which made him
      proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell fighting as
      much for our national rights and immunities as for his own personal ones.
      We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held
      affectionate intercourse as man to man, through immemorial generations.
      You remember how often our entire people have reposed in his great shadow,
      and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek in the tangles of his
      hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro among
      us, and never trodden upon any of our toes. And there lies this dear
      brother&mdash;this sweet and amiable friend&mdash;this brave and faithful
      ally&mdash;-this virtuous Giant&mdash;this blameless and excellent Antaeus&mdash;dead!
      Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere mountain of clay! Forgive my tears! Nay, I
      behold your own. Were we to drown the world with them, could the world
      blame us?
    </p>
    <p>
      "But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to
      depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant
      communities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his
      bones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones? So that,
      while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of our sorrow,
      the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human race a
      terrible example of Pygmy vengeance! Such is the question. I put it to you
      in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our national
      character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish, the glory
      which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we ourselves have
      proudly vindicated in our warfare with the cranes."
    </p>
    <p>
      The orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm;
      every individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be
      preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and, making a gesture for silence,
      wound up his harangue in the following admirable manner:
    </p>
    <p>
      "It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on the war
      in our national capacity&mdash;one united people against a common enemy&mdash;or
      whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be selected to defy
      the slayer of our brother Antaeus to single combat. In the latter case,
      though not unconscious that there may be taller men among you, I hereby
      offer myself for that enviable duty. And believe me, dear countrymen,
      whether I live or die, the honor of this great country, and the fame
      bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall suffer no diminution in my
      hands. Never, while I can wield this sword, of which I now fling away the
      scabbard&mdash;never, never, never, even if the crimson hand that slew the
      great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like him, on the soil which I give
      my life to defend."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was terrible to
      behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife), and sent the scabbard
      whirling over the heads of the multitude. His speech was followed by an
      uproar of applause, as its patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably
      deserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly
      prolonged, had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep
      respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping Hercules.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should set to work
      to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt that a single
      champion would be capable of putting him to the sword, but because he was
      a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing in the glory of his
      defeat. There was a debate whether the national honor did not demand that
      a herald should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over the ear of Hercules,
      and after blowing a blast right into it, to defy him to the combat by
      formal proclamation. But two or three venerable and sagacious Pygmies,
      well versed in state affairs, gave it as their opinion that war already
      existed, and that it was their rightful privilege to take the enemy by
      surprise. Moreover, if awakened, and allowed to get upon his feet,
      Hercules might happen to do them a mischief before he could be beaten down
      again. For, as these sage counselors remarked, the stranger's club was
      really very big, and had rattled like a thunderbolt against the skull of
      Antaeus. So the Pygmies resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and
      assail their antagonist at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and
      went boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming of
      the harm which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of twenty thousand
      archers marched in front, with their little bows all ready, and the arrows
      on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber upon Hercules, some
      with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of hay, and all
      manner of rubbish with which they intended to plug up his mouth and
      nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of breath. These last, however,
      could by no means perform their appointed duty; inasmuch as the enemy's
      breath rushed out of his nose in an obstreperous hurricane and whirlwind,
      which blew the Pygmies away as fast as they came nigh. It was found
      necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other method of carrying on the
      war.
    </p>
    <p>
      After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect
      sticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible stuff they could find,
      and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of Hercules. As a
      great many thousand Pygmies were employed in this task, they soon brought
      together several bushels of inflammatory matter, and raised so tall a
      heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were quite upon a level with the
      sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile, were stationed within bow shot,
      with orders to let fly at Hercules the instant that he stirred. Everything
      being in readiness, a torch was applied to the pile, which immediately
      burst into flames, and soon waxed hot enough to roast the enemy, had he
      but chosen to lie still. A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might
      set the world on fire, just as easily as a Giant could; so that this was
      certainly the very best way of dealing with their foe, provided they could
      have kept him quiet while the conflagration was going forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched, than up he started, with
      his hair in a red blaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's all this?" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about him
      as if he expected to see another Giant.
    </p>
    <p>
      At that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings, and
      the arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right into the
      face of Hercules. But I doubt whether more than half a dozen of them
      punctured the skin, which was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of a
      hero has good need to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Villain!" shouted all the Pygmies at once. "You have killed the Giant
      Antaeus, our great brother, and the ally of our nation. We declare bloody
      war against you, and will slay you on the spot."
    </p>
    <p>
      Surprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, Hercules, after
      putting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about, but
      could see nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the ground, he
      espied the innumerable assemblage of Pygmies at his feet. He stooped down,
      and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set him on the
      palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for examination.
      It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who had spoken from the top of
      the toadstool, and had offered himself as a champion to meet Hercules in
      single combat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated Hercules, "may you be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am your enemy," answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest squeak.
      "You have slain the enormous Antaeus, our brother by the mother's side,
      and for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation. We are
      determined to put you to death; and for my own part, I challenge you to
      instant battle, on equal ground."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures,
      that he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost dropped the
      poor little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand, through the
      ecstasy and convulsion of his merriment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word," cried he, "I thought I had seen wonders before to-day&mdash;hydras
      with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged men, three-headed
      dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and nobody knows what
      besides. But here, on the palm of my hand, stands a wonder that outdoes
      them all! Your body, my little friend, is about the size of an ordinary
      man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As big as your own!" said the Pygmy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could
      not help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as one hero feels for
      another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good little people," said he, making a low obeisance to the grand
      nation, "not for all the world would I do an intentional injury to such
      brave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great, that,
      upon my honor, I marvel how your small bodies can contain them. I sue for
      peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and be out of
      your kingdom at the sixth. Good-bye. I shall pick my steps carefully, for
      fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it. Ha, ha, ha!
      Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself vanquished."
    </p>
    <p>
      Some writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of Pygmies in
      his lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece, for the children of King
      Eurystheus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left them, one and all,
      within their own territory, where, for aught I can tell, their descendants
      are alive to the present day, building their little houses, cultivating
      their little fields, spanking their little children, waging their little
      warfare with the cranes, doing their little business, whatever it may be,
      and reading their little histories of ancient times. In those histories,
      perhaps, it stands recorded, that, a great many centuries ago, the valiant
      Pygmies avenged the death of the Giant Antaeus by scaring away the mighty
      Hercules.
    </p>
<p>
      <a name="link2H_4_dragon" id="link2H_4_dragon">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>


    <h2>
      THE DRAGON'S TEETH.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, the three sons of King Agenor, and their
      little sister Europa (who was a very beautiful child), were at play
      together near the seashore in their father's kingdom of Phoenicia. They
      had rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents dwelt,
      and were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the sea, all
      sparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently against the
      beach. The three boys were very happy, gathering flowers, and twining them
      into garlands, with which they adorned the little Europa. Seated on the
      grass, the child was almost hidden under an abundance of buds and
      blossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily out, and, as Cadmus said,
      was the prettiest of all the flowers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then, there came a splendid butterfly, fluttering along the meadow;
      and Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix set off in pursuit of it, crying out that
      it was a flower with wings. Europa, who was a little wearied with playing
      all day long, did not chase the butterfly with her brothers, but sat still
      where they had left her, and closed her eyes. For a while, she listened to
      the pleasant murmur of the sea, which was like a voice saying "Hush!" and
      bidding her go to sleep. But the pretty child, if she slept at all, could
      not have slept more than a moment, when she heard something trample on the
      grass, not far from her, and, peeping out from the heap of flowers, beheld
      a snow-white bull.
    </p>
    <p>
      And whence could this bull have come? Europa and her brothers had been a
      long time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other living
      thing, either there or on the neighboring hills.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Brother Cadmus!" cried Europa, starting up out of the midst of the roses
      and lilies. "Phoenix! Cilix! Where are you all? Help! Help! Come and drive
      away this bull!"
    </p>
    <p>
      But her brothers were too far off to hear; especially as the fright took
      away Europa's voice, and hindered her from calling very loudly. So there
      she stood, with her pretty mouth wide open, as pale as the white lilies
      that were twisted among the other flowers in her garlands.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nevertheless, it was the suddenness with which she had perceived the bull,
      rather than anything frightful in his appearance, that caused Europa so
      much alarm. On looking at him more attentively, she began to see that he
      was a beautiful animal, and even fancied a particularly amiable expression
      in his face. As for his breath&mdash;the breath of cattle, you know, is
      always sweet&mdash;it was as fragrant as if he had been grazing on no
      other food than rosebuds, or at least, the most delicate of clover
      blossoms. Never before did a bull have such bright and tender eyes, and
      such smooth horns of ivory, as this one. And the bull ran little races,
      and capered sportively around the child; so that she quite forgot how big
      and strong he was, and, from the gentleness and playfulness of his
      actions, soon came to consider him as innocent a creature as a pet lamb.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus, frightened as she at first was, you might by and by have seen Europa
      stroking the bull's forehead with her small white hand, and taking the
      garlands off her own head to hang them on his neck and ivory horns. Then
      she pulled up some blades of grass, and he ate them out of her hand, not
      as if he were hungry, but because he wanted to be friends with the child,
      and took pleasure in eating what she had touched. Well, my stars! was
      there ever such a gentle, sweet, pretty, and amiable creature as this
      bull, and ever such a nice playmate for a little girl?
    </p>
    <p>
      When the animal saw (for the bull had so much intelligence that it is
      really wonderful to think of), when he saw that Europa was no longer
      afraid of him, he grew overjoyed, and could hardly contain himself for
      delight. He frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making
      sprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping from
      twig to twig. Indeed, his motion was as light as if he were flying through
      the air, and his hoofs seemed hardly to leave their print in the grassy
      soil over which he trod. With his spotless hue, he resembled a snow drift,
      wafted along by the wind. Once he galloped so far away that Europa feared
      lest she might never see him again; so, setting up her childish voice,
      called him back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come back, pretty creature!" she cried. "Here is a nice clover blossom."
    </p>
    <p>
      And then it was delightful to witness the gratitude of this amiable bull,
      and how he was so full of joy and thankfulness that he capered higher than
      ever. He came running, and bowed his head before Europa, as if he knew her
      to be a king's daughter, or else recognized the important truth that a
      little girl is everybody's queen. And not only did the bull bend his neck,
      he absolutely knelt down at her feet, and made such intelligent nods, and
      other inviting gestures, that Europa understood what he meant just as well
      as if he had put it in so many words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, dear child," was what he wanted to say, "let me give you a ride on
      my back."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the first thought of such a thing, Europa drew back. But then she
      considered in her wise little head that there could be no possible harm in
      taking just one gallop on the back of this docile and friendly animal, who
      would certainly set her down the very instant she desired it. And how it
      would surprise her brothers to see her riding across the green meadow! And
      what merry times they might have, either taking turns for a gallop, or
      clambering on the gentle creature, all four children together, and
      careering round the field with shouts of laughter that would be heard as
      far off as King Agenor's palace!
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think I will do it," said the child to herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      And, indeed, why not? She cast a glance around, and caught a glimpse of
      Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, who were still in pursuit of the butterfly,
      almost at the other end of the meadow. It would be the quickest way of
      rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back. She came a step nearer
      to him therefore; and&mdash;sociable creature that he was&mdash;he showed
      so much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the child could not find
      in her heart to hesitate any longer. Making one bound (for this little
      princess was as active as a squirrel), there sat Europa on the beautiful
      bull, holding an ivory horn in each hand, lest she should fall off.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Softly, pretty bull, softly!" she said, rather frightened at what she had
      done. "Do not gallop too fast."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having got the child on his back, the animal gave a leap into the air, and
      came down so like a feather that Europa did not know when his hoofs
      touched the ground. He then began a race to that part of the flowery plain
      where her three brothers were, and where they had just caught their
      splendid butterfly. Europa screamed with delight; and Phoenix, Cilix, and
      Cadmus stood gaping at the spectacle of their sister mounted on a white
      bull, not knowing whether to be frightened or to wish the same good luck
      for themselves. The gentle and innocent creature (for who could possibly
      doubt that he was so?) pranced round among the children as sportively as a
      kitten. Europa all the while looked down upon her brothers, nodding and
      laughing, but yet with a sort of stateliness in her rosy little face. As
      the bull wheeled about to take another gallop across the meadow, the child
      waved her hand, and said, "Good-bye," playfully pretending that she was
      now bound on a distant journey, and might not see her brothers again for
      nobody could tell how long.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-bye," shouted Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, all in one breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, together with her enjoyment of the sport, there was still a little
      remnant of fear in the child's heart; so that her last look at the three
      boys was a troubled one, and made them feel as if their dear sister were
      really leaving them forever. And what do you think the snowy bull did
      next? Why, he set off, as swift as the wind, straight down to the
      seashore, scampered across the sand, took an airy leap, and plunged right
      in among the foaming billows. The white spray rose in a shower over him
      and little Europa, and fell spattering down upon the water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then what a scream of terror did the poor child send forth! The three
      brothers screamed manfully, likewise, and ran to the shore as fast as
      their legs would carry them, with Cadmus at their head. But it was too
      late. When they reached the margin of the sand, the treacherous animal was
      already far away in the wide blue sea, with only his snowy head and tail
      emerging, and poor little Europa between them, stretching out one hand
      towards her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory horn with
      the other. And there stood Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, gazing at this sad
      spectacle, through their tears, until they could no longer distinguish the
      bull's snowy head from the white-capped billows that seemed to boil up out
      of the sea's depths around him. Nothing more was ever seen of the white
      bull&mdash;nothing more of the beautiful child.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a mournful story, as you may well think, for the three boys to
      carry home to their parents. King Agenor, their father, was the ruler of
      the whole country; but he loved his little daughter Europa better than his
      kingdom, or than all his other children, or than anything else in the
      world. Therefore, when Cadmus and his two brothers came crying home, and
      told him how that a white bull had carried off their sister, and swam with
      her over the sea, the king was quite beside himself with grief and rage.
      Although it was now twilight, and fast growing dark, he bade them set out
      instantly in search of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never shall you see my face again," he cried, "unless you bring me back
      my little Europa, to gladden me with her smiles and her pretty ways.
      Begone, and enter my presence no more, till you come leading her by the
      hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      As King Agenor said this, his eyes flashed fire (for he was a very
      passionate king), and he looked so terribly angry that the poor boys did
      not even venture to ask for their suppers, but slunk away out of the
      palace, and only paused on the steps a moment to consult whither they
      should go first. While they were standing there, all in dismay, their
      mother, Queen Telephassa (who happened not to be by when they told the
      story to the king), came hurrying after them, and said that she too would
      go in quest of her daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, no, mother!" cried the boys. "The night is dark, and there is no
      knowing what troubles and perils we may meet with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! my dear children," answered poor Queen Telephassa; weeping
      bitterly, "that is only another reason why I should go with you. If I
      should lose you, too, as well as my little Europa, what would become of
      me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And let me go likewise!" said their playfellow Thasus, who came running
      to join them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thasus was the son of a seafaring person in the neighborhood; he had been
      brought up with the young princes, and was their intimate friend, and
      loved Europa very much; so they consented that he should accompany them.
      The whole party, therefore, set forth together. Cadmus, Phoenix, Cilix,
      and Thasus clustered round Queen Telephassa, grasping her skirts, and
      begging her to lean upon their shoulders whenever she felt weary. In this
      manner they went down the palace steps, and began a journey, which turned
      out to be a great deal longer than they dreamed of. The last that they saw
      of King Agenor, he came to the door, with a servant holding a torch beside
      him, and called after them into the gathering darkness:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Remember! Never ascend these steps again without the child!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never!" sobbed Queen Telephassa; and the three brothers and Thasus
      answered, "Never! Never! Never! Never!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And they kept their word. Year after year, King Agenor sat in the solitude
      of his beautiful palace, listening in vain for their returning footsteps,
      hoping to hear the familiar voice of the queen, and the cheerful talk of
      his sons and their playfellow Thasus, entering the door together, and the
      sweet, childish accents of little Europa in the midst of them. But so long
      a time went by, that, at last, if they had really come, the king would not
      have known that this was the voice of Telephassa, and these the younger
      voices that used to make such joyful echoes, when the children were
      playing about the palace. We must now leave King Agenor to sit on his
      throne, and must go along with Queen Telephassa, and her four youthful
      companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      They went on and on, and traveled a long way, and passed over mountains
      and rivers, and sailed over seas. Here, and there, and everywhere, they
      made continual inquiry if any person could tell them what had become of
      Europa. The rustic people, of whom they asked this question, paused a
      little while from their labors in the field, and looked very much
      surprised. They thought it strange to behold a woman in the garb of a
      queen (for Telephassa in her haste had forgotten to take off her crown and
      her royal robes), roaming about the country, with four lads around her, on
      such an errand as this seemed to be. But nobody could give them any
      tidings of Europa; nobody had seen a little girl dressed like a princess,
      and mounted on a snow-white bull, which galloped as swiftly as the wind.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot tell you how long Queen Telephassa, and Cadmus, Phoenix, and
      Cilix, her three sons, and Thasus, their playfellow, went wandering along
      the highways and bypaths, or through the pathless wildernesses of the
      earth, in this manner. But certain it is, that, before they reached any
      place of rest, their splendid garments were quite worn out. They all
      looked very much travel-stained, and would have had the dust of many
      countries on their shoes, if the streams, through which they waded, had
      not washed it all away. When they had been gone a year, Telephassa threw
      away her crown, because it chafed her forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has given me many a headache," said the poor queen, "and it cannot
      cure my heartache."
    </p>
    <p>
      As fast as their princely robes got torn and tattered, they exchanged them
      for such mean attire as ordinary people wore. By and by, they come to have
      a wild and homeless aspect; so that you would much sooner have taken them
      for a gypsy family than a queen and three princes, and a young nobleman,
      who had once a palace for a home, and a train of servants to do their
      bidding. The four boys grew up to be tall young men, with sunburnt faces.
      Each of them girded on a sword, to defend themselves against the perils of
      the way. When the husbandmen, at whose farmhouses they sought hospitality,
      needed their assistance in the harvest field, they gave it willingly; and
      Queen Telephassa (who had done no work in her palace, save to braid silk
      threads with golden ones) came behind them to bind the sheaves. If payment
      was offered, they shook their heads, and only asked for tidings of Europa.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are bulls enough in my pasture," the old farmers would reply; "but
      I never heard of one like this you tell me of. A snow-white bull with a
      little princess on his back! Ho! ho! I ask your pardon, good folks; but
      there never such a sight seen hereabouts."
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, Phoenix grew
      weary of rambling hither and thither to no purpose. So one day, when they
      happened to be passing through a pleasant and solitary tract of country,
      he sat himself down on a heap of moss.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can go no farther," said Phoenix. "It is a mere foolish waste of life,
      to spend it as we do, always wandering up and down, and never coming to
      any home at nightfall. Our sister is lost, and never will be found. She
      probably perished in the sea; or, to whatever shore the white bull may
      have carried her, it is now so many years ago, that there would be neither
      love nor acquaintance between us, should we meet again. My father has
      forbidden us to return to his palace, so I shall build me a hut of
      branches, and dwell here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, son Phoenix," said Telephassa, sorrowfully, "you have grown to be a
      man, and must do as you judge best. But, for my part, I will still go in
      quest of my poor child."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And we three will go along with you!" cried Cadmus and Cilix, and their
      faithful friend Thasus.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, before setting out, they all helped Phoenix to build a habitation.
      When completed, it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead with an arch
      of living boughs. Inside there were two pleasant rooms, one of which had a
      soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was furnished with a rustic
      seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the crooked roots of trees. So
      comfortable and home-like did it seem, that Telephassa and her three
      companions could not help sighing, to think that they must still roam
      about the world, instead of spending the remainder of their lives in some
      such cheerful abode as they had here built for Phoenix. But, when they
      bade him farewell, Phoenix shed tears, and probably regretted that he was
      no longer to keep them company.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, he had fixed upon an admirable place to dwell in. And by and by
      there came other people, who chanced to have no homes; and, seeing how
      pleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the neighborhood of
      Phoenix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by, a city had grown up
      there, in the center of which was seen a stately palace of marble, wherein
      dwelt Phoenix, clothed in a purple robe, and wearing a golden crown upon
      his head. For the inhabitants of the new city, finding that he had royal
      blood in his veins, had chosen him to be their king. The very first decree
      of state which King Phoenix issued was, that, if a maiden happened to
      arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white bull, and calling herself
      Europa, his subjects should treat her with the greatest kindness and
      respect, and immediately bring her to the palace. You may see, by this,
      that Phoenix's conscience never quite ceased to trouble him, for giving up
      the quest of his dear sister, and sitting himself down to be comfortable,
      while his mother and her companions went onward.
    </p>
    <p>
      But often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did Telephassa
      and Cadmus, Cilix, and Thasus, remember the pleasant spot in which they
      had left Phoenix. It was a sorrowful prospect for these wanderers, that on
      the morrow they must again set forth, and that, after many nightfalls,
      they would perhaps be no nearer the close of their toilsome pilgrimage
      than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy at times, but appeared
      to torment Cilix more than the rest of the party. At length, one morning,
      when they were taking their staffs in hand to set out, he thus addressed
      them:
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear mother, and you, good brother Cadmus, and my friend Thasus,
      methinks we are like people in a dream. There is no substance in the life
      which we are leading. It is such a dreary length of time since the white
      bull carried off my sister Europa, that I have quite forgotten how she
      looked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt whether such
      a little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once lived or no, I
      am convinced that she no longer survives, and that therefore it is the
      merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in seeking her. Were we
      to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and would look upon us all as
      strangers. So, to tell you the truth, I have resolved to take up my abode
      here; and I entreat you, mother, brother, and friend, to follow my
      example."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I, for one," said Telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as she
      spoke, was so travel-worn that she could hardly put her foot to the
      ground. "Not I, for one! In the depths of my heart, little Europa is still
      the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago. She has not
      grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night, journeying
      onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always in my ears,
      calling, 'Mother! mother!' Stop here who may, there is no repose for me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor for me," said Cadmus, "while my dear mother pleases to go onward."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the faithful Thasus, too, was resolved to bear them company. They
      remained with Cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build a rustic
      bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for Phoenix.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were bidding him farewell Cilix burst into tears, and told his
      mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there, in
      solitude, as to go onward. If she really believed that they would ever
      find Europa, he was willing to continue the search with them, even now.
      But Telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart would
      let him. So the pilgrims took their leave of him, and departed, and were
      hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came along that
      way, and saw Cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted with the
      appearance of the place. There being abundance of unoccupied ground in the
      neighborhood, these strangers built huts for themselves, and were soon
      joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly formed a city. In the
      middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of colored marble, on the
      balcony of which, every noontide, appeared Cilix, in a long purple robe,
      and with a jeweled crown upon his head; for the inhabitants, when they
      found out that he was a king's son, had considered him the fittest of all
      men to be a king himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the first acts of King Cilix's government was to send out an
      expedition, consisting of a grave ambassador, and an escort of bold and
      hardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the earth,
      and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those regions,
      galloping swiftly on a white bull. It is, therefore, plain to my mind,
      that Cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search for Europa, as
      long as he was able to put one foot before the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Telephassa, and Cadmus, and the good Thasus, it grieves me to think
      of them, still keeping up that weary pilgrimage. The two young men did
      their best for the poor queen, helping her over the rough places, often
      carrying her across rivulets in their faithful arms and seeking to shelter
      her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the ground. Sad, sad it
      was to hear them asking of every passer-by if he had seen Europa, so long
      after the white bull had carried her away. But, though the gray years
      thrust themselves between, and made the child's figure dim in their
      remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three ever dreamed of giving up
      the search.
    </p>
    <p>
      One morning, however, poor Thasus found that he had sprained his ankle,
      and could not possibly go a step farther.
    </p>
    <p>
      "After a few days, to be sure," said he, mournfully, "I might make shift
      to hobble along with a stick. But that would only delay you, and perhaps
      hinder you from finding dear little Europa, after all your pains and
      trouble. Do you go forward, therefore, my beloved companions, and leave me
      to follow as I may."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou hast been a true friend, dear Thasus," said Queen Telephassa,
      kissing his forehead. "Being neither my son, nor the brother of our lost
      Europa, thou hast shown thyself truer to me and her than Phoenix and Cilix
      did, whom we have left behind us. Without thy loving help, and that of my
      son Cadmus, my limbs could not have borne me half so far as this. Now,
      take thy rest, and be at peace. For&mdash;and it is the first time I have
      owned it to myself&mdash;I begin to question whether we shall ever find my
      beloved daughter in this world."
    </p>
    <p>
      Saying this, the poor queen shed tears, because it was a grievous trial to
      the mother's heart to confess that her hopes were growing faint. From that
      day forward, Cadmus noticed that she never traveled with the same alacrity
      of spirit that had heretofore supported her. Her weight was heavier upon
      his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before setting out, Cadmus helped Thasus build a bower; while Telephassa,
      being too infirm to give any great assistance, advised them how to fit it
      up and furnish it, so that it might be as comfortable as a hut of branches
      could. Thasus, however, did not spend all his days in this green bower.
      For it happened to him, as to Phoenix and Cilix, that other homeless
      people visited the spot, and liked it, and built themselves habitations in
      the neighborhood. So here, in the course of a few years, was another
      thriving city, with a red freestone palace in the center of it, where
      Thasus sat upon a throne, doing justice to the people, with a purple robe
      over his shoulders, a sceptre in his hand, and a crown upon his head. The
      inhabitants had made him king, not for the sake of any royal blood (for
      none was in his veins), but because Thasus was an upright, true-hearted,
      and courageous man, and therefore fit to rule.
    </p>
    <p>
      But when the affairs of his kingdom were all settled, King Thasus laid
      aside his purple robe and crown, and sceptre, and bade his worthiest
      subjects distribute justice to the people in his stead. Then, grasping the
      pilgrim's staff that had supported him so long, he set forth again, hoping
      still to discover some hoof-mark of the snow-white bull, some trace of the
      vanished child. He returned after a lengthened absence, and sat down
      wearily upon his throne. To his latest hour, nevertheless, King Thasus
      showed his true-hearted remembrance of Europa, by ordering that a fire
      should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath steaming hot, and
      food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white sheets, in case the
      maiden should arrive, and require immediate refreshment. And, though
      Europa never came, the good Thasus had the blessings of many a poor
      traveler, who profited by the food and lodging which were meant for the
      little playmate of the king's boyhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Telephassa and Cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no companion
      but each other. The queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm, and could
      walk only a few miles a day. But for all her weakness and weariness, she
      would not be persuaded to give up the search. It was enough to bring tears
      into the eyes of bearded men to hear the melancholy tone with which she
      inquired of every stranger whether he could not tell her any news of the
      lost child.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you seen a little girl&mdash;no, no, I mean a young maiden of full
      growth&mdash;passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which
      gallops as swiftly as the wind?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have seen no such wondrous sight," the people would reply; and very
      often, taking Cadmus aside, they whispered to him, "Is this stately and
      sad-looking woman your mother? Surely she is not in her right mind; and
      you ought to take her home, and make her comfortable, and do your best to
      get this dream out of her fancy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is no dream," said Cadmus. "Everything else is a dream, save that."
    </p>
    <p>
      But, one day, Telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost her
      whole weight on the arm of Cadmus, and walked more slowly than ever
      before. At last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her son that
      she must needs lie down, and take a good long rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A good long rest!" she repeated, looking Cadmus tenderly in the face. "A
      good long rest, thou dearest one!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As long as you please, dear mother," answered Cadmus.
    </p>
    <p>
      Telephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took his
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My son," said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, "this rest
      that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must not wait till it is
      finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not comprehend me. You must make a grave
      here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage is over."
    </p>
    <p>
      Cadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to believe that his
      dear mother was now to be taken from him. But Telephassa reasoned with
      him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was better for
      her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, and grief, and
      disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since the child was
      lost. He therefore repressed his sorrow, and listened to her last words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dearest Cadmus," said she, "thou hast been the truest son that ever
      mother had, and faithful to the very last. Who else would have borne with
      my infirmities as thou hast! It is owing to thy care, thou tenderest
      child, that my grave was not dug long years ago, in some valley, or on
      some hillside, that lies far, far behind us. It is enough. Thou shalt
      wander no more on this hopeless search. But, when thou hast laid thy
      mother in the earth, then go, my son, to Delphi, and inquire of the oracle
      what thou shalt do next."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O mother, mother," cried Cadmus, "couldst thou but have seen my sister
      before this hour!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It matters little now," answered Telephassa, and there was a smile upon
      her face. "I go now to the better world, and, sooner or later, shall find
      my daughter there."
    </p>
    <p>
      I will not sadden you, my little hearers, with telling how Telephassa died
      and was buried, but will only say, that her dying smile grew brighter,
      instead of vanishing from her dead face; so that Cadmus left convinced
      that, at her very first step into the better world, she had caught Europa
      in her arms. He planted some flowers on his mother's grave, and left them
      to grow there, and make the place beautiful, when he should be far away.
    </p>
    <p>
      After performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and took
      the road towards the famous oracle of Delphi, as Telephassa had advised
      him. On his way thither, he still inquired of most people whom he met
      whether they had seen Europa; for, to say the truth, Cadmus had grown so
      accustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as readily as a
      remark about the weather. He received various answers. Some told him one
      thing, and some another. Among the rest, a mariner affirmed, that, many
      years before, in a distant country, he had heard a rumor about a white
      bull, which came swimming across the sea with a child on his back, dressed
      up in flowers that were blighted by the sea water. He did not know what
      had become of the child or the bull; and Cadmus suspected, indeed, by a
      queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes, that he was putting a joke upon him,
      and had never really heard anything about the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all his
      dear mother's weight, while she had kept him company. His heart, you will
      understand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes, to
      carry it any farther. But his limbs were strong and active, and well
      accustomed to exercise. He walked swiftly along, thinking of King Agenor
      and Queen Telephassa, and his brothers, and the friendly Thasus, all of
      whom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or another,
      and never expected to see them any more. Full of these remembrances, he
      came within sight of a lofty mountain, which the people thereabouts told
      him was called Parnassus. On the slope of Mount Parnassus was the famous
      Delphi, whither Cadmus was going.
    </p>
    <p>
      This Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.
      The place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain side, over
      which, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches. It
      reminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and Cilix,
      and afterwards for Thasus. In later times, when multitudes of people came
      from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a spacious temple of
      marble was erected over the spot. But in the days of Cadmus, as I have
      told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its abundance of green
      foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over the mysterious hole
      in the hillside.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made his
      way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden cavity.
      But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so much
      force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the shrubbery
      which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a distinct
      but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage inside of the
      mountain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sacred oracle of Delphi," said he, "whither shall I go next in quest of
      my dear sister Europa?"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise
      like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth. This
      cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth,
      which sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most part,
      these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have staid at
      the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than many others who
      went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the rushing noise began to
      sound like articulate language. It repeated, over and over again, the
      following sentence, which, after all, was so like the vague whistle of a
      blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite know whether it meant
      anything or not:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Seek her no more! Seek her no more! Seek her no more!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, then, shall I do?" asked Cadmus.
    </p>
    <p>
      For, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object of
      his life to find his sister. From the very hour that he left following the
      butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he had done his best to
      follow Europa, over land and sea. And now, if he must give up the search,
      he seemed to have no more business in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      But again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Follow the cow!" it said. "Follow the cow! Follow the cow!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of hearing
      them (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was to
      follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home."
    </p>
    <p>
      These words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a
      whisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the meaning.
      He put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust of wind
      sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered leaves
      rustling along the ground before it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did there really come any words out of the hole?" thought Cadmus; "or
      have I been dreaming all this while?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when he
      came thither. Caring little what might happen to him, he took the first
      path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace; for, having
      no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than another, it
      would certainly have been foolish to make haste. Whenever he met anybody,
      the old question was at his tongue's end.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and
      mounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the words,
      and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion, people
      must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his wits.
    </p>
    <p>
      I know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told you,
      when at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow. She was
      lying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor did she take
      any notice of the young man until he had approached pretty nigh. Then,
      getting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she
      began to move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough to
      crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered behind, whistling idly to
      himself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the thought occurred to him,
      whether this could possibly be the animal which, according to the oracle's
      response, was to serve him for a guide. But he smiled at himself for
      fancying such a thing. He could not seriously think that this was the cow,
      because she went along so quietly, behaving just like any other cow.
      Evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of hay about
      Cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living along the wayside,
      where the herbage was green and fresh. Perhaps she was going home to be
      milked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cow, cow, cow!" cried Cadmus. "Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my good cow!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if she
      would appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities to
      distinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is to fill
      the milk-pail, and sometimes kick it over. But still the brindled cow
      trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as little
      notice of Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did the cow,
      and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace, the cow
      went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus tried to catch her by
      running, she threw out her heels, stuck her tail straight on end, and set
      off at a gallop, looking as queerly as cows generally do, while putting
      themselves to their speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked on
      moderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely on, without looking
      behind. Wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a mouthful or
      two. Where a brook glistened brightly across the path, there the cow
      drank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again, and trudged
      onward at the pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do believe," thought Cadmus, "that this may be the cow that was
      foretold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down somewhere
      hereabouts."
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem
      reasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So, whenever they
      reached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hillside, or in a
      sheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or along
      the bank of a clear stream, Cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the
      situation would suit him for a home. But still, whether he liked the place
      or no, the brindled cow never offered to lie down. On she went at the
      quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn yard; and, every moment,
      Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a pail, or a herdsman
      running to head the stray animal, and turn her back towards the pasture.
      But no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back; and Cadmus followed the
      stray Brindle till he was almost ready to drop down with fatigue.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O brindled cow," cried he, in a tone of despair, "do you never mean to
      stop?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging behind,
      however long the way, and whatever might be his fatigue. Indeed, it seemed
      as if there were something about the animal that bewitched people. Several
      persons who happened to see the brindled cow, and Cadmus following behind,
      began to trudge after her, precisely as he did. Cadmus was glad of
      somebody to converse with, and therefore talked very freely to these good
      people. He told them all his adventures, and how he had left King Agenor
      in his palace, and Phoenix at one place, and Cilix at another, and Thasus
      at a third, and his dear mother, Queen Telephassa, under a flowery sod; so
      that now he was quite alone, both friendless and homeless. He mentioned,
      likewise, that the oracle had bidden him be guided by a cow, and inquired
      of the strangers whether they supposed that this brindled animal could be
      the one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, 'tis a very wonderful affair," answered one of his new companions.
      "I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and I never knew a
      cow, of her own accord, to go so far without stopping. If my legs will let
      me, I'll never leave following the beast till she lies down."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor I!" said a second.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor I!" cried a third. "If she goes a hundred miles farther, I am
      determined to see the end of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      The secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted cow,
      and that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of her
      enchantment over everybody that took so much as half a dozen steps behind
      her. They could not possibly help following her, though all the time they
      fancied themselves doing it of their own accord. The cow was by no means
      very nice in choosing her path; so that sometimes they had to scramble
      over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and all in a terribly bedraggled
      condition, and tired to death, and very hungry, into the bargain. What a
      weary business it was!
    </p>
    <p>
      But still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they went.
      The strangers grew very fond of Cadmus, and resolved never to leave him,
      but to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie down. In the
      center of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might dwell,
      and be their king, with a throne, a crown, a sceptre, a purple robe, and
      everything else that a king ought to have; for in him there was the royal
      blood, and the royal heart, and the head that knew how to rule.
    </p>
    <p>
      While they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the tediousness of
      the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one of the company
      happened to look at the cow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joy! joy!" cried he, clapping his hands. "Brindle is going to lie down."
    </p>
    <p>
      They all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped, and was staring
      leisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down. And
      slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first bending
      her forelegs, and then crouching her hind ones. When Cadmus and his
      companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking her ease,
      chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if this was just
      the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all a matter of
      course.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This, then," said Cadmus, gazing around him, "this is to be my home."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their
      sun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough
      weather. At no great distance, they beheld a river gleaming in the
      sunshine. A home feeling stole into the heart of poor Cadmus. He was very
      glad to know that here he might awake in the morning without the necessity
      of putting on his dusty sandals to travel farther and farther. The days
      and the years would pass over him, and find him still in this pleasant
      spot. If he could have had his brothers with him, and his friend Thasus,
      and could have seen his dear mother under a roof of his own, he might here
      have been happy after all their disappointments. Some day or other, too,
      his sister Europa might have come quietly to the door of his home, and
      smiled round upon the familiar faces. But, indeed, since there was no hope
      of regaining the friends of his boyhood, or ever seeing his dear sister
      again, Cadmus resolved to make himself happy with these new companions,
      who had grown so fond of him while following the cow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my friends," said he to them, "this is to be our home. Here we will
      build our habitations. The brindled cow, which has led us hither, will
      supply us with milk. We will cultivate the neighboring soil and lead an
      innocent and happy life."
    </p>
    <p>
      His companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first place,
      being very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the means of
      providing a comfortable meal. Not far off they saw a tuft of trees, which
      appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath them. They went
      thither to fetch some, leaving Cadmus stretched on the ground along with
      the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of rest, it seemed as
      if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever since he left King Agenor's
      palace, had fallen upon him at once. But his new friends had not long been
      gone, when he was suddenly startled by cries, shouts, and screams, and the
      noise of a terrible struggle, and in the midst of it all, a most awful
      hissing, which went right through his ears like a rough saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      Running towards the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes of an
      immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a dragon had,
      and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth. Before Cadmus could reach
      the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor companions, and was
      busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of each man.
    </p>
    <p>
      It appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the dragon
      had been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench his thirst
      there. As the neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided the spot, it was
      now a long time (not less than a hundred years or thereabouts) since the
      monster had broken his fast; and, as was natural enough, his appetite had
      grown to be enormous, and was not half satisfied by the poor people whom
      he had just eaten up. When he caught sight of Cadmus, therefore, he set up
      another abominable hiss, and flung back his immense jaws, until his mouth
      looked like a great red cavern, at the farther end of which were seen the
      legs of his last victim, whom he had hardly had time to swallow.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends that he cared
      neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds of sharp
      teeth. Drawing his sword, he rushed at the monster, and flung himself
      right into his cavernous mouth. This bold method of attacking him took the
      dragon by surprise; for, in fact, Cadmus had leaped so far down into his
      throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not close upon him, nor do
      him the least harm in the world. Thus, though the struggle was a
      tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the tuft of trees into
      small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet, as Cadmus was all the
      while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals, it was not long before the
      scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping away. He had not gone his
      length, however, when the brave Cadmus gave him a sword thrust that
      finished the battle; and creeping out of the gateway of the creature's
      jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling his vast bulk, although there
      was no longer life enough in him to harm a little child.
    </p>
    <p>
      But do not you suppose that it made Cadmus sorrowful to think of the
      melancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who had
      followed the cow along with him? It seemed as if he were doomed to lose
      everybody whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or another. And
      here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a solitary place, with
      not a single human being to help him build a hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What shall I do?" cried he aloud. "It were better for me to have been
      devoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cadmus," said a voice but whether it came from above or below him, or
      whether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not tell&mdash;"Cadmus,
      pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, I should imagine, to
      dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's jaws. But
      Cadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous head almost to
      pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many teeth as might
      have filled a bushel or two. The next thing was to plant them. This,
      likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as Cadmus was already
      exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his head to pieces, and had
      nothing to dig the earth with, that I know of, unless it were his sword
      blade. Finally, however, a sufficiently large tract of ground was turned
      up, and sown with this new kind of seed; although half of the dragon's
      teeth still remained to be planted some other day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and wondering
      what was to happen next. He had waited but a few moments, when he began to
      see a sight, which was as great a marvel as the most marvelous thing I
      ever told you about.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the moist,
      dark soil just like any other newly-planted piece of ground. All at once,
      Cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly, first at one spot,
      then at another, and then at a hundred and a thousand spots together. Soon
      he perceived them to be the steel heads of spears, sprouting up everywhere
      like so many stalks of grain, and continually growing taller and taller.
      Next appeared a vast number of bright sword blades, thrusting themselves
      up in the same way. A moment afterwards, the whole surface of the ground
      was broken by a multitude of polished brass helmets, coming up like a crop
      of enormous beans. So rapidly did they grow, that Cadmus now discerned the
      fierce countenance of a man beneath every one. In short, before he had
      time to think what a wonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant
      harvest of what looked like human beings, armed with helmets and
      breastplates, shields, swords, and spears; and before they were well out
      of the earth, they brandished their weapons, and clashed them one against
      another, seeming to think, little while as they had yet lived, that they
      had wasted too much of life without a battle. Every tooth of the dragon
      had produced one of these sons of deadly mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      Up sprouted also a great many trumpeters; and with the first breath that
      they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and sounded a
      tremendous and ear-shattering blast, so that the whole space, just now so
      quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang of arms, the
      bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men. So enraged did they
      all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put the whole world to the
      sword. How fortunate would it be for a great conqueror, if he could get a
      bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cadmus," said the same voice which he had before heard, "throw a stone
      into the midst of the armed men."
    </p>
    <p>
      So Cadmus seized a large stone, and flinging it into the middle of the
      earth army, saw it strike the breastplate of a gigantic and fierce-looking
      warrior. Immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to take it for granted
      that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his weapon, he smote his next
      neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet asunder, and stretched him on the
      ground. In an instant, those nearest the fallen warrior began to strike at
      one another with their swords, and stab with their spears. The confusion
      spread wider and wider. Each man smote down his brother, and was himself
      smitten down before he had time to exult in his victory. The trumpeters,
      all the while, blew their blasts shriller and shriller; each soldier
      shouted a battle cry, and often fell with it on his lips. It was the
      strangest spectacle of causeless wrath, and of mischief for no good end,
      that had ever been witnessed; but, after all, it was neither more foolish
      nor more wicked than a thousand battles that have since been fought, in
      which men have slain their brothers with just as little reason as these
      children of the dragon's teeth. It ought to be considered, too, that the
      dragon people were made for nothing else; whereas other mortals were born
      to love and help one another.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was strewn
      with helmeted heads that had been cut off. Of all the thousands that began
      the fight, there were only five left standing. These now rushed from
      different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle of it, clashed
      their swords, and struck at each other's hearts as fiercely as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cadmus," said the voice again, "bid those five warriors sheathe their
      swords. They will help you to build the city."
    </p>
    <p>
      Without hesitating an instant, Cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect of
      a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them, spoke to
      the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sheathe your weapons!" said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      And forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five remaining
      sons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with their swords,
      returned them to the scabbards, and stood before Cadmus in a rank, eyeing
      him as soldiers eye their captain, while awaiting the word of command.
    </p>
    <p>
      These five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's teeth,
      and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army. They were almost
      giants indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never could have
      lived through so terrible a fight. They still had a very furious look,
      and, if Cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at one another, with
      fire flashing out of their eyes. It was strange, too, to observe how the
      earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was incrusted, here and
      there, on their bright breastplates, and even, begrimed their faces; just
      as you may have seen it clinging to beets and carrots, when pulled out of
      their native soil. Cadmus hardly knew whether to consider them as men, or
      some odd kind of vegetable; although, on the whole, he concluded that
      there was human nature in them, because they were so fond of trumpets and
      weapons, and so ready to shed blood.
    </p>
    <p>
      They looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and
      evidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one
      battlefield to another, all over the wide world. But Cadmus was wiser than
      these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them, and knew
      better how to use their strength and hardihood.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come!" said he. "You are sturdy fellows. Make yourselves useful! Quarry
      some stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to build a
      city."
    </p>
    <p>
      The five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their
      business to overthrow cities, not to build them up. But Cadmus looked at
      them with a stern eye, and spoke to them in a tone of authority, so that
      they knew him for their master, and never again thought of disobeying his
      commands. They set to work in good earnest, and toiled so diligently,
      that, in a very short time, a city began to make its appearance. At first,
      to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome disposition. Like savage
      beasts, they would doubtless have done one another a mischief, if Cadmus
      had not kept watch over them, and quelled the fierce old serpent that
      lurked in their hearts, when he saw it gleaming out of their wild eyes.
      But, in course of time, they got accustomed to honest labor, and had sense
      enough to feel that there was more true enjoyment in living at peace, and
      doing good to one's neighbor, than in striking at him with a two-edged
      sword. It may not be too much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and
      by grow as wise and peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors, who
      sprang from the dragon's teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the
      workmen. But the palace of Cadmus was not yet erected, because they had
      left it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new improvements of
      architecture, and make it very commodious, as well as stately and
      beautiful. After finishing the rest of their labors, they all went to bed
      betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning, and get at least the
      foundation of the edifice laid before nightfall. But, when Cadmus arose,
      and took his way towards the site where the palace was to be built,
      followed by his five sturdy workmen marching all in a row, what do you
      think he saw?
    </p>
    <p>
      What should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been seen
      in the world. It was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of stone,
      and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and a portico along the
      front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted the
      habitation of a mighty king. It had grown up out of the earth in almost as
      short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from the dragon's
      teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of this stately
      edifice ever had been planted.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine making it
      look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Long live King Cadmus," they cried, "in his beautiful palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels,
      shouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank (for they still had a
      soldier-like sort of behavior, as their nature was), ascended the palace
      steps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista of lofty
      pillars, that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At the farther
      extremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him, Cadmus beheld a
      female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with a royal robe, and a
      crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and the richest necklace that
      ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with delight. He fancied it his
      long-lost sister Europa, now grown to womanhood, coming to make him happy,
      and to repay him with her sweet sisterly affection, for all those weary
      wonderings in quest of her since he left King Agenor's palace&mdash;for
      the tears that he had shed, on parting with Phoenix, and Cilix, and Thasus&mdash;for
      the heart-breakings that had made the whole world seem dismal to him over
      his dear mother's grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, as Cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that her
      features were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it
      required to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy betwixt
      himself and her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Cadmus," said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field of
      the armed men, "this is not that dear sister Europa whom you have sought
      so faithfully all over the wide world. This is Harmonia, a daughter of the
      sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers, and friend, and
      mother. You will find all those dear ones in her alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      So King Cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend Harmonia, and
      found a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would
      doubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by the
      wayside. Before many years went by, there was a group of rosy little
      children (but how they came thither has always been a mystery to me)
      sporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the palace, and
      running joyfully to meet King Cadmus when affairs of state left him at
      leisure to play with them. They called him father, and Queen Harmonia
      mother. The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth grew very fond of
      these small urchins, and were never weary of showing them how to shoulder
      sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march in military order, blowing a
      penny trumpet, or beating an abominable rub-a-dub upon a little drum.
    </p>
    <p>
      But King Cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth in
      his children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly duties to
      teach them their A B C&mdash;which he invented for their benefit, and for
      which many little people, I am afraid, are not half so grateful to him as
      they ought to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CIRCE'S PALACE.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Some of you have heard, no doubt, of the wise King Ulysses, and how he
      went to the siege of Troy, and how, after that famous city was taken and
      burned, he spent ten long years in trying to get back again to his own
      little kingdom of Ithaca. At one time in the course of this weary voyage,
      he arrived at an island that looked very green and pleasant, but the name
      of which was unknown to him. For, only a little while before he came
      thither, he had met with a terrible hurricane, or rather a great many
      hurricanes at once, which drove his fleet of vessels into a strange part
      of the sea, where neither himself nor any of his mariners had ever sailed.
      This misfortune was entirely owing to the foolish curiosity of his
      shipmates, who, while Ulysses lay asleep, had untied some very bulky
      leathern bags, in which they supposed a valuable treasure to be concealed.
      But in each of these stout bags, King Aeolus, the ruler of the winds, had
      tied up a tempest, and had given it to Ulysses to keep in order that he
      might be sure of a favorable passage homeward to Ithaca; and when the
      strings were loosened, forth rushed the whistling blasts, like air out of
      a blown bladder, whitening the sea with foam, and scattering the vessels
      nobody could tell whither.
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately after escaping from this peril, a still greater one had
      befallen him. Scudding before the hurricane, he reached a place, which, as
      he afterwards found, was called Laestrygonia, where some monstrous giants
      had eaten up many of his companions, and had sunk every one of his
      vessels, except that in which he himself sailed, by flinging great masses
      of rock at them, from the cliffs along the shore. After going through such
      troubles as these, you cannot wonder that King Ulysses was glad to moor
      his tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove of the green island, which I began
      with telling you about. But he had encountered so many dangers from
      giants, and one-eyed Cyclops, and monsters of the sea and land, that he
      could not help dreading some mischief, even in this pleasant and seemingly
      solitary spot. For two days, therefore, the poor weather-worn voyagers
      kept quiet, and either staid on board of their vessel, or merely crept
      along under the cliffs that bordered the shore; and to keep themselves
      alive, they dug shellfish out of the sand, and sought for any little rill
      of fresh water that might be running towards the sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of life;
      for the followers of King Ulysses, as you will find it important to
      remember, were terrible gormandizers, and pretty sure to grumble if they
      missed their regulars meals, and their irregular ones besides. Their stock
      of provisions was quite exhausted, and even the shellfish began to get
      scarce, so that they had now to choose between starving to death or
      venturing into the interior of the island, where perhaps some huge
      three-headed dragon, or other horrible monster, had his den. Such
      misshapen creatures were very numerous in those days; and nobody ever
      expected to make a voyage, or take a journey, without running more or less
      risk of being devoured by them.
    </p>
    <p>
      But King Ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the third
      morning he determined to discover what sort of a place the island was, and
      whether it were possible to obtain a supply of food for the hungry mouths
      of his companions. So, taking a spear in his hand, he clambered to the
      summit of a cliff, and gazed round about him. At a distance, towards the
      center of the island, he beheld the stately towers of what seemed to be a
      palace, built of snow-white marble, and rising in the midst of a grove of
      lofty trees. The thick branches of these trees stretched across the front
      of the edifice, and more than half concealed it, although, from the
      portion which he saw, Ulysses judged it to be spacious and exceedingly
      beautiful, and probably the residence of some great nobleman or prince. A
      blue smoke went curling up from the chimney, and was almost the
      pleasantest part of the spectacle to Ulysses. For, from the abundance of
      this smoke, it was reasonable to conclude that there was a good fire in
      the kitchen, and that, at dinner-time, a plentiful banquet would be served
      up to the inhabitants of the palace, and to whatever guests might happen
      to drop in.
    </p>
    <p>
      With so agreeable a prospect before him, Ulysses fancied that he could not
      do better than go straight to the palace gate, and tell the master of it
      that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not far off, who had
      eaten nothing for a day or two, save a few clams and oysters, and would
      therefore be thankful for a little food. And the prince or nobleman must
      be a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if, at least, when his own dinner
      was over, he would not bid them welcome to the broken victuals from the
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pleasing himself with this idea, King Ulysses had made a few steps in the
      direction of the palace, when there was a great twittering and chirping
      from the branch of a neighboring tree. A moment afterwards, a bird came
      flying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to brush his face
      with its wings. It was a very pretty little bird, with purple wings and
      body, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden feathers round its neck, and
      on its head a golden tuft, which looked like a king's crown in miniature.
      Ulysses tried to catch the bird. But it fluttered nimbly out of his reach,
      still chirping in a piteous tone, as if it could have told a lamentable
      story, had it only been gifted with human language. And when he attempted
      to drive it away, the bird flew no farther than the bough of the next
      tree, and again came fluttering about his head, with its doleful chirp, as
      soon as he showed a purpose of going forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you anything to tell me, little bird?" asked Ulysses.
    </p>
    <p>
      And he was ready to listen attentively to whatever the bird might
      communicate; for, at the siege of Troy, and elsewhere, he had known such
      odd things to happen, that he would not have considered it much out of the
      common run had this little feathered creature talked as plainly as
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peep!" said the bird, "peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!" And nothing else would
      it say, but only, "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!" in a melancholy cadence,
      and over and over and over again. As often as Ulysses moved forward,
      however, the bird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive him
      back, with the anxious flutter of its purple wings. Its unaccountable
      behavior made him conclude, at last, that the bird knew of some danger
      that awaited him, and which must needs be very terrible, beyond all
      question, since it moved even a little fowl to feel compassion for a human
      being. So he resolved, for the present, to return to the vessel, and tell
      his companions what he had seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      This appeared to satisfy the bird. As soon as Ulysses turned back, it ran
      up the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark with its
      long, sharp bill; for it was a kind of woodpecker, you must know, and had
      to get its living in the same manner as other birds of that species. But
      every little while, as it pecked at the bark of the tree, the purple bird
      bethought itself of some secret sorrow, and repeated its plaintive note of
      "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!"
    </p>
    <p>
      On his way to the shore, Ulysses had the good luck to kill a large stag by
      thrusting his spear into his back. Taking it on his shoulders (for he was
      a remarkably strong man), he lugged it along with him, and flung it down
      before his hungry companions. I have already hinted to you what
      gormandizers some of the comrades of King Ulysses were. From what is
      related of them, I reckon that their favorite diet was pork, and that they
      had lived upon it until a good part of their physical substance was
      swine's flesh, and their tempers and dispositions were very much akin to
      the hog. A dish of venison, however, was no unacceptable meal to them,
      especially after feeding so long on oysters and clams. So, beholding the
      dead stag, they felt of its ribs, in a knowing way, and lost no time in
      kindling a fire of driftwood, to cook it. The rest of the day was spent in
      feasting; and if these enormous eaters got up from table at sunset, it was
      only because they could not scrape another morsel off the poor animal's
      bones.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning, their appetites were as sharp as ever. They looked at
      Ulysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff again, and come
      back with another fat deer upon his shoulders. Instead of setting out,
      however, he summoned the whole crew together, and told them it was in vain
      to hope that he could kill a stag every day for their dinner, and
      therefore it was advisable to think of some other mode of satisfying their
      hunger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now," said he, "when I was on the cliff, yesterday, I discovered that
      this island is inhabited. At a considerable distance from the shore stood
      a marble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a great deal
      of smoke curling out of one of its chimneys."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!" muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips. "That smoke
      must have come from the kitchen fire. There was a good dinner on the spit;
      and no doubt there will be as good a one to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," continued the wise Ulysses, "you must remember, my good friends,
      our misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed Polyphemus, the Cyclops!
      Instead of his ordinary milk diet, did he not eat up two of our comrades
      for his supper, and a couple more for breakfast, and two at his supper
      again? Methinks I see him yet, the hideous monster, scanning us with that
      great red eye, in the middle of his forehead, to single out the fattest.
      And then, again, only a few days ago, did we not fall into the hands of
      the king of the Laestrygons, and those other horrible giants, his
      subjects, who devoured a great many more of us than are now left? To tell
      you the truth, if we go to yonder palace, there can be no question that we
      shall make our appearance at the dinner table; but whether seated as
      guests, or served up as food, is a point to be seriously considered."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Either way," murmured some of the hungriest of the crew; "it will be
      better than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being well
      fattened beforehand, and daintily cooked afterwards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is a matter of taste," said King Ulysses, "and, for my own part,
      neither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would
      reconcile me to being dished at last. My proposal is, therefore, that we
      divide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing lots,
      which of the two shall go to the palace, and beg for food and assistance.
      If these can be obtained, all is well. If not, and if the inhabitants
      prove as inhospitable as Polyphemus, or the Laestrygons, then there will
      but half of us perish, and the remainder may set sail and escape."
    </p>
    <p>
      As nobody objected to this scheme, Ulysses proceeded to count the whole
      band, and found that there were forty-six men, including himself. He then
      numbered off twenty-two of them, and put Eurylochus (who was one of his
      chief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity) at their head.
      Ulysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men, in person. Then,
      taking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one of which was
      written, "Go," and on the other "Stay." Another person now held the
      helmet, while Ulysses and Eurylochus drew out each a shell; and the word
      "Go" was found written on that which Eurylochus had drawn. In this manner,
      it was decided that Ulysses and his twenty-two men were to remain at the
      seaside until the other party should have found out what sort of treatment
      they might expect at the mysterious palace. As there was no help for it,
      Eurylochus immediately set forth at the head of his twenty-two followers,
      who went off in a very melancholy state of mind, leaving their friends in
      hardly better spirits than themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had they clambered up the cliff, than they discerned the tall
      marble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the
      lovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it. A gush of smoke came
      from a chimney in the rear of the edifice. This vapor rose high in the
      air, and, meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to pass over
      the heads of the hungry mariners. When people's appetites are keen, they
      have a very quick scent for anything savory in the wind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That smoke comes from the kitchen!" cried one of them, turning up his
      nose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly. "And, as sure as I'm a
      half-starved vagabond, I smell roast meat in it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pig, roast pig!" said another. "Ah, the dainty little porker. My mouth
      waters for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let us make haste," cried the others, "or we shall be too late for the
      good cheer!"
    </p>
    <p>
      But scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the cliff,
      when a bird came fluttering to meet them. It was the same pretty little
      bird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs, the golden collar
      round its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its head, whose behavior had
      so much surprised Ulysses. It hovered about Eurylochus, and almost brushed
      his face with its wings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!" chirped the bird.
    </p>
    <p>
      So plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the little
      creature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret that it had
      to tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My pretty bird," said Eurylochus&mdash;for he was a wary person, and let
      no token of harm escape his notice&mdash;"my pretty bird, who sent you
      hither? And what is the message which you bring?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!" replied the bird, very sorrowfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked around at them, as
      if exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.
      Eurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back. They could
      not help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of something
      mischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of
      which affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow. But the
      rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace kitchen,
      ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of them (more brutal
      than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer in the crew) said
      such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the mere thought did not turn
      him into a wild beast, in shape, as he already was in his nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This troublesome and impertinent little fowl," said he, "would make a
      delicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting away
      between the teeth. If he comes within my reach, I'll catch him, and give
      him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer."
    </p>
    <p>
      The words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew away,
      crying, "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep," more dolorously than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That bird," remarked Eurylochus, "knows more than we do about what awaits
      us at the palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come on, then," cried his comrades, "and we'll soon know as much as he
      does."
    </p>
    <p>
      The party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant wood.
      Every little while they caught new glimpses of the marble palace, which
      looked more and more beautiful the nearer they approached it. They soon
      entered a broad pathway, which seemed to be very neatly kept, and which
      went winding along, with streaks of sunshine falling across it and specks
      of light quivering among the deepest shadows that fell from the lofty
      trees. It was bordered, too, with a great many sweet-smelling flowers,
      such as the mariners had never seen before. So rich and beautiful they
      were, that, if the shrubs grew wild here, and were native in the soil,
      then this island was surely the flower garden of the whole earth; or, if
      transplanted from some other clime, it must have been from the Happy
      Islands that lay towards the golden sunset.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There has been a great deal of pains foolishly wasted on these flowers,"
      observed one of the company; and I tell you what he said, that you may
      keep in mind what gormandizers they were. "For my part, if I were the
      owner of the palace, I would bid my gardener cultivate nothing but savory
      pot herbs to make a stuffing for roast meat, or to flavor a stew with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well said!" cried the others. "But I'll warrant you there's a kitchen
      garden in the rear of the palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      At one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it for
      want of liquor which they liked better. Looking into its bosom, they
      beheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly distorted by
      the gush and motion of the water, that each one of them appeared to be
      laughing at himself and all his companions. So ridiculous were these
      images of themselves, indeed, that they did really laugh aloud, and could
      hardly be grave again as soon as they wished. And after they had drank,
      they grew still merrier than before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has a twang of the wine cask in it," said one, smacking his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make haste!" cried his fellows: "we'll find the wine cask itself at the
      palace, and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of the
      savory banquet at which they hoped to be guests. But Eurylochus told them
      that he felt as if he were walking in a dream.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I am really awake," continued he, "then, in my opinion, we are on the
      point of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that befell us in
      the cave of Polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating Laestrygons, or
      in the windy palace of King Aeolus, which stands on a brazen-walled
      island. This kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me before any
      wonderful occurrence. If you take my advice, you will turn back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no," answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent from
      the palace kitchen was now very perceptible. "We would not turn back,
      though we were certain that the king of the Laestrygons, as big as a
      mountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge Polyphemus, the
      one-eyed Cyclops, at its foot."
    </p>
    <p>
      At length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to be
      very large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon its roof.
      Though it was midday, and the sun shone brightly over the marble front,
      yet its snowy whiteness, and its fantastic style of architecture, made it
      look unreal, like the frost work on a window pane, or like the shapes of
      castles which one sees among the clouds by moonlight. But, just then, a
      puff of wind brought down the smoke of the kitchen chimney among them, and
      caused each man to smell the odor of the dish that he liked best; and,
      after scenting it, they thought everything else moonshine, and nothing
      real save this palace, and save the banquet that was evidently ready to be
      served up in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      So they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got half way
      across the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves came
      bounding to meet them. The terrified mariners started back, expecting no
      better fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured. To their surprise and
      joy, however, these wild beasts merely capered around them, wagging their
      tails, offering their heads to be stroked and patted, and behaving just
      like so many well-bred house dogs, when they wish to express their delight
      at meeting their master, or their master's friends. The biggest lion
      licked the feet of Eurylochus; and every other lion, and every wolf and
      tiger, singled out one of his two and twenty followers, whom the beast
      fondled as if he loved him better than a beef bone.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, for all that, Eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce and
      savage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any moment, to
      feel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the tigers make a
      deadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the man whom he had
      fondled. Their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere freak; but their savage
      nature was as true as their teeth and claws.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts
      frisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they
      mounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low
      growl, particularly from the wolves; as if they thought it a pity, after
      all, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what they were
      made of.
    </p>
    <p>
      Eurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and looked
      through the open doorway into the interior of the palace. The first thing
      that they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the middle of it,
      gushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin, and falling back
      into it with a continual plash. The water of this fountain, as it spouted
      upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly, but plainly
      enough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they were. Now it was the
      shape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy whiteness of which was made out
      of the fountain's spray; now it was a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or an
      ass, or, as often as anything else, a hog, wallowing in the marble basin
      as if it were his sty. It was either magic or some very curious machinery
      that caused the gushing waterspout to assume all these forms. But, before
      the strangers had time to look closely at this wonderful sight, their
      attention was drawn off by a very sweet and agreeable sound. A woman's
      voice was singing melodiously in another room of the palace, and with her
      voice was mingled the noise of a loom, at which she was probably seated,
      weaving a rich texture of cloth, and intertwining the high and low
      sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue of harmony.
    </p>
    <p>
      By and by, the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were
      several feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and then
      a merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three or four
      young women sit at work together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a sweet song that was!" exclaimed one of the voyagers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Too sweet, indeed," answered Eurylochus, shaking his head. "Yet it was
      not so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those bird-like damsels who wanted
      to tempt us on the rocks, so that our vessel might be wrecked, and our
      bones left whitening along the shore."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that buzz of
      the loom, as the shuttle passes to and fro," said another comrade. "What a
      domestic, household, home-like sound it is! Ah, before that weary siege of
      Troy, I used to hear the buzzing loom and the women's voices under my own
      roof. Shall I never hear them again? nor taste those nice little savory
      dishes which my dearest wife knew how to serve up?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush! we shall fare better here," said another. "But how innocently those
      women are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear them! And
      mark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and so familiar, but which yet
      seems to have the authority of a mistress among them. Let us show
      ourselves at once. What harm can the lady of the palace and her maidens do
      to mariners and warriors like us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Remember," said Eurylochus, "that it was a young maiden who beguiled
      three of our friends into the palace of the king of the Laestrygons, who
      ate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye."
    </p>
    <p>
      No warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions. They
      went up to a pair of folding doors at the farther end of the hall, and
      throwing them wide open, passed into the next room. Eurylochus, meanwhile,
      had stepped behind a pillar. In the short moment while the folding doors
      opened and closed again, he caught a glimpse of a very beautiful woman
      rising from the loom, and coming to meet the poor weather-beaten
      wanderers, with a hospitable smile, and her hand stretched out in welcome.
      There were four other young women, who joined their hands and danced
      merrily forward, making gestures of obeisance to the strangers. They were
      only less beautiful than the lady who seemed to be their mistress. Yet
      Eurylochus fancied that one of them had sea-green hair, and that the
      close-fitting bodice of a second looked like the bark of a tree, and that
      both the others had something odd in their aspect, although he could not
      quite determine what it was, in the little while that he had to examine
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The folding doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the
      pillar, in the solitude of the outer hall. There Eurylochus waited until
      he was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but without
      hearing anything that could help him to guess what had become of his
      friends. Footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and repassing, in
      other parts of the palace. Then there was a clatter of silver dishes, or
      golden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in a splendid banqueting
      hall. But by and by he heard a tremendous grunting and squealing, and then
      a sudden scampering, like that of small, hard hoofs over a marble floor,
      while the voices of the mistress and her four handmaidens were screaming
      all together, in tones of anger and derision. Eurylochus could not
      conceive what had happened, unless a drove of swine had broken into the
      palace, attracted by the smell of the feast. Chancing to cast his eyes at
      the fountain, he saw that it did not shift its shape, as formerly, nor
      looked either like a long-robed man, or a lion, a tiger, a wolf, or an
      ass. It looked like nothing but a hog, which lay wallowing in the marble
      basin, and filled it from brim to brim.
    </p>
    <p>
      But we must leave the prudent Eurylochus waiting in the outer hall, and
      follow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace. As soon as the
      beautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as I have told you, and
      came forward, smiling, and stretching out her hand. She took the hand of
      the foremost among them, and bade him and the whole party welcome.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been long expected, my good friends," said she. "I and my
      maidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to
      recognize us. Look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces must
      not have been familiar to us."
    </p>
    <p>
      So the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman had
      been weaving in her loom; and, to their vast astonishment, they saw their
      own figures perfectly represented in different colored threads. It was a
      life-like picture of their recent adventures, showing them in the cave of
      Polyphemus, and how they had put out his one great moony eye; while in
      another part of the tapestry they were untying the leathern bags, puffed
      out with contrary winds; and farther on, they beheld themselves scampering
      away from the gigantic king of the Laestrygons, who had caught one of them
      by the leg. Lastly, there they were, sitting on the desolate shore of this
      very island, hungry and downcast, and looking ruefully at the bare bones
      of the stag which they devoured yesterday. This was as far as the work had
      yet proceeded; but when the beautiful woman should again sit down at her
      loom, she would probably make a picture of what had since happened to the
      strangers, and of what was now going to happen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see," she said, "that I know all about your troubles; and you cannot
      doubt that I desire to make you happy for as long a time as you may remain
      with me. For this purpose, my honored guests, I have ordered a banquet to
      be prepared. Fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, and in luscious stews, and
      seasoned, I trust, to all your tastes, are ready to be served up. If your
      appetites tell you it is dinner time, then come with me to the festal
      saloon."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this kind invitation, the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed; and one
      of them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their hospitable
      hostess that any hour of the day was dinner time with them, whenever they
      could get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it with. So the
      beautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens (one of them had
      sea-green hair, another a bodice of oak bark, a third sprinkled a shower
      of water drops from her fingers' ends, and the fourth had some other
      oddity, which I have forgotten), all these followed behind, and hurried
      the guests along, until they entered a magnificent saloon. It was built in
      a perfect oval, and lighted from a crystal dome above. Around the walls
      were ranged two and twenty thrones, overhung by canopies of crimson and
      gold, and provided with the softest of cushions, which were tasselled and
      fringed with gold cord. Each of the strangers was invited to sit down; and
      there they were, two and twenty storm-beaten mariners, in worn and
      tattered garb, sitting on two and twenty cushioned and canopied thrones,
      so rich and gorgeous that the proudest monarch had nothing more splendid
      in his stateliest hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and
      leaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction in
      hoarse whispers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our good hostess has made kings of us all," said one. "Ha! do you smell
      the feast? I'll engage it will be fit to set before two and twenty kings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope," said another, "it will be, mainly, good substantial joints,
      sirloins, spareribs, and hinder quarters, without too many kickshaws. If I
      thought the good lady would not take it amiss, I should call for a fat
      slice of fried bacon to begin with."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ah, the gluttons and gormandizers! You see how it was with them. In the
      loftiest seats of dignity, on royal thrones, they could think of nothing
      but their greedy appetite, which was the portion of their nature that they
      shared with wolves and swine; so that they resembled those vilest of
      animals far more than they did kings&mdash;if, indeed, kings were what
      they ought to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there
      entered a train of two and twenty serving men, bringing dishes of the
      richest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a steam
      that it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon. An equal
      number of attendants brought great flagons of wine, of various kinds, some
      of which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling down the throat;
      while, of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear that you could see
      the wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet. While the servants
      supplied the two and twenty guests with food and drink, the hostess and
      her four maidens went from one throne to another, exhorting them to eat
      their fill, and to quaff wine abundantly, and thus to recompense
      themselves, at this one banquet, for the many days when they had gone
      without a dinner. But whenever the mariners were not looking at them
      (which was pretty often, as they looked chiefly into the basins and
      platters), the beautiful woman and her damsels turned aside, and laughed.
      Even the servants, as they knelt down to present the dishes, might be seen
      to grin and sneer, while the guests were helping themselves to the offered
      dainties.
    </p>
    <p>
      And, once in a while, the strangers seemed to taste something that they
      did not like.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is an odd kind of spice in this dish," said one. "I can't say it
      quite suits my palate. Down it goes, however."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Send a good draught of wine down your throat," said his comrade on the
      next throne. "That is the stuff to make this sort of cookery relish well.
      Though I must needs say, the wine has a queer taste too. But the more I
      drink of it, the better I like the flavor."
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at dinner
      a prodigiously long while; and it would really have made you ashamed to
      see how they swilled down the liquor and gobbled up the food. They sat on
      golden thrones, to be sure; but they behaved like pigs in a sty; and, if
      they had had their wits about them, they might have guessed that this was
      the opinion of their beautiful hostess and her maidens. It brings a blush
      into my face to reckon up, in my own mind, what mountains of meat and
      pudding, and what gallons of wine, these two and twenty guzzlers and
      gormandizers ate and drank. They forgot all about their homes, and their
      wives and children, and all about Ulysses, and everything else, except
      this banquet, at which they wanted to keep feasting forever. But at length
      they began to give over, from mere incapacity to hold any more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That last bit of fat is too much for me," said one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I have not room for another morsel," said his next neighbor, heaving
      a sigh. "What a pity! My appetite is as sharp as ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      In short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones, with
      such a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to behold. When
      their hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her four damsels; so did
      the two and twenty serving men that bore the dishes, and their two and
      twenty fellows that poured out the wine. And the louder they all laughed,
      the more stupid and helpless did the two and twenty gormandizers look.
      Then the beautiful woman took her stand in the middle of the saloon, and
      stretching out a slender rod (it had been all the while in her hand,
      although they never noticed it till this moment), she turned it from one
      guest to another, until each had felt it pointed at himself. Beautiful as
      her face was, and though there was a smile on it, it looked just as wicked
      and mischievous as the ugliest serpent that ever was seen; and fat-witted
      as the voyagers had made themselves, they began to suspect that they had
      fallen into the power of an evil-minded enchantress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wretches," cried she, "you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in this
      princely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hog-pen. You are
      already swine in everything but the human form, which you disgrace, and
      which I myself should be ashamed to keep a moment longer, were you to
      share it with me. But it will require only the slightest exercise of magic
      to make the exterior conform to the hoggish disposition. Assume your
      proper shapes, gormandizers, and begone to the sty!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Uttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot
      imperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding, instead of
      his comrades in human shape, one and twenty hogs sitting on the same
      number of golden thrones. Each man (as he still supposed himself to be)
      essayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he could merely grunt,
      and that, in a word, he was just such another beast as his companions. It
      looked so intolerably absurd to see hogs on cushioned thrones, that they
      made haste to wallow down upon all fours, like other swine. They tried to
      groan and beg for mercy, but forthwith emitted the most awful grunting and
      squealing that ever came out of swinish throats. They would have wrung
      their hands in despair, but, attempting to do so, grew all the more
      desperate for seeing themselves squatted on their hams, and pawing the air
      with their fore trotters. Dear me! what pendulous ears they had! what
      little red eyes, half buried in fat! and what long snouts, instead of
      Grecian noses!
    </p>
    <p>
      But brutes as they certainly were, they yet had enough of human nature in
      them to be shocked at their own hideousness; and still intending to groan,
      they uttered a viler grunt and squeal than before. So harsh and
      ear-piercing it was, that you would have fancied a butcher was sticking
      his knife into each of their throats, or, at the very least, that somebody
      was pulling every hog by his funny little twist of a tail.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Begone to your sty!" cried the enchantress, giving them some smart
      strokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving men&mdash;"Drive
      out these swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat."
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the saloon being flung open, the drove of hogs ran in all
      directions save the right one, in accordance with their hoggish
      perversity, but were finally driven into the back yard of the palace. It
      was a sight to bring tears into one's eyes (and I hope none of you will be
      cruel enough to laugh at it), to see the poor creatures go snuffing along,
      picking up here a cabbage leaf and there a turnip top, and rooting their
      noses in the earth for whatever they could find. In their sty, moreover,
      they behaved more piggishly than the pigs that had been born so; for they
      bit and snorted at one another, put their feet in the trough, and gobbled
      up their victuals in a ridiculous hurry; and, when there was nothing more
      to be had, they made a great pile of themselves among some unclean straw,
      and fell fast asleep. If they had any human reason left, it was just
      enough to keep them wondering when they should be slaughtered, and what
      quality of bacon they should make.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime, as I told you before, Eurylochus had waited, and waited, and
      waited, in the entrance hall of the palace, without being able to
      comprehend what had befallen his friends. At last, when the swinish uproar
      resounded through the palace, and when he saw the image of a hog in the
      marble basin, he thought it best to hasten back to the vessel, and inform
      the wise Ulysses of these marvelous occurrences. So he ran as fast as he
      could down the steps, and never stopped to draw breath till he reached the
      shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why do you come alone?" asked King Ulysses, as soon as he saw him. "Where
      are your two and twenty comrades?"
    </p>
    <p>
      At these questions, Eurylochus burst into tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas!" he cried, "I greatly fear that we shall never see one of their
      faces again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he told Ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it, and
      added that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress, and
      the marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal cavern in
      reality. As for his companions, he could not imagine what had become of
      them, unless they had been given to the swine to be devoured alive. At
      this intelligence, all the voyagers were greatly affrighted. But Ulysses
      lost no time in girding on his sword, and hanging his bow and quiver over
      his shoulders, and taking a spear in his right hand. When his followers
      saw their wise leader making these preparations, they inquired whither he
      was going, and earnestly besought him not to leave them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are our king," cried they; "and what is more, you are the wisest man
      in the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can get us out
      of this danger. If you desert us, and go to the enchanted palace, you will
      suffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not a soul of us will
      ever see our dear Ithaca again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As I am your king," answered Ulysses, "and wiser than any of you, it is
      therefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades, and
      whether anything can yet be done to rescue them. Wait for me here until
      tomorrow. If I do not then return, you must hoist sail, and endeavor to
      find your way to our native land. For my part, I am answerable for the
      fate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my side in battle, and been
      so often drenched to the skin, along with me, by the same tempestuous
      surges. I will either bring them back with me, or perish."
    </p>
    <p>
      Had his followers dared, they would have detained him by force. But King
      Ulysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade them stop
      him at their peril. Seeing him so determined, they let him go, and sat
      down on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could be, waiting and
      praying for his return.
    </p>
    <p>
      It happened to Ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few steps
      from the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering towards him,
      crying, "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;weep!" and using all the art it could to
      persuade him to go no farther.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What mean you, little bird?" cried Ulysses. "You are arrayed like a king
      in purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head. Is it because
      I too am a king, that you desire so earnestly to speak with me? If you can
      talk in human language, say what you would have me do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peep!" answered the purple bird, very dolorously. "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;we&mdash;e!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Certainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and it
      was a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the
      consolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste in
      trying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and had
      gone a good way along the pleasant wood path, when there met him a young
      man of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather singular
      garb. He wore a short cloak and a sort of cap that seemed to be furnished
      with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step, you would have
      supposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet. To enable him to
      walk still better (for he was always on one journey or another) he carried
      a winged staff, around which two serpents were wriggling and twisting. In
      short, I have said enough to make you guess that it was Quicksilver; and
      Ulysses (who knew him of old, and had learned a great deal of his wisdom
      from him) recognized him in a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?" asked Quicksilver.
      "Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The wicked enchantress
      (whose name is Circe, the sister of King Aetes) dwells in the marble
      palace which you see yonder among the trees. By her magic arts she changes
      every human being into the brute, beast, or fowl whom he happens most to
      resemble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff," exclaimed
      Ulysses; "was he a human being once?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," answered Quicksilver. "He was once a king, named Picus, and a
      pretty good sort of a king, too, only rather too proud of his purple robe,
      and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was forced to
      take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and wolves, and
      tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of the palace, were
      formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their disposition the wild
      beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And my poor companions," said Ulysses. "Have they undergone a similar
      change, through the arts of this wicked Circe?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You well know what gormandizers they were," replied Quicksilver; and
      rogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. "So you will
      not be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine! If
      Circe had never done anything worse, I really should not think her so very
      much to blame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But can I do nothing to help them?" inquired Ulysses.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will require all your wisdom," said Quicksilver, "and a little of my
      own into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from being
      transformed into a fox. But do as I bid you; and the matter may end better
      than it has begun."
    </p>
    <p>
      While he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of something; he
      went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little plant
      with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of. Ulysses had been
      looking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared to him that
      the plant had burst into full flower the instant when Quicksilver touched
      it with his fingers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take this flower, King Ulysses," said he. "Guard it as you do your
      eyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and
      you might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like it.
      Keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter the
      palace, and while you are talking with the enchantress. Especially when
      she offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be careful to
      fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance. Follow these directions,
      and you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox."
    </p>
    <p>
      Quicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and bidding
      him be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as Circe was, he
      would have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her enchanted palace.
      After listening attentively, Ulysses thanked his good friend, and resumed
      his way. But he had taken only a few steps, when, recollecting some other
      questions which he wished to ask, he turned round again, and beheld nobody
      on the spot where Quicksilver had stood; for that winged cap of his, and
      those winged shoes, with the help of the winged staff, had carried him
      quickly out of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Ulysses reached the lawn, in front of the palace, the lions and other
      savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned upon him
      and licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with his long spear,
      and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he knew that they had
      once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him limb from limb, instead
      of fawning upon him, could they do the mischief that was in their hearts.
      The wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and stood at a distance, while
      he ascended the palace steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      On entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the center of it.
      The up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a long,
      white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of welcome. The
      king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom and the sweet
      melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the pleasant voices of
      herself and the four maidens talking together, with peals of merry
      laughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much time in listening to
      the laughter or the song. He leaned his spear against one of the pillars
      of the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in the scabbard, stepped
      boldly forward, and threw the folding doors wide open. The moment she
      beheld his stately figure standing in the doorway, the beautiful woman
      rose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad smile throwing its
      sunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Welcome, brave stranger!" cried she. "We were expecting you."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the ground,
      and likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the bodice of oaken
      bark, and she that sprinkled dew-drops from her fingers' ends, and the
      fourth one with some oddity which I cannot remember. And Circe, as the
      beautiful enchantress was called (who had deluded so many persons that she
      did not doubt of being able to delude Ulysses, not imagining how wise he
      was), again addressed him:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your companions," said she, "have already been received into my palace,
      and have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the propriety of their
      behavior so well entitles them. If such be your pleasure, you shall first
      take some refreshment, and then join them in the elegant apartment which
      they now occupy. See, I and my maidens have been weaving their figures
      into this piece of tapestry."
    </p>
    <p>
      She pointed to the web of beautifully-woven cloth in the loom. Circe and
      the four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the arrival
      of the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now been wrought,
      in addition to what I before described. In this new part, Ulysses saw his
      two and twenty friends represented as sitting on cushions and canopied
      thrones, greedily devouring dainties, and quaffing deep draughts of wine.
      The work had not yet gone any further. O, no, indeed. The enchantress was
      far too cunning to let Ulysses see the mischief which her magic arts had
      since brought upon the gormandizers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As for yourself, valiant sir," said Circe, "judging by the dignity of
      your aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to follow
      me, and you shall be treated as befits your rank."
    </p>
    <p>
      So Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two and twenty
      comrades had devoured the banquet, which ended so disastrously for
      themselves. But, all this while, he had held the snow-white flower in his
      hand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking; and as he
      crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale several
      long and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of two and twenty thrones,
      which had before been ranged around the wall, there was now only a single
      throne, in the center of the apartment. But this was surely the most
      magnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor reposed himself upon, all
      made of chased gold, studded with precious stones, with a cushion that
      looked like a soft heap of living roses, and overhung by a canopy of
      sunlight which Circe knew how to weave into drapery. The enchantress took
      Ulysses by the hand, and made him sit down upon this dazzling throne.
      Then, clapping her hands, she summoned the chief butler.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bring hither," said she, "the goblet that is set apart for kings to drink
      out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal brother,
      King Aetes, praised so highly, when he last visited me with my fair
      daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it would
      delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest."
    </p>
    <p>
      But Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white
      flower to his nose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it a wholesome wine?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked round
      at them, with an aspect of severity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,"
      said she; "for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to do,
      it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      The chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into
      swine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste to
      bring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and which
      kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim. But,
      delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most potent
      enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of the pure
      grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the danger of
      the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better. The mere
      smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough to turn a
      man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's claws grow out of his
      fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Drink, my noble guest," said Circe, smiling, as she presented him with
      the goblet. "You will find in this draught a solace for all your
      troubles."
    </p>
    <p>
      King Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he
      held the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath
      that his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance. Then,
      drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wretch," cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, "how dare
      you keep your human shape a moment longer! Take the form of the brute whom
      you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in the sty; if a
      lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the lawn; if a fox,
      go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou hast quaffed off my wine,
      and canst be man no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      But, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing
      down from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form,
      Ulysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He gave the
      magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor to the
      farthest end of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he seized the
      enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant
      to strike off her head at one blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wicked Circe," cried he, in a terrible voice, "this sword shall put an
      end to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more
      mischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which make
      beasts of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed
      so brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe
      was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow. The
      chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet as
      he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their knees,
      wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Spare me!" cried Circe. "Spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now I know
      that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most prudent of
      mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only couldst have
      conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show thee true
      hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this magnificent
      palace to be henceforth thy home."
    </p>
    <p>
      The four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and especially
      the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal of salt water,
      and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from her fingers'
      ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would not be pacified
      until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his companions, and as
      many others as he should direct, from their present forms of beast or bird
      into their former shapes of men.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On these conditions," said he, "I consent to spare your life. Otherwise
      you must die upon the spot."
    </p>
    <p>
      With a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have
      consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however
      little she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out of
      the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.
      There were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and
      though the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was
      wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new
      brethren, who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically,
      indeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to make
      it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise to
      outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men once turn
      to brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds tenfold to
      their brutality.
    </p>
    <p>
      The comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of
      having formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two and twenty
      enormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards
      him, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both hands
      to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they wanted, nor
      whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some other cause. It
      was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them thrusting
      their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat. The nymph with
      the bodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an oak) threw a handful
      of acorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs scrambled and fought for
      the prize, as if they had tasted not so much as a noggin of sour milk for
      a twelvemonth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "These must certainly be my comrades," said Ulysses. "I recognize their
      dispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into the
      human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their bad
      example should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original
      shapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It will
      require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      So Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the
      sound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears. It
      was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and
      their mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not
      gobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and another
      began to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore
      trotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs or
      men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled the
      latter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of Ulysses, looking
      pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.
    </p>
    <p>
      You must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely gone
      out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's character, it is
      very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by the hamadryad, who,
      being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another handful of acorns before
      the twenty-two newly-restored people; whereupon down they wallowed in a
      moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful way. Then, recollecting
      themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and looked more than commonly
      foolish.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thanks, noble Ulysses!" they cried. "From brute beasts you have restored
      us to the condition of men again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me," said the wise king.
      "I fear I have done but little for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      To say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their voices,
      and, for a long time afterwards, they spoke gruffly, and were apt to set
      up a squeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It must depend on your own future behavior," added Ulysses, "whether you
      do not find your way back to the sty."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a
      neighboring tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peep, peep, pe&mdash;wee&mdash;e!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their
      heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would
      remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of
      harm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good
      little fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the words
      spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another "pe&mdash;weep,"
      King Picus leaped down from the bough of a tree, as majestic a sovereign
      as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow
      stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden
      crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another the
      courtesies which belong to their elevated rank. But from that time forth,
      King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of royalty,
      nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the upper
      servant of his people, and that it must be his life-long labor to make
      them better and happier.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored
      them to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it
      advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning
      of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of
      men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the
      blood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as they
      liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything was
      settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his
      comrades, whom he had left at the sea-shore. These being arrived, with the
      prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in
      Circe's enchanted palace, until quite rested and refreshed from the toils
      and hardships of their voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom
      let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story
      begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the
      wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley and, in short, of the
      crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far
      been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more
      speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a kind of
      flower which she was always noted for wearing), and got into her car drawn
      by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear mother," said Proserpina, "I shall be very lonely while you are
      away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea nymphs to
      come up out of the waves and play with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, child," answered Mother Ceres. "The sea nymphs are good creatures,
      and will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to stray
      away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself. Young
      girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to get
      into mischief."
    </p>
    <p>
      The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman; and,
      by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was
      already on the shore, calling to the sea nymphs to come and play with her.
      They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing their
      glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of
      which was their home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful
      shells; and sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave broke over
      them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which they hung round
      Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child besought
      them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they might
      gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her kind
      playmates a wreath.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O no, dear Proserpina," cried the sea nymphs; "we dare not go with you
      upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can
      snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful we
      are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to keep
      ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should look like
      bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a great pity," said Proserpina. "But do you wait for me here, and I
      will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before the
      surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some wreaths
      that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many colored shells."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will wait, then," answered the sea nymphs. "But while you are gone, we
      may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge under the water. The air
      to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our heads
      every few minutes to see if you are coming."
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before, she
      had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little past
      their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest
      blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made
      her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers
      before&mdash;violets so large and fragrant&mdash;roses with so rich and
      delicate a blush&mdash;such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks&mdash;and
      many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or
      three times, moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most
      splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very
      eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Proserpina's
      apron was soon filled, and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She was
      on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the sea nymphs, and sit
      with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths together. But, a little
      farther on, what should she behold? It was a large shrub, completely
      covered with the most magnificent flowers in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The darlings!" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, "I was
      looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did not
      see the flowers!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until
      she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was richer than
      words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not. It bore above a
      hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from the
      others, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which
      showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a deep, glossy luster on
      the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made
      Proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous. To tell you the
      truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and run
      away.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a silly child I am!" thought she, taking courage. "It is really the
      most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull it up
      by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's garden."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina seized
      the large shrub with the other, and pulled, and pulled, but was hardly
      able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant it was!
      Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the earth
      began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave another
      pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling sound right
      beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some enchanted cavern?
      Then laughing at herself for so childish a notion, she made another
      effort: up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back, holding the stem
      triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole which its roots had
      left in the soil.
    </p>
    <p>
      Much to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and
      growing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and
      all the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and
      louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses'
      hoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she
      stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team
      of four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing
      their way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at
      their heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all; and
      there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black tails,
      and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at once, close
      by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the figure of a
      man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds.
      He was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked sullen and
      discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them with his hand,
      as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very fond of its light.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her
      to come a little nearer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not be afraid," said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to
      put on. "Come! Will you not like to ride a little way with me, in my
      beautiful chariot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But Proserpina was so alarmed, that she wished for nothing but to get out
      of his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably
      good-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones were
      deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake
      underground than anything else. As is always the case with children in
      trouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother, Mother Ceres!" cried she, all in a tremble. "Come quickly and
      save me."
    </p>
    <p>
      But her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most
      probable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow in
      some far distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor daughter,
      even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina begin to
      cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his
      arms, and again mounted the chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to the
      four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into so swift a
      gallop, that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running
      along the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale
      of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant, and even the
      summit of Mount Aetna had become so blue in the distance, that she could
      scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater. But
      still the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron full of flowers
      along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot; and many
      mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had
      befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great way off, and could
      not hear the cry.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?" said he, trying to
      soften his rough voice. "I promise not to do you any harm. What! you have
      been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will give
      you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of pearls, and
      diamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my name Pluto; and
      I am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones. Every atom of the
      gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of
      the copper and iron, and of the coal mines, which supply me with abundance
      of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my head? You may have it for
      a plaything. O, we shall be very good friends, and you will find me more
      agreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this troublesome
      sunshine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me go home!" cried Proserpina. "Let me go home!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My home is better than your mother's," answered King Pluto. "It is a
      palace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is
      little or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with
      diamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne. If
      you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will sit
      on the footstool."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't care for golden palaces and thrones," sobbed Proserpina. "Oh, my
      mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!"
    </p>
    <p>
      But King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go
      faster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina," said he, in rather a sullen tone. "I
      offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under the
      earth; and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one thing
      which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and down,
      and cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must do for
      King Pluto."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never!" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. "I shall
      never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door."
    </p>
    <p>
      But she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past
      them, for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever. Proserpina
      continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly that her poor
      little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing but a
      whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great broad field of waving
      grain&mdash;and whom do you think she saw? Who, but Mother Ceres, making
      the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went
      rattling along. The child mustered all her strength, and gave one more
      scream, but was out of sight before Ceres had time to turn her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      King Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy. It
      was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which the
      rumbling of the chariot wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling
      thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the rocks had
      very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the air
      became obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had rushed along so
      swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine. But the
      duskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an air of
      satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially when
      he left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong to
      them. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering dusk, and hoped
      that he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing," said King Pluto, "after being so
      tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much more
      agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected
      from diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight, when we get to my palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it much farther?" asked Proserpina. "And will you carry me back when I
      have seen it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will talk of that by and by," answered Pluto. "We are just entering my
      dominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass those
      gates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the
      threshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right
      between the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which he
      had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs, so as
      to put his fore paws on the chariot wheel. But, my stars, what a strange
      dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three
      separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but fierce
      as they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of his
      three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with silken
      ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced
      to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by
      wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn to it by
      its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor less than a
      live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect.
      And while the three-headed Cerberus was fawning so lovingly on King Pluto,
      there was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as cross
      and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will the dog bite me?" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto. "What
      an ugly creature he is!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, never fear," answered her companion. "He never harms people, unless
      they try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away when
      I wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty Proserpina, we
      will drive on."
    </p>
    <p>
      On went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find himself
      once more in his own kingdom. He drew Proserpina's attention to the rich
      veins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed to several
      places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of diamonds.
      All along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which would have
      been of inestimable value above ground, but which here were reckoned of
      the meaner sort and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built
      of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the stream
      which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she beheld
      so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream; its waters reflected no
      images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly as if
      it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnate
      than flow either one way or the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the River Lethe," observed King Pluto. "Is it not a very pleasant
      stream?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think it a very dismal one," answered Proserpina.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It suits my taste, however," answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen
      when anybody disagreed with him. "At all events, its water has one
      excellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every
      care and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of it,
      my dear Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your
      mother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being
      perfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet,
      the moment we arrive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, no, no, no!" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. "I had a thousand times
      rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in
      forgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall see," said King Pluto. "You do not know what fine times we will
      have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid
      gold, I assure you."
    </p>
    <p>
      He alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried
      her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was
      splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues,
      which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold
      radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was a kind of gloom
      in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a single object in the
      hall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little Proserpina
      herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let
      fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even King Pluto had never been
      happy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen
      away Proserpina, in order that he might have something to love, instead of
      cheating his heart any longer with this tiresome magnificence. And, though
      he pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of
      the child's presence, bedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint
      and watery sunbeam had somehow or other found its way into the enchanted
      hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in preparing
      a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of setting a
      golden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will neither drink that nor anything else," said Proserpina. "Nor will
      I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should be sorry for that," replied King Pluto, patting her cheek; for
      he really wished to be kind, if he had only known how. "You are a spoiled
      child, I perceive, my little Proserpina; but when you see the nice things
      which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly come again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts of
      delicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be set before
      Proserpina. He had a secret motive in this; for, you are to understand, it
      is a fixed law, that when persons are carried off to the land of magic, if
      they once taste any food there, they can never get back to their friends.
      Now, if King Pluto had been cunning enough to offer Proserpina some fruit,
      or bread and milk (which was the simple fare to which the child had always
      been accustomed), it is very probable that she would soon have been
      tempted to eat it. But he left the matter entirely to his cook, who, like
      all other cooks, considered nothing fit to eat unless it were rich pastry,
      or highly-seasoned meat, or spiced sweet cakes&mdash;things which
      Proserpina's mother had never given her, and the smell of which quite took
      away her appetite, instead of sharpening it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But my story must now clamber out of King Pluto's dominions, and see what
      Mother Ceres had been about, since she was bereft of her daughter. We had
      a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving grain,
      while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the chariot, in
      which her beloved Proserpina was so unwillingly borne away. You recollect,
      too, the loud scream which Proserpina gave, just when the chariot was out
      of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one that
      reached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the rumbling of the
      chariot wheels for a peal of thunder, and imagined that a shower was
      coming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow. But, at
      the sound of Proserpina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every
      direction, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that it
      was her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that the
      girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas (which she herself
      could not have traversed without the aid of her winged dragons), that the
      good Ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some other
      parent, and not her own darling Proserpina, who had uttered this
      lamentable cry. Nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender
      fears, such as are ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart,
      when she finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without
      leaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such faithful
      guardian. So she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy;
      and, as her work was not half done, the grain looked, next day, as if it
      needed both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear, and had
      something the matter with its roots.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in less than an
      hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her home, and found it
      empty. Knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the
      sea-shore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld the
      wet faces of the poor sea nymphs peeping over a wave. All this while, the
      good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once, every
      half minute or so, had popped up their four heads above water, to see if
      their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw Mother Ceres, they sat
      down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it toss them ashore at her
      feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where is Proserpina?" cried Ceres. "Where is my child? Tell me, you
      naughty sea nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, no, good Mother Ceres," said the innocent sea nymphs, tossing back
      their green ringlets, and looking her in the face. "We never should dream
      of such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but she
      left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon the dry
      land, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the day, and
      we have seen nothing of her since."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ceres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say, before she
      hurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood. But nobody
      told her anything that would enable the poor mother to guess what had
      become of Proserpina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little
      footprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a basket
      of fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers; several
      persons had heard either the rattling of chariot wheels, or the rumbling
      of distant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain and catnip,
      had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish nonsense, and
      therefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid people! It took
      them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that it was
      dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must seek her daughter
      elsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set forth, resolving never to come
      back until Proserpina was discovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      In her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the winged
      dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the search
      more thoroughly on foot. At all events, this was the way in which she
      began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and looking
      carefully at every object along the path. And as it happened, she had not
      gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on the
      shrub that Proserpina had pulled up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha!" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. "Here is mischief
      in this flower! The earth did not produce it by any help of mine, nor of
      its own accord. It is the work of enchantment, and is therefore poisonous;
      and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child."
    </p>
    <p>
      But she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she
      might ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.
    </p>
    <p>
      All night long, at the door of every cottage and farm-house, Ceres
      knocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen her
      child; and they stood, gaping and half-asleep, at the threshold, and
      answered her pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the
      portal of every palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials
      hurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king
      or queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to
      repose in. And when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in
      her hand and a wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely,
      and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen
      Proserpina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which way to seek
      her. Thus passed the night; and still she continued her search without
      sitting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put
      out the torch although first the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the
      morning sun, made its red flame look thin and pale. But I wonder what sort
      of stuff this torch was made of; for it burned dimly through the day, and,
      at night, was as bright as ever, and never was extinguished by the rain or
      wind, in all the weary days and nights while Ceres was seeking for
      Proserpina.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter.
      In the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who
      used, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary places, and
      were very sociable with persons who understood their language and customs,
      as Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she tapped with her finger
      against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately its rude bark
      would cleave asunder, and forth would step a beautiful maiden, who was the
      hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of it, and sharing its long life,
      and rejoicing when its green leaves sported with the breeze. But not one
      of these leafy damsels had seen Proserpina. Then, going a little farther,
      Ceres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow
      in the earth, and would dabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up
      through its sandy and pebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young
      woman with dripping hair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres,
      half out of the water, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless
      motion. But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped
      to drink out of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these
      water-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief), would answer "No!"
      in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the stream.
    </p>
    <p>
      Often, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country
      people, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their
      foreheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gamboled merrily
      about the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature but
      grew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow, when Ceres
      inquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But
      sometimes she same suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces like
      monkeys, and horses' tails behind them, and who were generally dancing in
      a very boisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter. When she stopped
      to question them, they would only laugh the louder, and make new merriment
      out of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly satyrs! And
      once, while crossing a solitary sheep pasture, she saw a personage named
      Pan, seated at the foot of a tall rock, and making music on a shepherd's
      flute. He, too, had horns, and hairy ears, and goats' feet; but, being
      acquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question as civilly as he
      knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden
      bowl. But neither could Pan tell her what had become of Proserpina, any
      better than the rest of these wild people.
    </p>
    <p>
      And thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights,
      finding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a withered
      flower; and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because she fancied
      that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All day she
      traveled onward through the hot sun; and, at night again, the flame of the
      torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she continued her
      search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern within which
      (though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been only a
      dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning there. It
      flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up
      the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to
      leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the entrance of the
      cave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her own torch before
      her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman,
      sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which had
      been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it were) was by
      no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head, they tell me, was
      shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of ornament, she wore a wreath
      of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the moment she saw her, knew that
      this was an odd kind of a person, who put all her enjoyment in being
      miserable, and never would have a word to say to other people, unless they
      were as melancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am wretched enough now," thought poor Ceres, "to talk with this
      melancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet." So
      she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the
      dog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss, she
      had found no other companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O Hecate," said she, "if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what
      sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child
      Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every word
      or two; "no, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter. But my
      ears, you must know, are made in such a way, that all cries of distress
      and affright all over the world are pretty sure to find their way to them;
      and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very miserable, I
      heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great distress.
      Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest assured. As
      well as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel monster, was carrying
      her away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You kill me by saying so," cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. "Where was
      the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It passed very swiftly along," said Hecate, "and, at the same time, there
      was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell you
      nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your
      daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your abode
      in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the
      world."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not yet, dark Hecate," replied Ceres. "But do you first come with your
      torch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no
      more hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come), then, if
      you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered
      leaves or on the naked rock, I will show what it is to be miserable. But,
      until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I will not
      allow myself space even to grieve."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the
      sunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate
      Ceres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun
      shine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad spirits
      quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally consented
      to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches, although it was
      broad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight seemed to make a gloom;
      so that the people whom they met, along the road, could not very
      distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught a glimpse
      of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally
      thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second glance.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the pair traveled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck
      Ceres.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is one person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my poor child,
      and can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of him
      before? It is Phoebus."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What," said Hecate, "the young man that always sits in the sunshine? O,
      pray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous young
      fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a
      glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which I
      have almost wept away already."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have promised to be my companion," answered Ceres. "Come, let us make
      haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing
      grievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse
      lamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in
      being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after a
      pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world.
      There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets,
      which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were like light
      summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid,
      that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to
      wear a black veil. Phoebus (for this was the very person whom they were
      seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with
      sweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had
      recently composed. For, beside a great many other accomplishments, this
      young man was renowned for his admirable poetry.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them
      so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and
      Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she was
      too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus smiled or
      frowned.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Phoebus!" exclaimed she, "I am in great trouble, and have come to you for
      assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child Proserpina?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?" answered Phoebus,
      endeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of pleasant
      ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer
      ago than yesterday. "Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very lovely child,
      indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did see the little
      Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself perfectly easy about
      her. She is safe, and in excellent hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, where is my dear child?" cried Ceres, clasping her hands, and flinging
      herself at his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said Phoebus&mdash;and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as
      to make a thread of music run in and out among his words&mdash;"as the
      little damsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite
      taste for flowers), she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and
      carried off to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the
      universe; but the royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style
      of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold,
      diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your
      daughter's ordinary playthings. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to give
      yourself no uneasiness. Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly
      gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a very
      enviable life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush! Say not such a word!" answered Ceres, indignantly. "What is there
      to gratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of without
      affection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me you go with me,
      Phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray excuse me," replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance. "I certainly
      wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately
      pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you. Besides, I am
      not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you the truth, his
      three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway; for I should be
      compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know,
      are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Phoebus," said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, "you have a
      harp instead of a heart. Farewell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will not you stay a moment," asked Phoebus, "and hear me turn the pretty
      and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate. Phoebus
      (who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith began to make
      an ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to judge of his
      sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with a
      very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of using his
      heartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as much
      as he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly, though Phoebus
      sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the sunbeams
      amid which he dwelt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but
      was not a whit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked more
      desperate than ever. As long as Proserpina was above ground, there might
      have been hopes of regaining her. But now that the poor child was shut up
      within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which
      lay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of her ever
      making her escape. The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the darkest view
      of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and
      spend the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres answered, that Hecate
      was welcome to go back thither herself, but that, for her part, she would
      wander about the earth in quest of the entrance to King Pluto's dominions.
      And Hecate took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave,
      frightening a great many little children with a glimpse of her dog's face
      as she went.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her toilsome
      way, all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame of which
      seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in her heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      So much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been quite youthful
      when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a very
      brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever thought of
      flinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which she put on the very
      morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed about in so wild a way,
      and with her hair so disheveled, that people took her for some distracted
      creature, and never dreamed that this was Mother Ceres, who had the
      oversight of every seed which the husbandman planted. Nowadays, however,
      she gave herself no trouble about seed time nor harvest, but left the
      farmers to take care of their own affairs, and the crops to fade or
      flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing, now, in which Ceres
      seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children at play, or
      gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed, she would stand and
      gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children, too, appeared to have a
      sympathy with her grief, and would cluster themselves in a little group
      about her knees, and look up wistfully in her face; and Ceres, after
      giving them a kiss all round, would lead them to their homes, and advise
      their mothers never to let them stray out of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For if they do," said she, "it may happen to you, as it has to me, that
      the iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and
      snatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away."
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's
      kingdom, she came to the palace of King Cereus, who reigned at Eleusis.
      Ascending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the
      royal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant, it
      seems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and would
      take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The queen&mdash;her
      name was Metanira&mdash;was desirous of funding a nurse; and when she
      beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she thought,
      in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed. So Queen
      Metanira ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her arms, and
      besought Ceres to take charge of it, or, at least, to tell her what would
      do it good.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you trust the child entirely to me?" asked Ceres.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, and gladly, too," answered the queen, "if you will devote all your
      time to him. For I can see that you have been a mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right," said Ceres. "I once had a child of my own. Well; I will
      be the nurse of this poor, sickly boy. But beware, I warn you, that you do
      not interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for him.
      If you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good; for he smiled and
      nestled closely into her bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      So Mother Ceres set her torch in a corner (where it kept burning all the
      while), and took up her abode in the palace of King Cereus, as nurse to
      the little Prince Demophoon. She treated him as if he were her own child,
      and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he should be
      bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how often he
      should take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would hardly
      believe me, if I were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid of his
      ailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two rows of
      ivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or since.
      Instead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the world (as
      his own mother confessed him to be, when Ceres first took him in charge),
      he was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up his heels, and
      rolling from one end of the room to the other. All the good women of the
      neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their hands, in
      unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this darling
      little prince. Their wonder was the greater, because he was never seen to
      taste any food; not even so much as a cup of milk.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray, nurse," the queen kept saying, "how is it that you make the child
      thrive so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was a mother once," Ceres always replied; "and having nursed my own
      child, I know what other children need."
    </p>
    <p>
      But Queen Metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know
      precisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid
      herself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed
      to sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into
      great coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze
      flickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the
      walls. Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the
      firelight making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She undressed
      the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant liquid out
      of a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red embers, and
      make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had been. At last,
      while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little hands, and
      laughing in the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your little
      brother or sister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres suddenly laid
      him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot embers. She then
      raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.
    </p>
    <p>
      You may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking nothing
      less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She burst forth
      from her hiding-place, and running to the hearth, raked open the fire, and
      snatched up poor little Prince Demophoon out of his bed of live coals, one
      of which he was gripping in each of his fists. He immediately set up a
      grievous cry, as babies are apt to do, when rudely startled out of a sound
      sleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she could perceive no token of
      the child's being injured by the hot fire in which he had lain. She now
      turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to explain the mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Foolish woman," answered Ceres, "did you not promise to intrust this poor
      infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done him. Had
      you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of celestial
      birth, endowed with superhuman strength and intelligence, and would have
      lived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to become immortal
      without being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the fire? But you
      have ruined your own son. For though he will be a strong man and a hero in
      his day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow old, and finally die,
      like the sons of other women. The weak tenderness of his mother has cost
      the poor boy an immortality. Farewell."
    </p>
    <p>
      Saying these words, she kissed the little Prince Demophoon, and sighed to
      think what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding Queen
      Metanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the
      hot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby! He never slept so warmly
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      While she dwelt in the king's palace, Mother Ceres had been so continually
      occupied with taking care of the young prince, that her heart was a little
      lightened of its grief for Proserpina. But now, having nothing else to
      busy herself about, she became just as wretched as before. At length, in
      her despair, she came to the dreadful resolution that not a stalk of
      grain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a turnip, nor any other
      vegetable that was good for man or beast to eat, should be suffered to
      grow until her daughter were restored. She even forbade the flowers to
      bloom, lest somebody's heart should be cheered by their beauty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself
      out of the ground, without the especial permission of Ceres, you may
      conceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The
      husbandmen plowed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black
      furrows, all as barren as a desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown
      in the sweet month of June as ever they did in chill November. The rich
      man's broad acres and the cottager's small garden patch were equally
      blighted. Every little girl's flower bed showed nothing but dry stalks.
      The old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had grown
      aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the warm smile
      of summer on its face. It was really piteous to see the poor, starving
      cattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and bleating, as
      if their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and everybody that
      was acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy on the human
      race, and, at all events, to let the grass grow. But Mother Ceres, though
      naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now inexorable.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never," said she. "If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it must
      first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming back to
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend Quicksilver
      was sent post-haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be persuaded to
      undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right again, by
      giving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of his way to
      the great gate, took a flying leap right over the three-headed mastiff,
      and stood at the door of the palace in an inconceivably short time. The
      servants knew him both by his face and garb; for his short cloak, and his
      winged cap and shoes, and his snaky staff had often been seen thereabouts
      in times gone by. He requested to be shown immediately into the king's
      presence; and Pluto, who heard his voice from the top of the stairs, and
      who loved to recreate himself with Quicksilver's merry talk, called out to
      him to come up. And while they settle their business together, we must
      inquire what Proserpina had been doing ever since we saw her last.
    </p>
    <p>
      The child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a
      mouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King
      Pluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the
      same time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy, is more than I can
      explain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the
      faculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too.
      At any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the
      earth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify,
      had yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to
      Proserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day by
      day, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly-preserved fruits, and
      delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most fond of.
      But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these things;
      and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she would have
      resolutely refused to taste them.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little
      damsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense
      palace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful
      objects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid
      itself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she
      wandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of her
      footsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which flamed
      with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor could the
      most brilliant of the many-colored gems, which Proserpina had for
      playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to gather.
      But still, whenever the girl went among those gilded halls and chambers,
      it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with her, and as if
      she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her left. After
      Proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of stately
      artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The inhabitants
      all felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My own little Proserpina," he used to say. "I wish you could like me a
      little better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm
      hearts, at bottom, as those of a more cheerful character. If you would
      only stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the
      possession of a hundred such palaces as this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah," said Proserpina, "you should have tried to make me like you before
      carrying me off. And the best thing you can now do is, to let me go again.
      Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as kind as
      you knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come back, and
      pay you a visit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no," answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, "I will not trust you for
      that. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and gathering
      flowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not these gems,
      which I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer than any in
      my crown&mdash;are they not prettier than a violet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not half so pretty," said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's
      hand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. "O my sweet violets,
      shall I never see you again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little
      saltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as those
      of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at, if, a few moments
      afterwards, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as merrily as
      she and the four sea nymphs had sported along the edge of the surf wave.
      King Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a child. And
      little Proserpina, when she turned about, and beheld this great king
      standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so melancholy,
      and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran back to him,
      and, for the first time in all her life, put her small, soft hand in his.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I love you a little," whispered she, looking up in his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you, indeed, my dear child?" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down
      to kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for, though his
      features were noble, they were very dusky and grim. "Well, I have not
      deserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and
      starving you besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing which
      I can get you to eat?"
    </p>
    <p>
      In asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning purpose;
      for, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food in his
      dominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No indeed," said Proserpina. "Your head cook is always baking, and
      stewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or
      another, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as well
      save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have no
      appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread, of my
      mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden."
    </p>
    <p>
      When Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best
      method of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and
      artificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's
      opinion, as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her.
      Wondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one of
      his trusty attendants with a large basket, to get some of the finest and
      juiciest pears, peaches, and plums which could anywhere be found in the
      upper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when Ceres
      had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking all
      over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a single pomegranate, and
      that so dried up as not to be worth eating. Nevertheless, since there was
      no better to be had, he brought this dry, old withered pomegranate home to
      the palace, put it on a magnificent golden salver, and carried it up to
      Proserpina. Now, it happened, curiously enough, that, just as the servant
      was bringing the pomegranate into the back door of the palace, our friend
      Quicksilver had gone up the front steps, on his errand to get Proserpina
      away from King Pluto.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told
      the servant he had better take it away again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall not touch it, I assure you," said she. "If I were ever so hungry,
      I should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate as that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the only one in the world," said the servant.
    </p>
    <p>
      He set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and
      left the room. When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close to
      the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great
      deal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited
      her taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her
      at once. To be sure, it was a very wretched-looking pomegranate, and
      seemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster shell. But there was no
      choice of such things in King Pluto's palace. This was the first fruit she
      had seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless she
      ate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and be
      wholly unfit to eat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At least, I may smell it," thought Proserpina.
    </p>
    <p>
      So she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow
      or other, being in such close neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found
      its way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting pity!
      Before Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten
      it, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the door of the
      apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by Quicksilver, who had
      been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At the first noise of their
      entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her mouth. But
      Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the sharpest that
      ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a little confused; and
      seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been taking a sly
      nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he never guessed at the
      secret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My little Proserpina," said the king, sitting down, and affectionately
      drawing her between his knees, "here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a
      great many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my
      detaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had already
      reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from your good
      mother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this vast palace
      is apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly shine very
      bright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition, and that
      therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society of some
      merrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown for a
      plaything, and me&mdash;ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina&mdash;me, grim
      as I am, for a playmate. It was a silly expectation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not so extremely silly," whispered Proserpina. "You have really amused me
      very much, sometimes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," said King Pluto, rather dryly. "But I can see plainly enough,
      that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted keeper of
      it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain you here any
      longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you tasted food. I
      give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home to your dear
      mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it impossible
      to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a good deal of
      compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She even shed a
      tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great palace would seem
      to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she herself&mdash;his
      one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had stolen, to be sure, but
      only because he valued her so much&mdash;after she should have departed. I
      know not how many kind things she might have said to the disconsolate king
      of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried her way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come along quickly," whispered he in her ear, "or his majesty may change
      his royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say nothing of
      what was brought you on the golden salver."
    </p>
    <p>
      In a very short time, they had passed the great gateway (leaving the
      three-headed Cerberus, barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold
      din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was
      delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew
      verdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her blessed
      foot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the
      wayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigor and
      luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in
      barrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after
      their long fast, and ate enormously, all day, and got up at midnight to
      eat more.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers, when
      they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush. Nor must I forget
      to say, that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon the
      newly-blossoming trees, and sang together, in a prodigious ecstasy of joy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting
      disconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She
      had been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when, all at once,
      it flickered and went out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does this mean?" thought she. "It was an enchanted torch, and should
      have kept burning till my child came back."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing over
      the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a golden hue
      gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just risen sun.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does the earth disobey me?" exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly. "Does it
      presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my daughter
      shall be restored to my arms?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then open your arms, dear mother," cried a well-known voice, "and take
      your little daughter into them."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.
      Their mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their
      separation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now
      they shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express
      itself in any other way.
    </p>
    <p>
      When their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked
      anxiously at Proserpina.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My child," said she, "did you taste any food while you were in King
      Pluto's palace?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dearest mother," exclaimed Proserpina, "I will tell you the whole truth.
      Until this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But
      to-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all
      shriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and
      having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I
      was tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and
      Quicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but&mdash;dear
      mother, I hope it was no harm&mdash;but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am
      afraid, remained in my mouth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!" exclaimed Ceres. "For each of
      those six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in King
      Pluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six months
      with me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto," said Prosperina, kissing her
      mother. "He has some very good qualities; and I really think I can bear to
      spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the other six
      with you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but then, as he
      says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in that great
      gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change in his spirits
      to have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There is some comfort in
      making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest mother, let us be
      thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year round."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE GOLDEN FLEECE.
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little boy, he
      was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest schoolmaster
      that ever you heard of. This learned person was one of the people, or
      quadrupeds, called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern, and had the body and
      legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a man. His name was
      Chiron; and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was a very excellent
      teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him credit by making
      a great figure in the world. The famous Hercules was one, and so was
      Achilles, and Philoctetes likewise, and Aesculapius, who acquired immense
      repute as a doctor. The good Chiron taught his pupils how to play upon the
      harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the sword and shield,
      together with various other branches of education, in which the lads of
      those days used to be instructed, instead of writing and arithmetic.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have sometimes suspected that Master Chiron was not really very
      different from other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry old
      fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse, and
      scrambling about the schoolroom on all fours, and letting the little boys
      ride upon his back. And so, when his scholars had grown up, and grown old,
      and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees, they told them about
      the sports of their school days; and these young folks took the idea that
      their grandfathers had been taught their letters by a Centaur, half man
      and half horse. Little children, not quite understanding what is said to
      them, often get such absurd notions into their heads, you know.
    </p>
    <p>
      Be that as it may, it has always been told for a fact (and always will be
      told, as long as the world lasts), that Chiron, with the head of a
      schoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse. Just imagine the grave old
      gentleman clattering and stamping into the schoolroom on his four hoofs,
      perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his switch tail
      instead of a rod, and, now and then, trotting out of doors to eat a
      mouthful of grass! I wonder what the blacksmith charged him for a set of
      iron shoes?
    </p>
    <p>
      So Jason dwelt in the cave, with this four-footed Chiron, from the time
      that he was an infant, only a few months old, until he had grown to the
      full height of a man. He became a very good harper, I suppose, and skilful
      in the use of weapons, and tolerably acquainted with herbs and other
      doctor's stuff, and, above all, an admirable horseman; for, in teaching
      young people to ride, the good Chiron must have been without a rival among
      schoolmasters. At length, being now a tall and athletic youth, Jason
      resolved to seek his fortune in the world, without asking Chiron's advice,
      or telling him anything about the matter. This was very unwise, to be
      sure; and I hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever follow Jason's
      example.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, you are to understand, he had heard how that he himself was a prince
      royal, and how his father, King Jason, had been deprived of the kingdom of
      Iolchos by a certain Pelias, who would also have killed Jason, had he not
      been hidden in the Centaur's cave. And, being come to the strength of a
      man, Jason determined to set all this business to rights, and to punish
      the wicked Pelias for wronging his dear father, and to cast him down from
      the throne, and seat himself there instead.
    </p>
    <p>
      With this intention, he took a spear in each hand, and threw a leopard's
      skin over his shoulders, to keep off the rain, and set forth on his
      travels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of his
      dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals, that had been
      his father's. They were handsomely embroidered, and were tied upon his
      feet with strings of gold. But his whole attire was such as people did not
      very often see; and as he passed along, the women and children ran to the
      doors and windows, wondering whither this beautiful youth was journeying,
      with his leopard's skin and his golden-tied sandals, and what heroic deeds
      he meant to perform, with a spear in his right hand and another in his
      left.
    </p>
    <p>
      I know not how far Jason had traveled, when he came to a turbulent river,
      which rushed right across his pathway, with specks of white foam among its
      black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward, and roaring angrily as it
      went. Though not a very broad river in the dry seasons of the year, it was
      now swollen by heavy rains and by the melting of the snow on the sides of
      Mount Olympus; and it thundered so loudly, and looked so wild and
      dangerous, that Jason, bold as he was, thought it prudent to pause upon
      the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be strewn with sharp and rugged
      rocks, some of which thrust themselves above the water. By and by, an
      uprooted tree, with shattered branches, came drifting along the current,
      and got entangled among the rocks. Now and then, a drowned sheep, and once
      the carcass of a cow, floated past.
    </p>
    <p>
      In short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief. It
      was evidently too deep for Jason to wade, and too boisterous for him to
      swim; he could see no bridge; and as for a boat, had there been any, the
      rocks would have broken it to pieces in an instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "See the poor lad," said a cracked voice close to his side. "He must have
      had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a little
      stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine golden-stringed
      sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is not here to carry
      him safely across on his back!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason looked round greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody was
      near. But beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over her
      head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape of a
      cuckoo. She looked very aged, and wrinkled, and infirm; and yet her eyes,
      which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large and
      beautiful, that, when they were fixed on Jason's eyes, he could see
      nothing else but them. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand,
      although the fruit was then quite out of season.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whither are you going, Jason?" she now asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      She seemed to know his name, you will observe; and, indeed, those great
      brown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past
      or to come. While Jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward, and
      took his stand at the old woman's side.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am going to Iolchos," answered the young man, "to bid the wicked King
      Pelias come down from my father's throne, and let me reign in his stead."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, well, then," said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice,
      "if that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry. Just
      take me on your back, there's a good youth, and carry me across the river.
      I and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well as
      yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good mother," replied Jason, "your business can hardly be so important as
      the pulling down a king from his throne. Besides, as you may see for
      yourself, the river is very boisterous; and if I should chance to stumble,
      it would sweep both of us away more easily than it has carried off yonder
      uprooted tree. I would gladly help you if I could; but I doubt whether I
      am strong enough to carry you across."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said she, very scornfully, "neither are you strong enough to pull
      King Pelias off his throne. And, Jason, unless you will help an old woman
      at her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for, save to
      succor the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either take me on
      your back, or with my poor old limbs I shall try my best to struggle
      across the stream."
    </p>
    <p>
      Saying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river, as if to
      find the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first
      step. But Jason, by this time, had grown ashamed of his reluctance to help
      her. He felt that he could never forgive himself, if this poor feeble
      creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against the
      headlong current. The good Chiron, whether half horse or no, had taught
      him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak; and also
      that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister, and every
      old one like a mother. Remembering these maxims, the vigorous and
      beautiful young man knelt down, and requested the good dame to mount upon
      his back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The passage seems to me not very safe," he remarked. "But as your
      business is so urgent, I will try to carry you across. If the river sweeps
      you away, it shall take me too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us," quoth the old
      woman. "But never fear. We shall get safely across."
    </p>
    <p>
      So she threw her arms around Jason's neck; and lifting her from the
      ground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foaming current, and began
      to stagger away from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the old
      dame's shoulder. Jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him from
      stumbling, and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks;
      although every instant, he expected that his companion and himself would
      go down the stream, together with the driftwood of shattered trees, and
      the carcasses of the sheep and cow. Down came the cold, snowy torrent from
      the steep side of Olympus, raging and thundering as if it had a real spite
      against Jason, or, at all events, were determined to snatch off his living
      burden from his shoulders. When he was half way across, the uprooted tree
      (which I have already told you about) broke loose from among the rocks,
      and bore down upon him, with all its splintered branches sticking out like
      the hundred arms of the giant Briareus. It rushed past, however, without
      touching him. But the next moment his foot was caught in a crevice between
      two rocks, and stuck there so fast, that, in the effort to get free, he
      lost one of his golden-stringed sandals.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter, Jason?" asked the old woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Matter enough," said the young man. "I have lost a sandal here among the
      rocks. And what sort of a figure shall I cut, at the court of King Pelias,
      with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot, and the other foot bare!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not take it to heart," answered his companion cheerily. "You never met
      with better fortune than in losing that sandal. It satisfies me that you
      are the very person whom the Speaking Oak has been talking about."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no time, just then, to inquire what the Speaking Oak had said.
      But the briskness of her tone encouraged the young man; and, besides, he
      had never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this old
      woman on his back. Instead of being exhausted, he gathered strength as he
      went on; and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained the
      opposite shore, clambered up the bank, and set down the old dame and her
      peacock safely on the grass. As soon as this was done, however, he could
      not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a remnant
      of the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by," said the old woman,
      with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. "Only let King Pelias
      get a glimpse of that bare foot, and you shall see him turn as pale as
      ashes, I promise you. There is your path. Go along, my good Jason, and my
      blessing go with you. And when you sit on your throne remember the old
      woman whom you helped over the river."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these words, she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder
      as she departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a glory round about
      her, or whatever the cause might be, Jason fancied that there was
      something very noble and majestic in her figure, after all, and that,
      though her gait seemed to be a rheumatic hobble, yet she moved with as
      much grace and dignity as any queen on earth. Her peacock, which had now
      fluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in a prodigious
      pomp, and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for Jason to admire
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the old dame and her peacock were out of sight, Jason set forward on
      his journey. After traveling a pretty long distance, he came to a town
      situated at the foot of a mountain, and not a great way from the shore of
      the sea. On the outside of the town there was an immense crowd of people,
      not only men and women, but children too, all in their best clothes, and
      evidently enjoying a holiday. The crowd was thickest towards the
      sea-shore; and in that direction, over the people's heads, Jason saw a
      wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky. He inquired of one of the
      multitude what town it was near by, and why so many persons were here
      assembled together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the kingdom of Iolchos," answered the man, "and we are the
      subjects of King Pelias. Our monarch has summoned us together, that we may
      see him sacrifice a black bull to Neptune, who, they say, is his majesty's
      father. Yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up from the
      altar."
    </p>
    <p>
      While the man spoke he eyed Jason with great curiosity; for his garb was
      quite unlike that of the Iolchians, and it looked very odd to see a youth
      with a leopard's skin over his shoulders, and each hand grasping a spear.
      Jason perceived, too, that the man stared particularly at his feet, one of
      which, you remember, was bare, while the other was decorated with his
      father's golden-stringed sandal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at him! only look at him!" said the man to his next neighbor. "Do
      you see? He wears but one sandal!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon this, first one person, and then another, began to stare at Jason,
      and everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect;
      though they turned their eyes much oftener towards his feet than to any
      other part of his figure. Besides, he could hear them whispering to one
      another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One sandal! One sandal!" they kept saying. "The man with one sandal! Here
      he is at last! Whence has he come? What does he mean to do? What will the
      king say to the one-sandaled man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Jason was greatly abashed, and made up his mind that the people of
      Iolchos were exceedingly ill-bred, to take such public notice of an
      accidental deficiency in his dress. Meanwhile, whether it were that they
      hustled him forward, or that Jason, of his own accord, thrust a passage
      through the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to the
      smoking altar, where King Pelias was sacrificing the black bull. The
      murmur and hum of the multitude, in their surprise at the spectacle of
      Jason with his one bare foot, grew so loud that it disturbed the
      ceremonies; and the king, holding the great knife with which he was just
      going to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about, and fixed his eyes
      on Jason. The people had now withdrawn from around him, so that the youth
      stood in an open space, near the smoking altar, front to front with the
      angry King Pelias.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who are you?" cried the king, with a terrible frown. "And how dare you
      make this disturbance, while I am sacrificing a black bull to my father
      Neptune?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is no fault of mine," answered Jason. "Your majesty must blame the
      rudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this tumult because one of
      my feet happens to be bare."
    </p>
    <p>
      When Jason said this, the king gave a quick startled glance down at his
      feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha!" muttered he, "here is the one-sandaled fellow, sure enough! What can
      I do with him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if he were
      half a mind to slay Jason, instead of the black bull. The people round
      about caught up the king's words, indistinctly as they were uttered; and
      first there was a murmur amongst them, and then a loud shout.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The one-sandaled man has come! The prophecy must be fulfilled!"
    </p>
    <p>
      For you are to know, that, many years before, King Pelias had been told by
      the Speaking Oak of Dodona, that a man with one sandal should cast him
      down from his throne. On this account, he had given strict orders that
      nobody should ever come into his presence, unless both sandals were
      securely tied upon his feet; and he kept an officer in his palace, whose
      sole business it was to examine people's sandals, and to supply them with
      a new pair, at the expense of the royal treasury, as soon as the old ones
      began to wear out. In the whole course of the king's reign, he had never
      been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the spectacle of poor
      Jason's bare foot. But, as he was naturally a bold and hard-hearted man,
      he soon took courage, and began to consider in what way he might rid
      himself of this terrible one-sandaled stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good young man," said King Pelias, taking the softest tone imaginable,
      in order to throw Jason off his guard, "you are excessively welcome to my
      kingdom. Judging by your dress, you must have traveled a long distance,
      for it is not the fashion to wear leopard skins in this part of the world.
      Pray what may I call your name? and where did you receive your education?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name is Jason," answered the young stranger. "Ever since my infancy, I
      have dwelt in the cave of Chiron the Centaur. He was my instructor, and
      taught me music, and horsemanship, and how to cure wounds, and likewise
      how to inflict wounds with my weapons!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard of Chiron the schoolmaster," replied King Pelias, "and how
      that there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head, although
      it happens to be set on a horse's body. It gives me great delight to see
      one of his scholars at my court. But to test how much you have profited
      under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask you a single
      question?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not pretend to be very wise," said Jason. "But ask me what you
      please, and I will answer to the best of my ability."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now King Pelias meant cunningly to entrap the young man, and to make him
      say something that should be the cause of mischief and distraction to
      himself. So, with a crafty and evil smile upon his face, he spoke as
      follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      "What would you do, brave Jason," asked he, "if there were a man in the
      world, by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to be ruined
      and slain&mdash;what would you do, I say, if that man stood before you,
      and in your power?"
    </p>
    <p>
      When Jason saw the malice and wickedness which King Pelias could not
      prevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king
      had discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own
      words against himself. Still he scorned to tell a falsehood. Like an
      upright and honorable prince as he was, he determined to speak out the
      real truth. Since the king had chosen to ask him the question, and since
      Jason had promised him an answer, there was no right way save to tell him
      precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do, if he had his worst
      enemy in his power.
    </p>
    <p>
      Therefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up, with a firm and
      manly voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would send such a man," said he, "in quest of the Golden Fleece!"
    </p>
    <p>
      This enterprise, you will understand, was, of all others, the most
      difficult and dangerous in the world. In the first place it would be
      necessary to make a long voyage through unknown seas. There was hardly a
      hope, or a possibility, that any young man who should undertake this
      voyage would either succeed in obtaining the Golden Fleece, or would
      survive to return home, and tell of the perils he had run. The eyes of
      King Pelias sparkled with joy, therefore, when he heard Jason's reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well said, wise man with the one sandal!" cried he. "Go, then, and at the
      peril of your life, bring me back the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I go," answered Jason, composedly. "If I fail, you need not fear that I
      will ever come back to trouble you again. But if I return to Iolchos with
      the prize, then, King Pelias, you must hasten down from your lofty throne,
      and give me your crown and sceptre."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That I will," said the king, with a sneer. "Meantime, I will keep them
      very safely for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      The first thing that Jason thought of doing, after he left the king's
      presence, was to go to Dodona, and inquire of the Talking Oak what course
      it was best to pursue. This wonderful tree stood in the center of an
      ancient wood. Its stately trunk rose up a hundred feet into the air, and
      threw a broad and dense shadow over more than an acre of ground. Standing
      beneath it, Jason looked up among the knotted branches and green leaves,
      and into the mysterious heart of the old tree, and spoke aloud, as if he
      were addressing some person who was hidden in the depths of the foliage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What shall I do," said he, "in order to win the Golden Fleece?"
    </p>
    <p>
      At first there was a deep silence, not only within the shadow of the
      Talking Oak, but all through the solitary wood. In a moment or two,
      however, the leaves of the oak began to stir and rustle, as if a gentle
      breeze were wandering amongst them, although the other trees of the wood
      were perfectly still. The sound grew louder, and became like the roar of a
      high wind. By and by, Jason imagined that he could distinguish words, but
      very confusedly, because each separate leaf of the tree seemed to be a
      tongue, and the whole myriad of tongues were babbling at once. But the
      noise waxed broader and deeper, until it resembled a tornado sweeping
      through the oak, and making one great utterance out of the thousand and
      thousand of little murmurs which each leafy tongue had caused by its
      rustling. And now, though it still had the tone of a mighty wind roaring
      among the branches, it was also like a deep bass voice, speaking as
      distinctly as a tree could be expected to speak, the following words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to Argus, the shipbuilder, and bid him build a galley with fifty
      oars."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the voice melted again into the indistinct murmur of the rustling
      leaves, and died gradually away. When it was quite gone, Jason felt
      inclined to doubt whether he had actually heard the words, or whether his
      fancy had not shaped them out of the ordinary sound made by a breeze,
      while passing through the thick foliage of the tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      But on inquiry among the people of Iolchos, he found that there was really
      a man in the city, by the name of Argus, who was a very skilful builder of
      vessels. This showed some intelligence in the oak; else how should it have
      known that any such person existed? At Jason's request, Argus readily
      consented to build him a galley so big that it should require fifty strong
      men to row it; although no vessel of such a size and burden had heretofore
      been seen in the world. So the head carpenter and all his journeymen and
      apprentices began their work; and for a good while afterwards, there they
      were, busily employed, hewing out the timbers, and making a great clatter
      with their hammers; until the new ship, which was called the Argo, seemed
      to be quite ready for sea. And, as the Talking Oak had already given him
      such good advice, Jason thought that it would not be amiss to ask for a
      little more. He visited it again, therefore, and standing beside its huge,
      rough trunk, inquired what he should do next.
    </p>
    <p>
      This time, there was no such universal quivering of the leaves, throughout
      the whole tree, as there had been before. But after a while, Jason
      observed that the foliage of a great branch which stretched above his head
      had begun to rustle, as if the wind were stirring that one bough, while
      all the other boughs of the oak were at rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cut me off!" said the branch, as soon as it could speak distinctly; "cut
      me off! cut me off! and carve me into a figure-head for your galley."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, Jason took the branch at its word, and lopped it off the
      tree. A carver in the neighborhood engaged to make the figurehead. He was
      a tolerably good workman, and had already carved several figure-heads, in
      what he intended for feminine shapes, and looking pretty much like those
      which we see nowadays stuck up under a vessel's bowsprit, with great
      staring eyes, that never wink at the dash of the spray. But (what was very
      strange) the carver found that his hand was guided by some unseen power,
      and by a skill beyond his own, and that his tools shaped out an image
      which he had never dreamed of. When the work was finished, it turned out
      to be the figure of a beautiful woman, with a helmet on her head, from
      beneath which the long ringlets fell down upon her shoulders. On the left
      arm was a shield, and in its center appeared a lifelike representation of
      the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. The right arm was extended, as if
      pointing onward. The face of this wonderful statue, though not angry or
      forbidding, was so grave and majestic, that perhaps you might call it
      severe; and as for the mouth, it seemed just ready to unclose its lips,
      and utter words of the deepest wisdom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason was delighted with the oaken image, and gave the carver no rest
      until it was completed, and set up where a figure-head has always stood,
      from that time to this, in the vessel's prow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now," cried he, as he stood gazing at the calm, majestic face of the
      statue, "I must go to the Talking Oak and inquire what next to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no need of that, Jason," said a voice which, though it was far
      lower, reminded him of the mighty tones of the great oak. "When you desire
      good advice, you can seek it of me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason had been looking straight into the face of the image when these
      words were spoken. But he could hardly believe either his ears or his
      eyes. The truth was, however, that the oaken lips had moved, and, to all
      appearance, the voice had proceeded from the statue's mouth. Recovering a
      little from his surprise, Jason bethought himself that the image had been
      carved out of the wood of the Talking Oak, and that, therefore, it was
      really no great wonder, but on the contrary, the most natural thing in the
      world, that it should possess the faculty of speech. It would have been
      very odd, indeed, if it had not. But certainly it was a great piece of
      good fortune that he should be able to carry so wise a block of wood along
      with him in his perilous voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me, wondrous image," exclaimed Jason,&mdash;"since you inherit the
      wisdom of the Speaking Oak of Dodona, whose daughter you are,&mdash;tell
      me, where shall I find fifty bold youths, who will take each of them an
      oar of my galley? They must have sturdy arms to row, and brave hearts to
      encounter perils, or we shall never win the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go," replied the oaken image, "go, summon all the heroes of Greece."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, in fact, considering what a great deed was to be done, could any
      advice be wiser than this which Jason received from the figure-head of his
      vessel? He lost no time in sending messengers to all the cities, and
      making known to the whole people of Greece, that Prince Jason, the son of
      King Jason, was going in quest of the Fleece of Gold, and that he desired
      the help of forty-nine of the bravest and strongest young men alive, to
      row his vessel and share his dangers. And Jason himself would be the
      fiftieth.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this news, the adventurous youths, all over the country, began to
      bestir themselves. Some of them had already fought with giants, and slain
      dragons; and the younger ones, who had not yet met with such good fortune,
      thought it a shame to have lived so long without getting astride of a
      flying serpent, or sticking their spears into a Chimaera, or, at least,
      thrusting their right arms down a monstrous lion's throat. There was a
      fair prospect that they would meet with plenty of such adventures before
      finding the Golden Fleece. As soon as they could furbish up their helmets
      and shields, therefore, and gird on their trusty swords, they came
      thronging to Iolchos, and clambered on board the new galley. Shaking hands
      with Jason, they assured him that they did not care a pin for their lives,
      but would help row the vessel to the remotest edge of the world, and as
      much farther as he might think it best to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many of these brave fellows had been educated by Chiron, the four-footed
      pedagogue, and were therefore old schoolmates of Jason, and knew him to be
      a lad of spirit. The mighty Hercules, whose shoulders afterwards upheld
      the sky, was one of them. And there were Castor and Pollux, the twin
      brothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although they
      had been hatched out of an egg; and Theseus, who was so renowned for
      killing the Minotaur, and Lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes, which
      could see through a millstone, or look right down into the depths of the
      earth, and discover the treasures that were there; and Orpheus, the very
      best of harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly, that the
      brute beasts stood upon their hind legs, and capered merrily to the music.
      Yes, and at some of his more moving tunes, the rocks bestirred their
      moss-grown bulk out of the ground, and a grove of forest trees uprooted
      themselves, and, nodding their tops to one another, performed a country
      dance.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the rowers was a beautiful young woman, named Atalanta, who had
      been nursed among the mountains by a bear. So light of foot was this fair
      damsel, that she could step from one foamy crest of a wave to the foamy
      crest of another, without wetting more than the sole of her sandal. She
      had grown up in a very wild way, and talked much about the rights of
      women, and loved hunting and war far better than her needle. But in my
      opinion, the most remarkable of this famous company were two sons of the
      North Wind (airy youngsters, and of rather a blustering disposition) who
      had wings on their shoulders, and, in case of a calm, could puff out their
      cheeks, and blow almost as fresh a breeze as their father. I ought not to
      forget the prophets and conjurors, of whom there were several in the crew,
      and who could foretell what would happen to-morrow or the next day, or a
      hundred years hence, but were generally quite unconscious of what was
      passing at the moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason appointed Tiphys to be helmsman because he was a star-gazer, and
      knew the points of the compass. Lynceus, on account of his sharp sight,
      was stationed as a look-out in the prow, where he saw a whole day's sail
      ahead, but was rather apt to overlook things that lay directly under his
      nose. If the sea only happened to be deep enough, however, Lynceus could
      tell you exactly what kind of rocks or sands were at the bottom of it; and
      he often cried out to his companions, that they were sailing over heaps of
      sunken treasure, which yet he was none the richer for beholding. To
      confess the truth, few people believed him when he said it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well! But when the Argonauts, as these fifty brave adventurers were
      called, had prepared everything for the voyage, an unforeseen difficulty
      threatened to end it before it was begun. The vessel, you must understand,
      was so long, and broad, and ponderous, that the united force of all the
      fifty was insufficient to shove her into the water. Hercules, I suppose,
      had not grown to his full strength, else he might have set her afloat as
      easily as a little boy launches his boat upon a puddle. But here were
      these fifty heroes, pushing, and straining, and growing red in the face,
      without making the Argo start an inch. At last, quite wearied out, they
      sat themselves down on the shore exceedingly disconsolate, and thinking
      that the vessel must be left to rot and fall in pieces, and that they must
      either swim across the sea or lose the Golden Fleece.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once, Jason bethought himself of the galley's miraculous
      figure-head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, daughter of the Talking Oak," cried he, "how shall we set to work to
      get our vessel into the water?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Seat yourselves," answered the image (for it had known what had ought to
      be done from the very first, and was only waiting for the question to be
      put),&mdash;"seat yourselves, and handle your oars, and let Orpheus play
      upon his harp."
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately the fifty heroes got on board, and seizing their oars, held
      them perpendicularly in the air, while Orpheus (who liked such a task far
      better than rowing) swept his fingers across the harp. At the first
      ringing note of the music, they felt the vessel stir. Orpheus thrummed
      away briskly, and the galley slid at once into the sea, dipping her prow
      so deeply that the figure-head drank the wave with its marvelous lips, and
      rising again as buoyant as a swan. The rowers plied their fifty oars; the
      white foam boiled up before the prow; the water gurgled and bubbled in
      their wake; while Orpheus continued to play so lively a strain of music,
      that the vessel seemed to dance over the billows by way of keeping time to
      it. Thus triumphantly did the Argo sail out of the harbor, amidst the
      huzzas and good wishes of everybody except the wicked old Pelias, who
      stood on a promontory, scowling at her, and wishing that he could blow out
      of his lungs the tempest of wrath that was in his heart, and so sink the
      galley with all on board. When they had sailed above fifty miles over the
      sea, Lynceus happened to cast his sharp eyes behind, and said that there
      was this bad-hearted king, still perched upon the promontory, and scowling
      so gloomily that it looked like a black thunder-cloud in that quarter of
      the horizon.
    </p>
    <p>
      In order to make the time pass away more pleasantly during the voyage, the
      heroes talked about the Golden Fleece. It originally belonged, it appears,
      to a Boeotian ram, who had taken on his back two children, when in danger
      of their lives, and fled with them over land and sea as far as Colchis.
      One of the children, whose name was Helle, fell into the sea and was
      drowned. But the other (a little boy, named Phrixus) was brought safe
      ashore by the faithful ram, who, however, was so exhausted that he
      immediately lay down and died. In memory of this good deed, and as a token
      of his true heart, the fleece of the poor dead ram was miraculously
      changed to gold, and became one of the most beautiful objects ever seen on
      earth. It was hung upon a tree in a sacred grove, where it had now been
      kept I know not how many years, and was the envy of mighty kings, who had
      nothing so magnificent in any of their palaces.
    </p>
    <p>
      If I were to tell you all the adventures of the Argonauts, it would take
      me till nightfall, and perhaps a great deal longer. There was no lack of
      wonderful events, as you may judge from what you have already heard. At a
      certain island, they were hospitably received by King Cyzicus, its
      sovereign, who made a feast for them, and treated them like brothers. But
      the Argonauts saw that this good king looked downcast and very much
      troubled, and they therefore inquired of him what was the matter. King
      Cyzicus hereupon informed them that he and his subjects were greatly
      abused and incommoded by the inhabitants of a neighboring mountain, who
      made war upon them, and killed many people, and ravaged the country. And
      while they were talking about it, Cyzicus pointed to the mountain, and
      asked Jason and his companions what they saw there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see some very tall objects," answered Jason; "but they are at such a
      distance that I cannot distinctly make out what they are. To tell your
      majesty the truth, they look so very strangely that I am inclined to think
      them clouds, which have chanced to take something like human shapes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see them very plainly," remarked Lynceus, whose eyes, you know, were as
      far-sighted as a telescope. "They are a band of enormous giants, all of
      whom have six arms apiece, and a club, a sword, or some other weapon in
      each of their hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have excellent eyes," said King Cyzicus. "Yes; they are six-armed
      giants, as you say, and these are the enemies whom I and my subjects have
      to contend with."
    </p>
    <p>
      The next day, when the Argonauts were about setting sail, down came these
      terrible giants, stepping a hundred yards at a stride, brandishing their
      six arms apiece, and looking formidable, so far aloft in the air. Each of
      these monsters was able to carry on a whole war by himself, for with one
      arm he could fling immense stones, and wield a club with another, and a
      sword with a third, while the fourth was poking a long spear at the enemy,
      and the fifth and sixth were shooting him with a bow and arrow. But,
      luckily, though the giants were so huge, and had so many arms, they had
      each but one heart, and that no bigger nor braver than the heart of an
      ordinary man. Besides, if they had been like the hundred-armed Briareus,
      the brave Argonauts would have given them their hands full of fight. Jason
      and his friends went boldly to meet them, slew a great many, and made the
      rest take to their heels, so that if the giants had had six legs apiece
      instead of six arms, it would have served them better to run away with.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another strange adventure happened when the voyagers came to Thrace, where
      they found a poor blind king, named Phineus, deserted by his subjects, and
      living in a very sorrowful way, all by himself. On Jason's inquiring
      whether they could do him any service, the king answered that he was
      terribly tormented by three great winged creatures, called Harpies, which
      had the faces of women, and the wings, bodies, and claws of vultures.
      These ugly wretches were in the habit of snatching away his dinner, and
      allowed him no peace of his life. Upon hearing this, the Argonauts spread
      a plentiful feast on the sea-shore, well knowing, from what the blind king
      said of their greediness, that the Harpies would snuff up the scent of the
      victuals, and quickly come to steal them away. And so it turned out; for,
      hardly was the table set, before the three hideous vulture women came
      flapping their wings, seized the food in their talons, and flew off as
      fast as they could. But the two sons of the North Wind drew their swords,
      spread their pinions, and set off through the air in pursuit of the
      thieves, whom they at last overtook among some islands, after a chase of
      hundreds of miles. The two winged youths blustered terribly at the Harpies
      (for they had the rough temper of their father), and so frightened them
      with their drawn swords, that they solemnly promised never to trouble King
      Phineus again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the Argonauts sailed onward and met with many other marvelous
      incidents, any one of which would make a story by itself. At one time they
      landed on an island, and were reposing on the grass, when they suddenly
      found themselves assailed by what seemed a shower of steel-headed arrows.
      Some of them stuck in the ground, while others hit against their shields,
      and several penetrated their flesh. The fifty heroes started up, and
      looked about them for the hidden enemy, but could find none, nor see any
      spot, on the whole island, where even a single archer could lie concealed.
      Still, however, the steel-headed arrows came whizzing among them; and, at
      last, happening to look upward, they beheld a large flock of birds,
      hovering and wheeling aloft, and shooting their feathers down upon the
      Argonauts. These feathers were the steel-headed arrows that had so
      tormented them. There was no possibility of making any resistance; and the
      fifty heroic Argonauts might all have been killed or wounded by a flock of
      troublesome birds, without ever setting eyes on the Golden Fleece, if
      Jason had not thought of asking the advice of the oaken image.
    </p>
    <p>
      So he ran to the galley as fast as his legs would carry him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, daughter of the Speaking Oak," cried he, all out of breath, "we need
      your wisdom more than ever before! We are in great peril from a flock of
      birds, who are shooting us with their steel-pointed feathers. What can we
      do to drive them away?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make a clatter on your shields," said the image.
    </p>
    <p>
      On receiving this excellent counsel, Jason hurried back to his companions
      (who were far more dismayed than when they fought with the six-armed
      giants), and bade them strike with their swords upon their brazen shields.
      Forthwith the fifty heroes set heartily to work, banging with might and
      main, and raised such a terrible clatter, that the birds made what haste
      they could to get away; and though they had shot half the feathers out of
      their wings, they were soon seen skimming among the clouds, a long
      distance off, and looking like a flock of wild geese. Orpheus celebrated
      this victory by playing a triumphant anthem on his harp, and sang so
      melodiously that Jason begged him to desist, lest, as the steel-feathered
      birds had been driven away by an ugly sound, they might be enticed back
      again by a sweet one.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the Argonauts remained on this island, they saw a small vessel
      approaching the shore, in which were two young men of princely demeanor,
      and exceedingly handsome, as young princes generally were, in those days.
      Now, who do you imagine these two voyagers turned out to be? Why, if you
      will believe me, they were the sons of that very Phrixus, who, in his
      childhood, had been carried to Colchis on the back of the golden-fleeced
      ram. Since that time, Phrixus had married the king's daughter; and the two
      young princes had been born and brought up at Colchis, and had spent their
      play-days in the outskirts of the grove, in the center of which the Golden
      Fleece was hanging upon a tree. They were now on their way to Greece, in
      hopes of getting back a kingdom that had been wrongfully taken from their
      father.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the princes understood whither the Argonauts were going, they offered
      to turn back, and guide them to Colchis. At the same time, however, they
      spoke as if it were very doubtful whether Jason would succeed in getting
      the Golden Fleece. According to their account, the tree on which it hung
      was guarded by a terrible dragon, who never failed to devour, at one
      mouthful, every person who might venture within his reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are other difficulties in the way," continued the young princes.
      "But is not this enough? Ah, brave Jason, turn back before it is too late.
      It would grieve us to the heart, if you and your nine and forty brave
      companions should be eaten up, at fifty mouthfuls, by this execrable
      dragon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My young friends," quietly replied Jason, "I do not wonder that you think
      the dragon very terrible. You have grown up from infancy in the fear of
      this monster, and therefore still regard him with the awe that children
      feel for the bugbears and hobgoblins which their nurses have talked to
      them about. But, in my view of the matter, the dragon is merely a pretty
      large serpent, who is not half so likely to snap me up at one mouthful as
      I am to cut off his ugly head, and strip the skin from his body. At all
      events, turn back who may, I will never see Greece again, unless I carry
      with me the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will none of us turn back!" cried his nine and forty brave comrades.
      "Let us get on board the galley this instant; and if the dragon is to make
      a breakfast of us, much good may it do him."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Orpheus (whose custom it was to set everything to music) began to harp
      and sing most gloriously, and made every mother's son of them feel as if
      nothing in this world were so delectable as to fight dragons, and nothing
      so truly honorable as to be eaten up at one mouthful, in case of the
      worst.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this (being now under the guidance of the two princes, who were well
      acquainted with the way), they quickly sailed to Colchis. When the king of
      the country, whose name was Aetes, heard of their arrival, he instantly
      summoned Jason to court. The king was a stern and cruel looking potentate;
      and though he put on as polite and hospitable an expression as he could,
      Jason did not like his face a whit better than that of the wicked King
      Pelias, who dethroned his father. "You are welcome, brave Jason," said
      King Aetes. "Pray, are you on a pleasure voyage?&mdash;Or do you meditate
      the discovery of unknown islands?&mdash;or what other cause has procured
      me the happiness of seeing you at my court?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Great sir," replied Jason, with an obeisance&mdash;for Chiron had taught
      him how to behave with propriety, whether to kings or beggars&mdash;"I
      have come hither with a purpose which I now beg your majesty's permission
      to execute. King Pelias, who sits on my father's throne (to which he has
      no more right than to the one on which your excellent majesty is now
      seated), has engaged to come down from it, and to give me his crown and
      sceptre, provided I bring him the Golden Fleece. This, as your majesty is
      aware, is now hanging on a tree here at Colchis; and I humbly solicit your
      gracious leave to take it away." In spite of himself, the king's face
      twisted itself into an angry frown; for, above all things else in the
      world, he prized the Golden Fleece, and was even suspected of having done
      a very wicked act, in order to get it into his own possession. It put him
      into the worst possible humor, therefore, to hear that the gallant Prince
      Jason, and forty-nine of the bravest young warriors of Greece, had come to
      Colchis with the sole purpose of taking away his chief treasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know," asked King Aetes, eyeing Jason very sternly, "what are the
      conditions which you must fulfill before getting possession of the Golden
      Fleece?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard," rejoined the youth, "that a dragon lies beneath the tree
      on which the prize hangs, and that whoever approaches him runs the risk of
      being devoured at a mouthful."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True," said the king, with a smile that did not look particularly
      good-natured. "Very true, young man. But there are other things as hard,
      or perhaps a little harder, to be done before you can even have the
      privilege of being devoured by the dragon. For example, you must first
      tame my two brazen-footed and brazen-lunged bulls, which Vulcan, the
      wonderful blacksmith, made for me. There is a furnace in each of their
      stomachs; and they breathe such hot fire out of their mouths and nostrils,
      that nobody has hitherto gone nigh them without being instantly burned to
      a small, black cinder. What do you think of this, my brave Jason?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must encounter the peril," answered Jason, composedly, "since it stands
      in the way of my purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "After taming the fiery bulls," continued King Aetes, who was determined
      to scare Jason if possible, "you must yoke them to a plow, and must plow
      the sacred earth in the Grove of Mars, and sow some of the same dragon's
      teeth from which Cadmus raised a crop of armed men. They are an unruly set
      of reprobates, those sons of the dragon's teeth; and unless you treat them
      suitably, they will fall upon you sword in hand. You and your nine and
      forty Argonauts, my bold Jason, are hardly numerous or strong enough to
      fight with such a host as will spring up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My master Chiron," replied Jason, "taught me, long ago, the story of
      Cadmus. Perhaps I can manage the quarrelsome sons of the dragon's teeth as
      well as Cadmus did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish the dragon had him," muttered King Aetes to himself, "and the
      four-footed pedant, his schoolmaster, into the bargain. Why, what a
      foolhardy, self-conceited coxcomb he is! We'll see what my fire-breathing
      bulls will do for him. Well, Prince Jason," he continued, aloud, and as
      complaisantly as he could, "make yourself comfortable for to-day, and
      to-morrow morning, since you insist upon it, you shall try your skill at
      the plow."
    </p>
    <p>
      While the king talked with Jason, a beautiful young woman was standing
      behind the throne. She fixed her eyes earnestly upon the youthful
      stranger, and listened attentively to every word that was spoken; and when
      Jason withdrew from the king's presence, this young woman followed him out
      of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am the king's daughter," she said to him, "and my name is Medea. I know
      a great deal of which other young princesses are ignorant, and can do many
      things which they would be afraid so much as to dream of. If you will
      trust to me, I can instruct you how to tame the fiery bulls, and sow the
      dragon's teeth, and get the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, beautiful princess," answered Jason, "if you will do me this
      service, I promise to be grateful to you my whole life long."
  </p>
    <p>
Gazing at
      Medea, he beheld a wonderful intelligence in her face. She was one of
      those persons whose eyes are full of mystery; so that, while looking into
      them, you seem to see a very great way, as into a deep well, yet can never
      be certain whether you see into the farthest depths, or whether there be
      not something else hidden at the bottom. If Jason had been capable of
      fearing anything, he would have been afraid of making this young princess
      his enemy; for, beautiful as she now looked, she might, the very next
      instant, become as terrible as the dragon that kept watch over the Golden
      Fleece.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Princess," he exclaimed, "you seem indeed very wise and very powerful.
      But how can you help me to do the things of which you speak? Are you an
      enchantress?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Prince Jason," answered Medea, with a smile, "you have hit upon the
      truth. I am an enchantress. Circe, my father's sister, taught me to be
      one, and I could tell you, if I pleased, who was the old woman with the
      peacock, the pomegranate, and the cuckoo staff, whom you carried over the
      river; and, likewise, who it is that speaks through the lips of the oaken
      image, that stands in the prow of your galley. I am acquainted with some
      of your secrets, you perceive. It is well for you that I am favorably
      inclined; for, otherwise, you would hardly escape being snapped up by the
      dragon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should not so much care for the dragon," replied Jason, "if I only knew
      how to manage the brazen-footed and fiery-lunged bulls."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you are as brave as I think you, and as you have need to be," said
      Medea, "your own bold heart will teach you that there is but one way of
      dealing with a mad bull. What it is I leave you to find out in the moment
      of peril. As for the fiery breath of these animals, I have a charmed
      ointment here, which will prevent you from being burned up, and cure you
      if you chance to be a little scorched."
    </p>
    <p>
      So she put a golden box into his hand, and directed him how to apply the
      perfumed unguent which it contained, and where to meet her at midnight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only be brave," added she, "and before daybreak the brazen bulls shall be
      tamed."
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man assured her that his heart would not fail him. He then
      rejoined his comrades, and told them what had passed between the princess
      and himself, and warned them to be in readiness in case there might be
      need of their help. At the appointed hour he met the beautiful Medea on
      the marble steps of the king's palace. She gave him a basket, in which
      were the dragon's teeth, just as they had been pulled out of the monster's
      jaws by Cadmus, long ago. Medea then led Jason down the palace steps, and
      through the silent streets of the city, and into the royal pasture ground,
      where the two brazen-footed bulls were kept. It was a starry night, with a
      bright gleam along the eastern edge of the sky, where the moon was soon
      going to show herself. After entering the pasture, the princess paused and
      looked around.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There they are," said she, "reposing themselves and chewing their fiery
      cuds in that farthest corner of the field. It will be excellent sport, I
      assure you, when they catch a glimpse of your figure. My father and all
      his court delight in nothing so much as to see a stranger trying to yoke
      them, in order to come at the Golden Fleece. It makes a holiday in Colchis
      whenever such a thing happens. For my part, I enjoy it immensely. You
      cannot imagine in what a mere twinkling of an eye their hot breath
      shrivels a young man into a black cinder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you sure, beautiful Medea," asked Jason, "quite sure, that the
      unguent in the gold box will prove a remedy against those terrible burns?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you doubt, if you are in the least afraid," said the princess, looking
      him in the face by the dim starlight, "you had better never have been born
      than to go a step nigher to the bulls."
    </p>
    <p>
      But Jason had set his heart steadfastly on getting the Golden Fleece; and
      I positively doubt whether he would have gone back without it, even had he
      been certain of finding himself turned into a red-hot cinder, or a handful
      of white ashes, the instant he made a step farther. He therefore let go
      Medea's hand, and walked boldly forward in the direction whither she had
      pointed. At some distance before him he perceived four streams of fiery
      vapor, regularly appearing and again vanishing, after dimly lighting up
      the surrounding obscurity. These, you will understand, were caused by the
      breath of the brazen bulls, which was quietly stealing out of their four
      nostrils, as they lay chewing their cuds.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the first two or three steps which Jason made, the four fiery streams
      appeared to gush out somewhat more plentifully; for the two brazen bulls
      had heard his foot tramp, and were lifting up their hot noses to snuff the
      air. He went a little farther, and by the way in which the red vapor now
      spouted forth, he judged that the creatures had got upon their feet. Now
      he could see glowing sparks, and vivid jets of flame. At the next step,
      each of the bulls made the pasture echo with a terrible roar, while the
      burning breath, which they thus belched forth, lit up the whole field with
      a momentary flash. One other stride did bold Jason make; and, suddenly as
      a streak of lightning, on came these fiery animals, roaring like thunder,
      and sending out sheets of white flame, which so kindled up the scene that
      the young man could discern every object more distinctly than by daylight.
      Most distinctly of all he saw the two horrible creatures galloping right
      down upon him, their brazen hoofs rattling and ringing over the ground,
      and their tails sticking up stiffly into the air, as has always been the
      fashion with angry bulls. Their breath scorched the herbage before them.
      So intensely hot it was, indeed, that it caught a dry tree under which
      Jason was now standing, and set it all in a light blaze. But as for Jason
      himself (thanks to Medea's enchanted ointment), the white flame curled
      around his body, without injuring him a jot more than if he had been made
      of asbestos.
    </p>
    <p>
      Greatly encouraged at finding himself not yet turned into a cinder, the
      young man awaited the attack of the bulls. Just as the brazen brutes
      fancied themselves sure of tossing him into the air, he caught one of them
      by the horn, and the other by his screwed-up tail, and held them in a
      gripe like that of an iron vice, one with his right hand, the other with
      his left. Well, he must have been wonderfully strong in his arms, to be
      sure. But the secret of the matter was, that the brazen bulls were
      enchanted creatures, and that Jason had broken the spell of their fiery
      fierceness by his bold way of handling them. And, ever since that time, it
      has been the favorite method of brave men, when danger assails them, to do
      what they call "taking the bull by the horns"; and to gripe him by the
      tail is pretty much the same thing&mdash;that is, to throw aside fear, and
      overcome the peril by despising it. It was now easy to yoke the bulls, and
      to harness them to the plow, which had lain rusting on the ground for a
      great many years gone by; so long was it before anybody could be found
      capable of plowing that piece of land. Jason, I suppose, had been taught
      how to draw a furrow by the good old Chiron, who, perhaps, used to allow
      himself to be harnessed to the plow. At any rate, our hero succeeded
      perfectly well in breaking up the greensward; and, by the time that the
      moon was a quarter of her journey up the sky, the plowed field lay before
      him, a large tract of black earth, ready to be sown with the dragon's
      teeth. So Jason scattered them broadcast, and harrowed them into the soil
      with a brush-harrow, and took his stand on the edge of the field, anxious
      to see what would happen next.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Must we wait long for harvest time?" he inquired of Medea, who was now
      standing by his side.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whether sooner or later, it will be sure to come," answered the princess.
      "A crop of armed men never fails to spring up, when the dragon's teeth
      have been sown."
    </p>
    <p>
      The moon was now high aloft in the heavens, and threw its bright beams
      over the plowed field, where as yet there was nothing to be seen. Any
      farmer, on viewing it, would have said that Jason must wait weeks before
      the green blades would peep from among the clods, and whole months before
      the yellow grain would be ripened for the sickle. But by and by, all over
      the field, there was something that glistened in the moonbeams, like
      sparkling drops of dew. These bright objects sprouted higher, and proved
      to be the steel heads of spears. Then there was a dazzling gleam from a
      vast number of polished brass helmets, beneath which, as they grew farther
      out of the soil, appeared the dark and bearded visages of warriors,
      struggling to free themselves from the imprisoning earth. The first look
      that they gave at the upper world was a glare of wrath and defiance. Next
      were seen their bright breastplates; in every right hand there was a sword
      or a spear, and on each left arm a shield; and when this strange crop of
      warriors had but half grown out of the earth, they struggled&mdash;such
      was their impatience of restraint&mdash;and, as it were, tore themselves
      up by the roots. Wherever a dragon's tooth had fallen, there stood a man
      armed for battle. They made a clangor with their swords against their
      shields, and eyed one another fiercely; for they had come into this
      beautiful world, and into the peaceful moonlight, full of rage and stormy
      passions, and ready to take the life of every human brother, in recompense
      of the boon of their own existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      There have been many other armies in the world that seemed to possess the
      same fierce nature with the one which had now sprouted from the dragon's
      teeth; but these, in the moonlit field, were the more excusable, because
      they never had women for their mothers. And how it would have rejoiced any
      great captain, who was bent on conquering the world, like Alexander or
      Napoleon, to raise a crop of armed soldiers as easily as Jason did! For a
      while, the warriors stood flourishing their weapons, clashing their swords
      against their shields, and boiling over with the red-hot thirst for
      battle. Then they began to shout&mdash;"Show us the enemy! Lead us to the
      charge! Death or victory!" "Come on, brave comrades! Conquer or die!" and
      a hundred other outcries, such as men always bellow forth on a battle
      field, and which these dragon people seemed to have at their tongues'
      ends. At last, the front rank caught sight of Jason, who, beholding the
      flash of so many weapons in the moonlight, had thought it best to draw his
      sword. In a moment all the sons of the dragon's teeth appeared to take
      Jason for an enemy; and crying with one voice, "Guard the Golden Fleece!"
      they ran at him with uplifted swords and protruded spears. Jason knew that
      it would be impossible to withstand this blood-thirsty battalion with his
      single arm, but determined, since there was nothing better to be done, to
      die as valiantly as if he himself had sprung from a dragon's tooth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Medea, however, bade him snatch up a stone from the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Throw it among them quickly!" cried she. "It is the only way to save
      yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      The armed men were now so nigh that Jason could discern the fire flashing
      out of their enraged eyes, when he let fly the stone, and saw it strike
      the helmet of a tall warrior, who was rushing upon him with his blade
      aloft. The stone glanced from this man's helmet to the shield of his
      nearest comrade, and thence flew right into the angry face of another,
      hitting him smartly between the eyes. Each of the three who had been
      struck by the stone took it for granted that his next neighbor had given
      him a blow; and instead of running any farther towards Jason, they began
      to fight among themselves. The confusion spread through the host, so that
      it seemed scarcely a moment before they were all hacking, hewing, and
      stabbing at one another, lopping off arms, heads, and legs and doing such
      memorable deeds that Jason was filled with immense admiration; although,
      at the same time, he could not help laughing to behold these mighty men
      punishing each other for an offense which he himself had committed. In an
      incredibly short space of time (almost as short, indeed, as it had taken
      them to grow up), all but one of the heroes of the dragon's teeth were
      stretched lifeless on the field. The last survivor, the bravest and
      strongest of the whole, had just force enough to wave his crimson sword
      over his head and give a shout of exultation, crying, "Victory! Victory!
      Immortal fame!" when he himself fell down, and lay quietly among his slain
      brethren.
    </p>
    <p>
      And there was the end of the army that had sprouted from the dragon's
      teeth. That fierce and feverish fight was the only enjoyment which they
      had tasted on this beautiful earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let them sleep in the bed of honor," said the Princess Medea, with a sly
      smile at Jason. "The world will always have simpletons enough, just like
      them, fighting and dying for they know not what, and fancying that
      posterity will take the trouble to put laurel wreaths on their rusty and
      battered helmets. Could you help smiling, Prince Jason, to see the
      self-conceit of that last fellow, just as he tumbled down?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It made me very sad," answered Jason, gravely. "And, to tell you the
      truth, princess, the Golden Fleece does not appear so well worth the
      winning, after what I have here beheld!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will think differently in the morning," said Medea. "True, the Golden
      Fleece may not be so valuable as you have thought it; but then there is
      nothing better in the world; and one must needs have an object, you know.
      Come! Your night's work has been well performed; and to-morrow you can
      inform King Aetes that the first part of your allotted task is fulfilled."
    </p>
    <p>
      Agreeably to Medea's advice, Jason went betimes in the morning to the
      palace of King Aetes. Entering the presence chamber, he stood at the foot
      of the throne, and made a low obeisance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your eyes look heavy, Prince Jason," observed the king; "you appear to
      have spent a sleepless night. I hope you have been considering the matter
      a little more wisely, and have concluded not to get yourself scorched to a
      cinder, in attempting to tame my brazen-lunged bulls."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is already accomplished, may it please your majesty," replied Jason.
      "The bulls have been tamed and yoked; the field has been plowed; the
      dragon's teeth have been sown broadcast, and harrowed into the soil; the
      crop of armed warriors have sprung up, and they have slain one another, to
      the last man. And now I solicit your majesty's permission to encounter the
      dragon, that I may take down the Golden Fleece from the tree, and depart,
      with my nine and forty comrades."
    </p>
    <p>
      King Aetes scowled, and looked very angry and excessively disturbed; for
      he knew that, in accordance with his kingly promise, he ought now to
      permit Jason to win the Fleece, if his courage and skill should enable him
      to do so. But, since the young man had met with such good luck in the
      matter of the brazen bulls and the dragon's teeth, the king feared that he
      would be equally successful in slaying the dragon. And therefore, though
      he would gladly have seen Jason snapped up at a mouthful, he was resolved
      (and it was a very wrong thing of this wicked potentate) not to run any
      further risk of losing his beloved Fleece.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You never would have succeeded in this business, young man," said he, "if
      my undutiful daughter Medea had not helped you with her enchantments. Had
      you acted fairly, you would have been, at this instant, a black cinder, or
      a handful of white ashes. I forbid you, on pain of death, to make any more
      attempts to get the Golden Fleece. To speak my mind plainly, you shall
      never set eyes on so much as one of its glistening locks."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason left the king's presence in great sorrow and anger. He could think
      of nothing better to be done than to summon together his forty-nine brave
      Argonauts, march at once to the Grove of Mars, slay the dragon, take
      possession of the Golden Fleece, get on board the Argo, and spread all
      sail for Iolchos. The success of this scheme depended, it is true, on the
      doubtful point whether all the fifty heroes might not be snapped up, at so
      many mouthfuls, by the dragon. But, as Jason was hastening down the palace
      steps, the Princess Medea called after him, and beckoned him to return.
      Her black eyes shone upon him with such a keen intelligence, that he felt
      as if there were a serpent peeping out of them; and, although she had done
      him so much service only the night before, he was by no means very certain
      that she would not do him an equally great mischief before sunset. These
      enchantresses, you must know, are never to be depended upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What says King Aetes, my royal and upright father?" inquired Medea,
      slightly smiling. "Will he give you the Golden Fleece, without any further
      risk or trouble?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary," answered Jason, "he is very angry with me for taming
      the brazen bulls and sowing the dragon's teeth. And he forbids me to make
      any more attempts, and positively refuses to give up the Golden Fleece,
      whether I slay the dragon or no."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Jason," said the princess, "and I can tell you more. Unless you set
      sail from Colchis before to-morrow's sunrise, the king means to burn your
      fifty-oared galley, and put yourself and your forty-nine brave comrades to
      the sword. But be of good courage. The Golden Fleece you shall have, if it
      lies within the power of my enchantments to get it for you. Wait for me
      here an hour before midnight."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the appointed hour you might again have seen Prince Jason and the
      Princess Medea, side by side, stealing through the streets of Colchis, on
      their way to the sacred grove, in the center of which the Golden Fleece
      was suspended to a tree. While they were crossing the pasture ground, the
      brazen bulls came towards Jason, lowing, nodding their heads, and
      thrusting forth their snouts, which, as other cattle do, they loved to
      have rubbed and caressed by a friendly hand. Their fierce nature was
      thoroughly tamed; and, with their fierceness, the two furnaces in their
      stomachs had likewise been extinguished, insomuch that they probably
      enjoyed far more comfort in grazing and chewing their cuds than ever
      before. Indeed, it had heretofore been a great inconvenience to these poor
      animals, that, whenever they wished to eat a mouthful of grass, the fire
      out of their nostrils had shriveled it up, before they could manage to
      crop it. How they contrived to keep themselves alive is more than I can
      imagine. But now, instead of emitting jets of flame and streams of
      sulphurous vapor, they breathed the very sweetest of cow breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      After kindly patting the bulls, Jason followed Medea's guidance into the
      Grove of Mars, where the great oak trees, that had been growing for
      centuries, threw so thick a shade that the moonbeams struggled vainly to
      find their way through it. Only here and there a glimmer fell upon the
      leaf-strewn earth, or now and then a breeze stirred the boughs aside, and
      gave Jason a glimpse of the sky, lest, in that deep obscurity, he might
      forget that there was one, overhead. At length, when they had gone farther
      and farther into the heart of the duskiness, Medea squeezed Jason's hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look yonder," she whispered. "Do you see it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Gleaming among the venerable oaks, there was a radiance, not like the
      moonbeams, but rather resembling the golden glory of the setting sun. It
      proceeded from an object, which appeared to be suspended at about a man's
      height from the ground, a little farther within the wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it?" asked Jason.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you come so far to seek it," exclaimed Medea, "and do you not
      recognize the meed of all your toils and perils, when it glitters before
      your eyes? It is the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason went onward a few steps farther, and then stopped to gaze. O, how
      beautiful it looked, shining with a marvelous light of its own, that
      inestimable prize which so many heroes had longed to behold, but had
      perished in the quest of it, either by the perils of their voyage, or by
      the fiery breath of the brazen-lunged bulls.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How gloriously it shines!" cried Jason, in a rapture. "It has surely been
      dipped in the richest gold of sunset. Let me hasten onward, and take it to
      my bosom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay," said Medea, holding him back. "Have you forgotten what guards it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      To say the truth, in the joy of beholding the object of his desires, the
      terrible dragon had quite slipped out of Jason's memory. Soon, however,
      something came to pass, that reminded him what perils were still to be
      encountered. An antelope, that probably mistook the yellow radiance for
      sunrise, came bounding fleetly through the grove. He was rushing straight
      towards the Golden Fleece, when suddenly there was a frightful hiss, and
      the immense head and half the scaly body of the dragon was thrust forth
      (for he was twisted round the trunk of the tree on which the Fleece hung),
      and seizing the poor antelope, swallowed him with one snap of his jaws.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this feat, the dragon seemed sensible that some other living
      creature was within reach, on which he felt inclined to finish his meal.
      In various directions he kept poking his ugly snout among the trees,
      stretching out his neck a terrible long way, now here, now there, and now
      close to the spot where Jason and the princess were hiding behind an oak.
      Upon my word, as the head came waving and undulating through the air, and
      reaching almost within arm's length of Prince Jason, it was a very hideous
      and uncomfortable sight. The gape of his enormous jaws was nearly as wide
      as the gateway of the king's palace.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Jason," whispered Medea (for she was ill natured, as all
      enchantresses are, and wanted to make the bold youth tremble), "what do
      you think now of your prospect of winning the Golden Fleece?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason answered only by drawing his sword, and making a step forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay, foolish youth," said Medea, grasping his arm. "Do not you see you
      are lost, without me as your good angel? In this gold box I have a magic
      potion, which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than your
      sword."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dragon had probably heard the voices; for swift as lightning, his
      black head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again, darting
      full forty feet at a stretch. As it approached, Medea tossed the contents
      of the gold box right down the monster's wide-open throat. Immediately,
      with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle&mdash;flinging his tail
      up to the tip-top of the tallest tree, and shattering all its branches as
      it crashed heavily down again&mdash;the dragon fell at full length upon
      the ground, and lay quite motionless.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is only a sleeping potion," said the enchantress to Prince Jason. "One
      always finds a use for these mischievous creatures, sooner or later; so I
      did not wish to kill him outright. Quick! Snatch the prize, and let us
      begone. You have won the Golden Fleece."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jason caught the fleece from the tree, and hurried through the grove, the
      deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed by the golden glory of
      the precious object that he bore along. A little way before him, he beheld
      the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with her peacock beside
      her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him to make haste,
      disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the two winged sons
      of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the moonlight, a few
      hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of the Argonauts to
      embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his sharp eyes, had
      already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden Fleece, although
      several stone walls, a hill, and the black shadows of the Grove of Mars,
      intervened between. By his advice, the heroes had seated themselves on the
      benches of the galley, with their oars held perpendicularly, ready to let
      fall into the water.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Jason drew near, he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more
      than ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make haste, Prince Jason! For your life, make haste!"
    </p>
    <p>
      With one bound, he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of the
      Golden Fleece, the nine and forty heroes gave a mighty shout, and Orpheus,
      striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of which the
      galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering along with
      wings!
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tanglewood Tales, by Nathaniel Hawthorne

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TANGLEWOOD TALES ***

***** This file should be named 976-h.htm or 976-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/9/7/976/

Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Widger

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.


</pre>
  </body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-02-25 16:23:22 +0000