"THE GORGON'S HEAD\n\n \n\nTANGLEWOOD PORCH\n\nINTRODUCTORY TO THE GORGON'S HEAD\n\n\nBeneath the porch of the country-seat called Tanglewood, one fine\nautumnal morning, was assembled a merry party of little folks, with a\ntall youth in the midst of them. They had planned a nutting\nexpedition, and were impatiently waiting for the mists to roll up the\nhill-slopes, and for the sun to pour the warmth of the Indian summer\nover the fields and pastures, and into the nooks of the many-colored\nwoods. There was a prospect of as fine a day as ever gladdened the\naspect of this beautiful and comfortable world. As yet, however, the\nmorning mist filled up the whole length and breadth of the valley,\nabove which, on a gently sloping eminence, the mansion stood.\n\nThis body of white vapor extended to within less than a hundred yards\nof the house. It completely hid everything beyond that distance,\nexcept a few ruddy or yellow tree-tops, which here and there emerged,\nand were glorified by the early sunshine, as was likewise the broad\nsurface of the mist. Four or five miles off to the southward rose the\nsummit of Monument Mountain, and seemed to be floating on a cloud.\nSome fifteen miles farther away, in the same direction, appeared the\nloftier Dome of Taconic, looking blue and indistinct, and hardly so\nsubstantial as the vapory sea that almost rolled over it. The nearer\nhills, which bordered the valley, were half submerged, and were\nspecked with little cloud-wreaths all the way to their tops. On the\nwhole, there was so much cloud, and so little solid earth, that it had\nthe effect of a vision.\n\nThe children above-mentioned, being as full of life as they could\nhold, kept overflowing from the porch of Tanglewood, and scampering\nalong the gravel-walk, or rushing across the dewy herbage of the lawn.\nI can hardly tell how many of these small people there were; not less\nthan nine or ten, however, nor more than a dozen, of all sorts, sizes,\nand ages, whether girls or boys. They were brothers, sisters, and\ncousins, together with a few of their young acquaintances, who had\nbeen invited by Mr. and Mrs. Pringle to spend some of this delightful\nweather with their own children at Tanglewood. I am afraid to tell you\ntheir names, or even to give them any names which other children have\never been called by; because, to my certain knowledge, authors\nsometimes get themselves into great trouble by accidentally giving the\nnames of real persons to the characters in their books. For this\nreason I mean to call them Primrose, Periwinkle, Sweet Fern,\nDandelion, Blue Eye, Clover, Huckleberry, Cowslip, Squash-Blossom,\nMilkweed, Plantain, and Buttercup; although, to be sure, such titles\nmight better suit a group of fairies than a company of earthly\nchildren.\n\nIt is not to be supposed that these little folks were to be permitted\nby their careful fathers and mothers, uncles, aunts, or grandparents,\nto stray abroad into the woods and fields, without the guardianship of\nsome particularly grave and elderly person. Oh, no, indeed! In the\nfirst sentence of my book, you will recollect that I spoke of a tall\nyouth, standing in the midst of the children. His name--(and I shall\nlet you know his real name, because he considers it a great honor to\nhave told the stories that are here to be printed)--his name was\nEustace Bright. He was a student at Williams College, and had reached,\nI think, at this period, the venerable age of eighteen years; so that\nhe felt quite like a grandfather towards Periwinkle, Dandelion,\nHuckleberry, Squash-Blossom, Milkweed, and the rest, who were only\nhalf or a third as venerable as he. A trouble in his eyesight (such as\nmany students think it necessary to have, nowadays, in order to prove\ntheir diligence at their books) had kept him from college a week or\ntwo after the beginning of the term. But, for my part, I have seldom\nmet with a pair of eyes that looked as if they could see farther or\nbetter than those of Eustace Bright.\n\nThis learned student was slender, and rather pale, as all Yankee\nstudents are; but yet of a healthy aspect, and as light and active as\nif he had wings to his shoes. By the by, being much addicted to\nwading through streamlets and across meadows, he had put on cowhide\nboots for the expedition. He wore a linen blouse, a cloth cap, and a\npair of green spectacles, which he had assumed, probably, less for the\npreservation of his eyes than for the dignity that they imparted to\nhis countenance. In either case, however, he might as well have let\nthem alone; for Huckleberry, a mischievous little elf, crept behind\nEustace as he sat on the steps of the porch, snatched the spectacles\nfrom his nose, and clapped them on her own; and as the student forgot\nto take them back, they fell off into the grass, and lay there till\nthe next spring.\n\nNow, Eustace Bright, you must know, had won great fame among the\nchildren, as a narrator of wonderful stories; and though he sometimes\npretended to be annoyed, when they teased him for more, and more, and\nalways for more, yet I really doubt whether he liked anything quite so\nwell as to tell them. You might have seen his eyes twinkle, therefore,\nwhen Clover, Sweet Fern, Cowslip, Buttercup, and most of their\nplaymates, besought him to relate one of his stories, while they were\nwaiting for the mist to clear up.\n\n\"Yes, Cousin Eustace,\" said Primrose, who was a bright girl of twelve,\nwith laughing eyes, and a nose that turned up a little, \"the morning\nis certainly the best time for the stories with which you so often\ntire out our patience. We shall be in less danger of hurting your\nfeelings, by falling asleep at the most interesting points,--as little\nCowslip and I did last night!\"\n\n\"Naughty Primrose,\" cried Cowslip, a child of six years old; \"I did\nnot fall asleep, and I only shut my eyes, so as to see a picture of\nwhat Cousin Eustace was telling about. His stories are good to hear at\nnight, because we can dream about them asleep; and good in the\nmorning, too, because then we can dream about them awake. So I hope he\nwill tell us one this very minute.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my little Cowslip,\" said Eustace; \"certainly you shall\nhave the best story I can think of, if it were only for defending me\nso well from that naughty Primrose. But, children, I have already told\nyou so many fairy tales, that I doubt whether there is a single one\nwhich you have not heard at least twice over. I am afraid you will\nfall asleep in reality, if I repeat any of them again.\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" cried Blue Eye, Periwinkle, Plantain, and half a dozen\nothers. \"We like a story all the better for having heard it two or\nthree times before.\"\n\nAnd it is a truth, as regards children, that a story seems often to\ndeepen its mark in their interest, not merely by two or three, but by\nnumberless repetitions. But Eustace Bright, in the exuberance of his\nresources, scorned to avail himself of an advantage which an older\nstory-teller would have been glad to grasp at.\n\n\"It would be a great pity,\" said he, \"if a man of my learning (to say\nnothing of original fancy) could not find a new story every day, year\nin and year out, for children such as you. I will tell you one of the\nnursery tales that were made for the amusement of our great old\ngrandmother, the Earth, when she was a child in frock and pinafore.\nThere are a hundred such; and it is a wonder to me that they have not\nlong ago been put into picture-books for little girls and boys. But,\ninstead of that, old gray-bearded grandsires pore over them in musty\nvolumes of Greek, and puzzle themselves with trying to find out when,\nand how, and for what they were made.\"\n\n\"Well, well, well, well, Cousin Eustace!\" cried all the children at\nonce; \"talk no more about your stories, but begin.\"\n\n\"Sit down, then, every soul of you,\" said Eustace Bright, \"and be all\nas still as so many mice. At the slightest interruption, whether from\ngreat, naughty Primrose, little Dandelion, or any other, I shall bite\nthe story short off between my teeth, and swallow the untold part.\nBut, in the first place, do any of you know what a Gorgon is?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Primrose.\n\n\"Then hold your tongue!\" rejoined Eustace, who had rather she would\nhave known nothing about the matter. \"Hold all your tongues, and I\nshall tell you a sweet pretty story of a Gorgon's head.\"\n\nAnd so he did, as you may begin to read on the next page. Working up\nhis sophomorical erudition with a good deal of tact, and incurring\ngreat obligations to Professor Anthon, he, nevertheless, disregarded\nall classical authorities, whenever the vagrant audacity of his\nimagination impelled him to do so.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GORGON'S HEAD\n\n \n\n\nPerseus was the son of Danaë, who was the daughter of a king. And when\nPerseus was a very little boy, some wicked people put his mother and\nhimself into a chest, and set them afloat upon the sea. The wind blew\nfreshly, and drove the chest away from the shore, and the uneasy\nbillows tossed it up and down; while Danaë clasped her child closely\nto her bosom, and dreaded that some big wave would dash its foamy\ncrest over them both. The chest sailed on, however, and neither sank\nnor was upset; until, when night was coming, it floated so near an\nisland that it got entangled in a fisherman's nets, and was drawn out\nhigh and dry upon the sand. The island was called Seriphus, and it was\nreigned over by King Polydectes, who happened to be the fisherman's\nbrother.\n\nThis fisherman, I am glad to tell you, was an exceedingly humane and\nupright man. He showed great kindness to Danaë and her little boy;\nand continued to befriend them, until Perseus had grown to be a\nhandsome youth, very strong and active, and skillful in the use of\narms. Long before this time, King Polydectes had seen the two\nstrangers--the mother and her child--who had come to his dominions in\na floating chest. As he was not good and kind, like his brother the\nfisherman, but extremely wicked, he resolved to send Perseus on a\ndangerous enterprise, in which he would probably be killed, and then\nto do some great mischief to Danaë herself. So this bad-hearted king\nspent a long while in considering what was the most dangerous thing\nthat a young man could possibly undertake to perform. At last, having\nhit upon an enterprise that promised to turn out as fatally as he\ndesired, he sent for the youthful Perseus.\n\nThe young man came to the palace, and found the king sitting upon his\nthrone.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said King Polydectes, smiling craftily upon him, \"you are\ngrown up a fine young man. You and your good mother have received a\ngreat deal of kindness from myself, as well as from my worthy brother\nthe fisherman, and I suppose you would not be sorry to repay some of\nit.\"\n\n\"Please your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, \"I would willingly risk my\nlife to do so.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" continued the king, still with a cunning smile on his\nlips, \"I have a little adventure to propose to you; and, as you are a\nbrave and enterprising youth, you will doubtless look upon it as a\ngreat piece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity of\ndistinguishing yourself. You must know, my good Perseus, I think of\ngetting married to the beautiful Princess Hippodamia; and it is\ncustomary, on these occasions, to make the bride a present of some\nfar-fetched and elegant curiosity. I have been a little perplexed, I\nmust honestly confess, where to obtain anything likely to please a\nprincess of her exquisite taste. But, this morning, I flatter myself,\nI have thought of precisely the article.\"\n\n\"And can I assist your Majesty in obtaining it?\" cried Perseus,\neagerly.\n\n\"You can, if you are as brave a youth as I believe you to be,\" replied\nKing Polydectes, with the utmost graciousness of manner. \"The bridal\ngift which I have set my heart on presenting to the beautiful\nHippodamia is the head of the Gorgon Medusa with the snaky locks; and\nI depend on you, my dear Perseus, to bring it to me. So, as I am\nanxious to settle affairs with the princess, the sooner you go in\nquest of the Gorgon, the better I shall be pleased.\"\n\n\"I will set out to-morrow morning,\" answered Perseus.\n\n\"Pray do so, my gallant youth,\" rejoined the king. \"And, Perseus, in\ncutting off the Gorgon's head, be careful to make a clean stroke, so\nas not to injure its appearance. You must bring it home in the very\nbest condition, in order to suit the exquisite taste of the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia.\"\n\nPerseus left the palace, but was scarcely out of hearing before\nPolydectes burst into a laugh; being greatly amused, wicked king that\nhe was, to find how readily the young man fell into the snare. The\nnews quickly spread abroad that Perseus had undertaken to cut off the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks. Everybody was rejoiced; for most\nof the inhabitants of the island were as wicked as the king himself,\nand would have liked nothing better than to see some enormous mischief\nhappen to Danaë and her son. The only good man in this unfortunate\nisland of Seriphus appears to have been the fisherman. As Perseus\nwalked along, therefore, the people pointed after him, and made\nmouths, and winked to one another, and ridiculed him as loudly as they\ndared.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" cried they; \"Medusa's snakes will sting him soundly!\"\n\nNow, there were three Gorgons alive at that period; and they were the\nmost strange and terrible monsters that had ever been since the world\nwas made, or that have been seen in after days, or that are likely to\nbe seen in all time to come. I hardly know what sort of creature or\nhobgoblin to call them. They were three sisters, and seem to have\nborne some distant resemblance to women, but were really a very\nfrightful and mischievous species of dragon. It is, indeed, difficult\nto imagine what hideous beings these three sisters were. Why, instead\nof locks of hair, if you can believe me, they had each of them a\nhundred enormous snakes growing on their heads, all alive, twisting,\nwriggling, curling, and thrusting out their venomous tongues, with\nforked stings at the end! The teeth of the Gorgons were terribly long\ntusks; their hands were made of brass; and their bodies were all over\nscales, which, if not iron, were something as hard and impenetrable.\nThey had wings, too, and exceedingly splendid ones, I can assure you;\nfor every feather in them was pure, bright, glittering, burnished\ngold, and they looked very dazzlingly, no doubt, when the Gorgons were\nflying about in the sunshine.\n\nBut when people happened to catch a glimpse of their glittering\nbrightness, aloft in the air, they seldom stopped to gaze, but ran and\nhid themselves as speedily as they could. You will think, perhaps,\nthat they were afraid of being stung by the serpents that served the\nGorgons instead of hair,--or of having their heads bitten off by their\nugly tusks,--or of being torn all to pieces by their brazen claws.\nWell, to be sure, these were some of the dangers, but by no means the\ngreatest, nor the most difficult to avoid. For the worst thing about\nthese abominable Gorgons was, that, if once a poor mortal fixed his\neyes full upon one of their faces, he was certain, that very instant,\nto be changed from warm flesh and blood into cold and lifeless stone!\n\nThus, as you will easily perceive, it was a very dangerous adventure\nthat the wicked King Polydectes had contrived for this innocent young\nman. Perseus himself, when he had thought over the matter, could not\nhelp seeing that he had very little chance of coming safely through\nit, and that he was far more likely to become a stone image than to\nbring back the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. For, not to speak\nof other difficulties, there was one which it would have puzzled an\nolder man than Perseus to get over. Not only must he fight with and\nslay this golden-winged, iron-scaled, long-tusked, brazen-clawed,\nsnaky-haired monster, but he must do it with his eyes shut, or, at\nleast, without so much as a glance at the enemy with whom he was\ncontending. Else, while his arm was lifted to strike, he would stiffen\ninto stone, and stand with that uplifted arm for centuries, until\ntime, and the wind and weather, should crumble him quite away. This\nwould be a very sad thing to befall a young man who wanted to perform\na great many brave deeds, and to enjoy a great deal of happiness, in\nthis bright and beautiful world.\n\nSo disconsolate did these thoughts make him, that Perseus could not\nbear to tell his mother what he had undertaken to do. He therefore\ntook his shield, girded on his sword, and crossed over from the island\nto the mainland, where he sat down in a solitary place, and hardly\nrefrained from shedding tears.\n\nBut, while he was in this sorrowful mood, he heard a voice close\nbeside him.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"why are you sad?\"\n\nHe lifted his head from his hands, in which he had hidden it, and,\nbehold! all alone as Perseus had supposed himself to be, there was a\nstranger in the solitary place. It was a brisk, intelligent, and\nremarkably shrewd-looking young man, with a cloak over his shoulders,\nan odd sort of cap on his head, a strangely twisted staff in his hand,\nand a short and very crooked sword hanging by his side. He was\nexceedingly light and active in his figure, like a person much\naccustomed to gymnastic exercises, and well able to leap or run. Above\nall, the stranger had such a cheerful, knowing, and helpful aspect\n(though it was certainly a little mischievous, into the bargain), that\nPerseus could not help feeling his spirits grow livelier as he gazed\nat him. Besides, being really a courageous youth, he felt greatly\nashamed that anybody should have found him with tears in his eyes,\nlike a timid little schoolboy, when, after all, there might be no\noccasion for despair. So Perseus wiped his eyes, and answered the\nstranger pretty briskly, putting on as brave a look as he could.\n\n\"I am not so very sad,\" said he, \"only thoughtful about an adventure\nthat I have undertaken.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" answered the stranger. \"Well, tell me all about it, and\npossibly I may be of service to you. I have helped a good many young\nmen through adventures that looked difficult enough beforehand.\nPerhaps you may have heard of me. I have more names than one; but the\nname of Quicksilver suits me as well as any other. Tell me what the\ntrouble is, and we will talk the matter over, and see what can be\ndone.\"\n\nThe stranger's words and manner put Perseus into quite a different\nmood from his former one. He resolved to tell Quicksilver all his\ndifficulties, since he could not easily be worse off than he already\nwas, and, very possibly, his new friend might give him some advice\nthat would turn out well in the end. So he let the stranger know, in\nfew words, precisely what the case was,--how that King Polydectes\nwanted the head of Medusa with the snaky locks as a bridal gift for\nthe beautiful Princess Hippodamia, and how that he had undertaken to\nget it for him, but was afraid of being turned into stone.\n\n\"And that would be a great pity,\" said Quicksilver, with his\nmischievous smile. \"You would make a very handsome marble statue, it\nis true, and it would be a considerable number of centuries before you\ncrumbled away; but, on the whole, one would rather be a young man for\na few years than a stone image for a great many.\"\n\n\"Oh, far rather!\" exclaimed Perseus, with the tears again standing in\nhis eyes. \"And, besides, what would my dear mother do, if her beloved\nson were turned into a stone?\"\n\n\"Well, well, let us hope that the affair will not turn out so very\nbadly,\" replied Quicksilver, in an encouraging tone. \"I am the very\nperson to help you, if anybody can. My sister and myself will do our\nutmost to bring you safe through the adventure, ugly as it now looks.\"\n\n\"Your sister?\" repeated Perseus.\n\n\"Yes, my sister,\" said the stranger. \"She is very wise, I promise you;\nand as for myself, I generally have all my wits about me, such as they\nare. If you show yourself bold and cautious, and follow our advice,\nyou need not fear being a stone image yet awhile. But, first of all,\nyou must polish your shield, till you can see your face in it as\ndistinctly as in a mirror.\"\n\nThis seemed to Perseus rather an odd beginning of the adventure; for\nhe thought it of far more consequence that the shield should be\nstrong enough to defend him from the Gorgon's brazen claws, than that\nit should be bright enough to show him the reflection of his face.\nHowever, concluding that Quicksilver knew better than himself, he\nimmediately set to work, and scrubbed the shield with so much\ndiligence and good-will, that it very quickly shone like the moon at\nharvest-time. Quicksilver looked at it with a smile, and nodded his\napprobation. Then, taking off his own short and crooked sword, he\ngirded it about Perseus, instead of the one which he had before worn.\n\n\"No sword but mine will answer your purpose,\" observed he; \"the blade\nhas a most excellent temper, and will cut through iron and brass as\neasily as through the slenderest twig. And now we will set out. The\nnext thing is to find the Three Gray Women, who will tell us where to\nfind the Nymphs.\"\n\n\"The Three Gray Women!\" cried Perseus, to whom this seemed only a new\ndifficulty in the path of his adventure; \"pray who may the Three Gray\nWomen be? I never heard of them before.\"\n\n\"They are three very strange old ladies,\" said Quicksilver, laughing.\n\"They have but one eye among them, and only one tooth. Moreover, you\nmust find them out by starlight, or in the dusk of the evening; for\nthey never show themselves by the light either of the sun or moon.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Perseus, \"why should I waste my time with these Three Gray\nWomen? Would it not be better to set out at once in search of the\nterrible Gorgons?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his friend. \"There are other things to be done,\nbefore you can find your way to the Gorgons. There is nothing for it\nbut to hunt up these old ladies; and when we meet with them, you may\nbe sure that the Gorgons are not a great way off. Come, let us be\nstirring!\"\n\nPerseus, by this time, felt so much confidence in his companion's\nsagacity, that he made no more objections, and professed himself ready\nto begin the adventure immediately. They accordingly set out, and\nwalked at a pretty brisk pace; so brisk, indeed, that Perseus found it\nrather difficult to keep up with his nimble friend Quicksilver. To say\nthe truth, he had a singular idea that Quicksilver was furnished with\na pair of winged shoes, which, of course, helped him along\nmarvelously. And then, too, when Perseus looked sideways at him, out\nof the corner of his eye, he seemed to see wings on the side of his\nhead; although if he turned a full gaze, there were no such things to\nbe perceived, but only an odd kind of cap. But, at all events, the\ntwisted staff was evidently a great convenience to Quicksilver, and\nenabled him to proceed so fast, that Perseus, though a remarkably\nactive young man, began to be out of breath.\n\n\"Here!\" cried Quicksilver, at last,--for he knew well enough, rogue\nthat he was, how hard Perseus found it to keep pace with him,--\"take\nyou the staff, for you need it a great deal more than I. Are there no\nbetter walkers than yourself in the island of Seriphus?\"\n\n\"I could walk pretty well,\" said Perseus, glancing slyly at his\ncompanion's feet, \"if I had only a pair of winged shoes.\"\n\n\"We must see about getting you a pair,\" answered Quicksilver.\n\nBut the staff helped Perseus along so bravely that he no longer felt\nthe slightest weariness. In fact, the stick seemed to be alive in his\nhand, and to lend some of its life to Perseus. He and Quicksilver now\nwalked onward at their ease, talking very sociably together; and\nQuicksilver told so many pleasant stories about his former adventures,\nand how well his wits had served him on various occasions, that\nPerseus began to think him a very wonderful person. He evidently knew\nthe world; and nobody is so charming to a young man as a friend who\nhas that kind of knowledge. Perseus listened the more eagerly, in the\nhope of brightening his own wits by what he heard.\n\nAt last, he happened to recollect that Quicksilver had spoken of a\nsister, who was to lend her assistance in the adventure which they\nwere now bound upon.\n\n\"Where is she?\" he inquired. \"Shall we not meet her soon?\"\n\n\"All at the proper time,\" said his companion. \"But this sister of\nmine, you must understand, is quite a different sort of character from\nmyself. She is very grave and prudent, seldom smiles, never laughs,\nand makes it a rule not to utter a word unless she has something\nparticularly profound to say. Neither will she listen to any but the\nwisest conversation.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" ejaculated Perseus; \"I shall be afraid to say a syllable.\"\n\n\"She is a very accomplished person, I assure you,\" continued\nQuicksilver, \"and has all the arts and sciences at her fingers' ends.\nIn short, she is so immoderately wise that many people call her wisdom\npersonified. But, to tell you the truth, she has hardly vivacity\nenough for my taste; and I think you would scarcely find her so\npleasant a traveling companion as myself. She has her good points,\nnevertheless; and you will find the benefit of them, in your encounter\nwith the Gorgons.\"\n\nBy this time it had grown quite dusk. They were now come to a very\nwild and desert place, overgrown with shaggy bushes, and so silent and\nsolitary that nobody seemed ever to have dwelt or journeyed there. All\nwas waste and desolate, in the gray twilight, which grew every moment\nmore obscure. Perseus looked about him, rather disconsolately, and\nasked Quicksilver whether they had a great deal farther to go.\n\n\"Hist! hist!\" whispered his companion. \"Make no noise! This is just\nthe time and place to meet the Three Gray Women. Be careful that they\ndo not see you before you see them; for, though they have but a single\neye among the three, it is as sharp-sighted as half a dozen common\neyes.\"\n\n\"But what must I do,\" asked Perseus, \"when we meet them?\"\n\nQuicksilver explained to Perseus how the Three Gray Women managed with\ntheir one eye. They were in the habit, it seems, of changing it from\none to another, as if it had been a pair of spectacles, or--which\nwould have suited them better--a quizzing-glass. When one of the three\nhad kept the eye a certain time, she took it out of the socket and\npassed it to one of her sisters, whose turn it might happen to be, and\nwho immediately clapped it into her own head, and enjoyed a peep at\nthe visible world. Thus it will easily be understood that only one of\nthe Three Gray Women could see, while the other two were in utter\ndarkness; and, moreover, at the instant when the eye was passing from\nhand to hand, neither of the poor old ladies was able to see a wink. I\nhave heard of a great many strange things, in my day, and have\nwitnessed not a few; but none, it seems to me, that can compare with\nthe oddity of these Three Gray Women, all peeping through a single\neye.\n\nSo thought Perseus, likewise, and was so astonished that he almost\nfancied his companion was joking with him, and that there were no such\nold women in the world.\n\n\"You will soon find whether I tell the truth or no,\" observed\nQuicksilver. \"Hark! hush! hist! hist! There they come, now!\"\n\nPerseus looked earnestly through the dusk of the evening, and there,\nsure enough, at no great distance off, he descried the Three Gray\nWomen. The light being so faint, he could not well make out what sort\nof figures they were; only he discovered that they had long gray hair;\nand, as they came nearer, he saw that two of them had but the empty\nsocket of an eye, in the middle of their foreheads. But, in the\nmiddle of the third sister's forehead, there was a very large, bright,\nand piercing eye, which sparkled like a great diamond in a ring; and\nso penetrating did it seem to be, that Perseus could not help thinking\nit must possess the gift of seeing in the darkest midnight just as\nperfectly as at noonday. The sight of three persons' eyes was melted\nand collected into that single one.\n\nThus the three old dames got along about as comfortably, upon the\nwhole, as if they could all see at once. She who chanced to have the\neye in her forehead led the other two by the hands, peeping sharply\nabout her, all the while; insomuch that Perseus dreaded lest she\nshould see right through the thick clump of bushes behind which he and\nQuicksilver had hidden themselves. My stars! it was positively\nterrible to be within reach of so very sharp an eye!\n\nBut, before they reached the clump of bushes, one of the Three Gray\nWomen spoke.\n\n\"Sister! Sister Scarecrow!\" cried she, \"you have had the eye long\nenough. It is my turn now!\"\n\n\"Let me keep it a moment longer, Sister Nightmare,\" answered\nScarecrow. \"I thought I had a glimpse of something behind that thick\nbush.\"\n\n\"Well, and what of that?\" retorted Nightmare, peevishly. \"Can't I see\ninto a thick bush as easily as yourself? The eye is mine as well as\nyours; and I know the use of it as well as you, or may be a little\nbetter. I insist upon taking a peep immediately!\"\n\nBut here the third sister, whose name was Shakejoint, began to\ncomplain, and said that it was her turn to have the eye, and that\nScarecrow and Nightmare wanted to keep it all to themselves. To end\nthe dispute, old Dame Scarecrow took the eye out of her forehead, and\nheld it forth in her hand.\n\n\"Take it, one of you,\" cried she, \"and quit this foolish quarreling.\nFor my part, I shall be glad of a little thick darkness. Take it\nquickly, however, or I must clap it into my own head again!\"\n\nAccordingly, both Nightmare and Shakejoint put out their hands,\ngroping eagerly to snatch the eye out of the hand of Scarecrow. But,\nbeing both alike blind, they could not easily find where Scarecrow's\nhand was; and Scarecrow, being now just as much in the dark as\nShakejoint and Nightmare, could not at once meet either of their\nhands, in order to put the eye into it. Thus (as you will see, with\nhalf an eye, my wise little auditors), these good old dames had fallen\ninto a strange perplexity. For, though the eye shone and glistened\nlike a star, as Scarecrow held it out, yet the Gray Women caught not\nthe least glimpse of its light, and were all three in utter darkness,\nfrom too impatient a desire to see.\n\nQuicksilver was so much tickled at beholding Shakejoint and Nightmare\nboth groping for the eye, and each finding fault with Scarecrow and\none another, that he could scarcely help laughing aloud.\n\n\"Now is your time!\" he whispered to Perseus. \"Quick, quick! before\nthey can clap the eye into either of their heads. Rush out upon the\nold ladies, and snatch it from Scarecrow's hand!\"\n\nIn an instant, while the Three Gray Women were still scolding each\nother, Perseus leaped from behind the clump of bushes, and made\nhimself master of the prize. The marvelous eye, as he held it in his\nhand, shone very brightly, and seemed to look up into his face with a\nknowing air, and an expression as if it would have winked, had it been\nprovided with a pair of eyelids for that purpose. But the Gray Women\nknew nothing of what had happened; and, each supposing that one of her\nsisters was in possession of the eye, they began their quarrel anew.\nAt last, as Perseus did not wish to put these respectable dames to\ngreater inconvenience than was really necessary, he thought it right\nto explain the matter.\n\n\"My good ladies,\" said he, \"pray do not be angry with one another. If\nanybody is in fault, it is myself; for I have the honor to hold your\nvery brilliant and excellent eye in my own hand!\"\n\n\"You! you have our eye! And who are you?\" screamed the Three Gray\nWomen, all in a breath; for they were terribly frightened, of course,\nat hearing a strange voice, and discovering that their eyesight had\ngot into the hands of they could not guess whom. \"Oh, what shall we\ndo, sisters? what shall we do? We are all in the dark! Give us our\neye! Give us our one, precious, solitary eye! You have two of your\nown! Give us our eye!\"\n\n[Illustration: PERSEVS & THE GRAIÆ]\n\n\"Tell them,\" whispered Quicksilver to Perseus, \"that they shall\nhave back the eye as soon as they direct you where to find the Nymphs\nwho have the flying slippers, the magic wallet, and the helmet of\ndarkness.\"\n\n\"My dear, good, admirable old ladies,\" said Perseus, addressing the\nGray Women, \"there is no occasion for putting yourselves into such a\nfright. I am by no means a bad young man. You shall have back your\neye, safe and sound, and as bright as ever, the moment you tell me\nwhere to find the Nymphs.\"\n\n\"The Nymphs! Goodness me! sisters, what Nymphs does he mean?\" screamed\nScarecrow. \"There are a great many Nymphs, people say; some that go\na-hunting in the woods, and some that live inside of trees, and some\nthat have a comfortable home in fountains of water. We know nothing at\nall about them. We are three unfortunate old souls, that go wandering\nabout in the dusk, and never had but one eye amongst us, and that one\nyou have stolen away. Oh, give it back, good stranger!--whoever you\nare, give it back!\"\n\nAll this while the Three Gray Women were groping with their\noutstretched hands, and trying their utmost to get hold of Perseus.\nBut he took good care to keep out of their reach.\n\n\"My respectable dames,\" said he,--for his mother had taught him always\nto use the greatest civility,--\"I hold your eye fast in my hand, and\nshall keep it safely for you, until you please to tell me where to\nfind these Nymphs. The Nymphs, I mean, who keep the enchanted wallet,\nthe flying slippers, and the--what is it?--the helmet of\ninvisibility.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us, sisters! what is the young man talking about?\" exclaimed\nScarecrow, Nightmare, and Shakejoint, one to another, with great\nappearance of astonishment. \"A pair of flying slippers, quoth he! His\nheels would quickly fly higher than his head, if he were silly enough\nto put them on. And a helmet of invisibility! How could a helmet make\nhim invisible, unless it were big enough for him to hide under it? And\nan enchanted wallet! What sort of a contrivance may that be, I wonder?\nNo, no, good stranger! we can tell you nothing of these marvelous\nthings. You have two eyes of your own, and we have but a single one\namongst us three. You can find out such wonders better than three\nblind old creatures, like us.\"\n\nPerseus, hearing them talk in this way, began really to think that the\nGray Women knew nothing of the matter; and, as it grieved him to have\nput them to so much trouble, he was just on the point of restoring\ntheir eye and asking pardon for his rudeness in snatching it away. But\nQuicksilver caught his hand.\n\n\"Don't let them make a fool of you!\" said he. \"These Three Gray Women\nare the only persons in the world that can tell you where to find the\nNymphs; and, unless you get that information, you will never succeed\nin cutting off the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. Keep fast hold\nof the eye, and all will go well.\"\n\nAs it turned out, Quicksilver was in the right. There are but few\nthings that people prize so much as they do their eyesight; and the\nGray Women valued their single eye as highly as if it had been half a\ndozen, which was the number they ought to have had. Finding that there\nwas no other way of recovering it, they at last told Perseus what he\nwanted to know. No sooner had they done so, than he immediately, and\nwith the utmost respect, clapped the eye into the vacant socket in one\nof their foreheads, thanked them for their kindness, and bade them\nfarewell. Before the young man was out of hearing, however, they had\ngot into a new dispute, because he happened to have given the eye to\nScarecrow, who had already taken her turn of it when their trouble\nwith Perseus commenced.\n\nIt is greatly to be feared that the Three Gray Women were very much in\nthe habit of disturbing their mutual harmony by bickerings of this\nsort; which was the more pity, as they could not conveniently do\nwithout one another, and were evidently intended to be inseparable\ncompanions. As a general rule, I would advise all people, whether\nsisters or brothers, old or young, who chance to have but one eye\namongst them, to cultivate forbearance, and not all insist upon\npeeping through it at once.\n\nQuicksilver and Perseus, in the mean time, were making the best of\ntheir way in quest of the Nymphs. The old dames had given them such\nparticular directions, that they were not long in finding them out.\nThey proved to be very different persons from Nightmare, Shakejoint,\nand Scarecrow; for, instead of being old, they were young and\nbeautiful; and instead of one eye amongst the sisterhood, each Nymph\nhad two exceedingly bright eyes of her own, with which she looked very\nkindly at Perseus. They seemed to be acquainted with Quicksilver; and,\nwhen he told them the adventure which Perseus had undertaken, they\nmade no difficulty about giving him the valuable articles that were in\ntheir custody. In the first place, they brought out what appeared to\nbe a small purse, made of deerskin and curiously embroidered, and bade\nhim be sure and keep it safe. This was the magic wallet. The Nymphs\nnext produced a pair of shoes, or slippers, or sandals, with a nice\nlittle pair of wings at the heel of each.\n\n\"Put them on, Perseus,\" said Quicksilver. \"You will find yourself as\nlight-heeled as you can desire for the remainder of our journey.\"\n\nSo Perseus proceeded to put one of the slippers on, while he laid the\nother on the ground by his side. Unexpectedly, however, this other\nslipper spread its wings, fluttered up off the ground, and would\nprobably have flown away, if Quicksilver had not made a leap, and\nluckily caught it in the air.\n\n\"Be more careful,\" said he, as he gave it back to Perseus. \"It would\nfrighten the birds, up aloft, if they should see a flying slipper\namongst them.\"\n\n[Illustration: PERSEVS ARMED BY THE NYMPHS]\n\nWhen Perseus had got on both of these wonderful slippers, he was\naltogether too buoyant to tread on earth. Making a step or two, lo\nand behold! upward he popped into the air, high above the heads of\nQuicksilver and the Nymphs, and found it very difficult to clamber\ndown again. Winged slippers, and all such high-flying contrivances,\nare seldom quite easy to manage until one grows a little accustomed to\nthem. Quicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity, and\ntold him that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait\nfor the invisible helmet.\n\nThe good-natured Nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving\nplumes, all in readiness to put upon his head. And now there happened\nabout as wonderful an incident as anything that I have yet told you.\nThe instant before the helmet was put on, there stood Perseus, a\nbeautiful young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked\nsword by his side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm,--a\nfigure that seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious\nlight. But when the helmet had descended over his white brow, there\nwas no longer any Perseus to be seen! Nothing but empty air! Even the\nhelmet, that covered him with its invisibility, had vanished!\n\n\"Where are you, Perseus?\" asked Quicksilver.\n\n\"Why, here, to be sure!\" answered Perseus, very quietly, although his\nvoice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere. \"Just where I\nwas a moment ago. Don't you see me?\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" answered his friend. \"You are hidden under the helmet.\nBut, if I cannot see you, neither can the Gorgons. Follow me,\ntherefore, and we will try your dexterity in using the winged\nslippers.\"\n\nWith these words, Quicksilver's cap spread its wings, as if his head\nwere about to fly away from his shoulders; but his whole figure rose\nlightly into the air, and Perseus followed. By the time they had\nascended a few hundred feet, the young man began to feel what a\ndelightful thing it was to leave the dull earth so far beneath him,\nand to be able to flit about like a bird.\n\nIt was now deep night. Perseus looked upward, and saw the round,\nbright, silvery moon, and thought that he should desire nothing better\nthan to soar up thither, and spend his life there. Then he looked\ndownward again, and saw the earth, with its seas and lakes, and the\nsilver courses of its rivers, and its snowy mountain-peaks, and the\nbreadth of its fields, and the dark cluster of its woods, and its\ncities of white marble; and, with the moonshine sleeping over the\nwhole scene, it was as beautiful as the moon or any star could be.\nAnd, among other objects, he saw the island of Seriphus, where his\ndear mother was. Sometimes he and Quicksilver approached a cloud that,\nat a distance, looked as if it were made of fleecy silver; although,\nwhen they plunged into it, they found themselves chilled and moistened\nwith gray mist. So swift was their flight, however, that, in an\ninstant, they emerged from the cloud into the moonlight again. Once, a\nhigh-soaring eagle flew right against the invisible Perseus. The\nbravest sights were the meteors, that gleamed suddenly out, as if a\nbonfire had been kindled in the sky, and made the moonshine pale for\nas much as a hundred miles around them.\n\nAs the two companions flew onward, Perseus fancied that he could hear\nthe rustle of a garment close by his side; and it was on the side\nopposite to the one where he beheld Quicksilver, yet only Quicksilver\nwas visible.\n\n\"Whose garment is this,\" inquired Perseus, \"that keeps rustling close\nbeside me in the breeze?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is my sister's!\" answered Quicksilver. \"She is coming along\nwith us, as I told you she would. We could do nothing without the help\nof my sister. You have no idea how wise she is. She has such eyes,\ntoo! Why, she can see you, at this moment, just as distinctly as if\nyou were not invisible; and I'll venture to say, she will be the first\nto discover the Gorgons.\"\n\nBy this time, in their swift voyage through the air, they had come\nwithin sight of the great ocean, and were soon flying over it. Far\nbeneath them, the waves tossed themselves tumultuously in mid-sea, or\nrolled a white surf-line upon the long beaches, or foamed against the\nrocky cliffs, with a roar that was thunderous, in the lower world;\nalthough it became a gentle murmur, like the voice of a baby half\nasleep, before it reached the ears of Perseus. Just then a voice spoke\nin the air close by him. It seemed to be a woman's voice, and was\nmelodious, though not exactly what might be called sweet, but grave\nand mild.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"there are the Gorgons.\"\n\n\"Where?\" exclaimed Perseus. \"I cannot see them.\"\n\n\"On the shore of that island beneath you,\" replied the voice. \"A\npebble, dropped from your hand, would strike in the midst of them.\"\n\n\"I told you she would be the first to discover them,\" said Quicksilver\nto Perseus. \"And there they are!\"\n\nStraight downward, two or three thousand feet below him, Perseus\nperceived a small island, with the sea breaking into white foam all\naround its rocky shore, except on one side, where there was a beach of\nsnowy sand. He descended towards it, and, looking earnestly at a\ncluster or heap of brightness, at the foot of a precipice of black\nrocks, behold, there were the terrible Gorgons! They lay fast asleep,\nsoothed by the thunder of the sea; for it required a tumult that would\nhave deafened everybody else to lull such fierce creatures into\nslumber. The moonlight glistened on their steely scales, and on their\ngolden wings, which drooped idly over the sand. Their brazen claws,\nhorrible to look at, were thrust out, and clutched the wave-beaten\nfragments of rock, while the sleeping Gorgons dreamed of tearing some\npoor mortal all to pieces. The snakes that served them instead of hair\nseemed likewise to be asleep; although, now and then, one would\nwrithe, and lift its head, and thrust out its forked tongue, emitting\na drowsy hiss, and then let itself subside among its sister snakes.\n\nThe Gorgons were more like an awful, gigantic kind of\ninsect,--immense, golden-winged beetles, or dragon-flies, or things\nof that sort,--at once ugly and beautiful,--than like anything else;\nonly that they were a thousand and a million times as big. And, with\nall this, there was something partly human about them, too. Luckily\nfor Perseus, their faces were completely hidden from him by the\nposture in which they lay; for, had he but looked one instant at them,\nhe would have fallen heavily out of the air, an image of senseless\nstone.\n\n\"Now,\" whispered Quicksilver, as he hovered by the side of\nPerseus,--\"now is your time to do the deed! Be quick; for, if one of\nthe Gorgons should awake, you are too late!\"\n\n\"Which shall I strike at?\" asked Perseus, drawing his sword and\ndescending a little lower. \"They all three look alike. All three have\nsnaky locks. Which of the three is Medusa?\"\n\nIt must be understood that Medusa was the only one of these\ndragon-monsters whose head Perseus could possibly cut off. As for the\nother two, let him have the sharpest sword that ever was forged, and\nhe might have hacked away by the hour together, without doing them the\nleast harm.\n\n\"Be cautious,\" said the calm voice which had before spoken to him.\n\"One of the Gorgons is stirring in her sleep, and is just about to\nturn over. That is Medusa. Do not look at her! The sight would turn\nyou to stone! Look at the reflection of her face and figure in the\nbright mirror of your shield.\"\n\nPerseus now understood Quicksilver's motive for so earnestly\nexhorting him to polish his shield. In its surface he could safely\nlook at the reflection of the Gorgon's face. And there it was,--that\nterrible countenance,--mirrored in the brightness of the shield, with\nthe moonlight falling over it, and displaying all its horror. The\nsnakes, whose venomous natures could not altogether sleep, kept\ntwisting themselves over the forehead. It was the fiercest and most\nhorrible face that ever was seen or imagined, and yet with a strange,\nfearful, and savage kind of beauty in it. The eyes were closed, and\nthe Gorgon was still in a deep slumber; but there was an unquiet\nexpression disturbing her features, as if the monster was troubled\nwith an ugly dream. She gnashed her white tusks, and dug into the sand\nwith her brazen claws.\n\nThe snakes, too, seemed to feel Medusa's dream, and to be made more\nrestless by it. They twined themselves into tumultuous knots, writhed\nfiercely, and uplifted a hundred hissing heads, without opening their\neyes.\n\n\"Now, now!\" whispered Quicksilver, who was growing impatient. \"Make a\ndash at the monster!\"\n\n\"But be calm,\" said the grave, melodious voice at the young man's\nside. \"Look in your shield, as you fly downward, and take care that\nyou do not miss your first stroke.\"\n\n[Illustration: PERSEVS & THE GORGONS]\n\nPerseus flew cautiously downward, still keeping his eyes on Medusa's\nface, as reflected in his shield. The nearer he came, the more\nterrible did the snaky visage and metallic body of the monster\ngrow. At last, when he found himself hovering over her within arm's\nlength, Perseus uplifted his sword, while, at the same instant, each\nseparate snake upon the Gorgon's head stretched threateningly upward,\nand Medusa unclosed her eyes. But she awoke too late. The sword was\nsharp; the stroke fell like a lightning-flash; and the head of the\nwicked Medusa tumbled from her body!\n\n\"Admirably done!\" cried Quicksilver. \"Make haste, and clap the head\ninto your magic wallet.\"\n\nTo the astonishment of Perseus, the small embroidered wallet, which he\nhad hung about his neck, and which had hitherto been no bigger than a\npurse, grew all at once large enough to contain Medusa's head. As\nquick as thought, he snatched it up, with the snakes still writhing\nupon it, and thrust it in.\n\n\"Your task is done,\" said the calm voice. \"Now fly; for the other\nGorgons will do their utmost to take vengeance for Medusa's death.\"\n\nIt was, indeed, necessary to take flight; for Perseus had not done the\ndeed so quietly but that the clash of his sword, and the hissing of\nthe snakes, and the thump of Medusa's head as it tumbled upon the\nsea-beaten sand, awoke the other two monsters. There they sat, for an\ninstant, sleepily rubbing their eyes with their brazen fingers, while\nall the snakes on their heads reared themselves on end with surprise,\nand with venomous malice against they knew not what. But when the\nGorgons saw the scaly carcass of Medusa, headless, and her golden\nwings all ruffled, and half spread out on the sand, it was really\nawful to hear what yells and screeches they set up. And then the\nsnakes! They sent forth a hundred-fold hiss, with one consent, and\nMedusa's snakes answered them out of the magic wallet.\n\nNo sooner were the Gorgons broad awake than they hurtled upward into\nthe air, brandishing their brass talons, gnashing their horrible\ntusks, and flapping their huge wings so wildly that some of the golden\nfeathers were shaken out, and floated down upon the shore. And there,\nperhaps, those very feathers lie scattered, till this day. Up rose the\nGorgons, as I tell you, staring horribly about, in hopes of turning\nsomebody to stone. Had Perseus looked them in the face, or had he\nfallen into their clutches, his poor mother would never have kissed\nher boy again! But he took good care to turn his eyes another way;\nand, as he wore the helmet of invisibility, the Gorgons knew not in\nwhat direction to follow him; nor did he fail to make the best use of\nthe winged slippers, by soaring upward a perpendicular mile or so. At\nthat height, when the screams of those abominable creatures sounded\nfaintly beneath him, he made a straight course for the island of\nSeriphus, in order to carry Medusa's head to King Polydectes.\n\nI have no time to tell you of several marvelous things that befell\nPerseus, on his way homeward; such as his killing a hideous\nsea-monster, just as it was on the point of devouring a beautiful\nmaiden; nor how he changed an enormous giant into a mountain of stone,\nmerely by showing him the head of the Gorgon. If you doubt this\nlatter story, you may make a voyage to Africa, some day or other, and\nsee the very mountain, which is still known by the ancient giant's\nname.\n\nFinally, our brave Perseus arrived at the island, where he expected to\nsee his dear mother. But, during his absence, the wicked king had\ntreated Danaë so very ill that she was compelled to make her escape,\nand had taken refuge in a temple, where some good old priests were\nextremely kind to her. These praiseworthy priests, and the\nkind-hearted fisherman, who had first shown hospitality to Danaë and\nlittle Perseus when he found them afloat in the chest, seem to have\nbeen the only persons on the island who cared about doing right. All\nthe rest of the people, as well as King Polydectes himself, were\nremarkably ill-behaved, and deserved no better destiny than that which\nwas now to happen.\n\nNot finding his mother at home, Perseus went straight to the palace,\nand was immediately ushered into the presence of the king. Polydectes\nwas by no means rejoiced to see him; for he had felt almost certain,\nin his own evil mind, that the Gorgons would have torn the poor young\nman to pieces, and have eaten him up, out of the way. However, seeing\nhim safely returned, he put the best face he could upon the matter and\nasked Perseus how he had succeeded.\n\n\"Have you performed your promise?\" inquired he. \"Have you brought me\nthe head of Medusa with the snaky locks? If not, young man, it will\ncost you dear; for I must have a bridal present for the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia, and there is nothing else that she would admire\nso much.\"\n\n\"Yes, please your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, in a quiet way, as if it\nwere no very wonderful deed for such a young man as he to perform. \"I\nhave brought you the Gorgon's head, snaky locks and all!\"\n\n\"Indeed! Pray let me see it,\" quoth King Polydectes. \"It must be a\nvery curious spectacle, if all that travelers tell about it be true!\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is in the right,\" replied Perseus. \"It is really an\nobject that will be pretty certain to fix the regards of all who look\nat it. And, if your Majesty think fit, I would suggest that a holiday\nbe proclaimed, and that all your Majesty's subjects be summoned to\nbehold this wonderful curiosity. Few of them, I imagine, have seen a\nGorgon's head before, and perhaps never may again!\"\n\nThe king well knew that his subjects were an idle set of reprobates,\nand very fond of sight-seeing, as idle persons usually are. So he took\nthe young man's advice, and sent out heralds and messengers, in all\ndirections, to blow the trumpet at the street-corners, and in the\nmarket-places, and wherever two roads met, and summon everybody to\ncourt. Thither, accordingly, came a great multitude of good-for-nothing\nvagabonds, all of whom, out of pure love of mischief, would have been\nglad if Perseus had met with some ill-hap in his encounter with the\nGorgons. If there were any better people in the island (as I really\nhope there may have been, although the story tells nothing about\nany such), they stayed quietly at home, minding their business, and\ntaking care of their little children. Most of the inhabitants, at all\nevents, ran as fast as they could to the palace, and shoved, and\npushed, and elbowed one another, in their eagerness to get near a\nbalcony, on which Perseus showed himself, holding the embroidered\nwallet in his hand.\n\n[Illustration: PERSEVS SHOWING THE GORGON'S HEAD]\n\nOn a platform, within full view of the balcony, sat the mighty King\nPolydectes, amid his evil counselors, and with his flattering\ncourtiers in a semicircle round about him. Monarch, counselors,\ncourtiers, and subjects, all gazed eagerly towards Perseus.\n\n\"Show us the head! Show us the head!\" shouted the people; and there\nwas a fierceness in their cry as if they would tear Perseus to pieces,\nunless he should satisfy them with what he had to show. \"Show us the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks!\"\n\nA feeling of sorrow and pity came over the youthful Perseus.\n\n\"O King Polydectes,\" cried he, \"and ye many people, I am very loath to\nshow you the Gorgon's head!\"\n\n\"Ah, the villain and coward!\" yelled the people, more fiercely than\nbefore. \"He is making game of us! He has no Gorgon's head! Show us the\nhead, if you have it, or we will take your own head for a football!\"\n\nThe evil counselors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the\ncourtiers murmured, with one consent, that Perseus had shown\ndisrespect to their royal lord and master; and the great King\nPolydectes himself waved his hand, and ordered him, with the stern,\ndeep voice of authority, on his peril, to produce the head.\n\n\"Show me the Gorgon's head, or I will cut off your own!\"\n\nAnd Perseus sighed.\n\n\"This instant,\" repeated Polydectes, \"or you die!\"\n\n\"Behold it, then!\" cried Perseus, in a voice like the blast of a\ntrumpet.\n\nAnd, suddenly holding up the head, not an eyelid had time to wink\nbefore the wicked King Polydectes, his evil counselors, and all his\nfierce subjects were no longer anything but the mere images of a\nmonarch and his people. They were all fixed, forever, in the look and\nattitude of that moment! At the first glimpse of the terrible head of\nMedusa, they whitened into marble! And Perseus thrust the head back\ninto his wallet, and went to tell his dear mother that she need no\nlonger be afraid of the wicked King Polydectes.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTANGLEWOOD PORCH\n\n \n\nAFTER THE STORY\n\n\n\"Was not that a very fine story?\" asked Eustace.\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes!\" cried Cowslip, clapping her hands. \"And those funny\nold women, with only one eye amongst them! I never heard of anything\nso strange.\"\n\n\"As to their one tooth, which they shifted about,\" observed Primrose,\n\"there was nothing so very wonderful in that. I suppose it was a false\ntooth. But think of your turning Mercury into Quicksilver, and talking\nabout his sister! You are too ridiculous!\"\n\n\"And was she not his sister?\" asked Eustace Bright. \"If I had thought\nof it sooner, I would have described her as a maiden lady, who kept a\npet owl!\"\n\n\"Well, at any rate,\" said Primrose, \"your story seems to have driven\naway the mist.\"\n\nAnd, indeed, while the tale was going forward, the vapors had been\nquite exhaled from the landscape. A scene was now disclosed which the\nspectators might almost fancy as having been created since they had\nlast looked in the direction where it lay. About half a mile distant,\nin the lap of the valley, now appeared a beautiful lake, which\nreflected a perfect image of its own wooded banks, and of the summits\nof the more distant hills. It gleamed in glassy tranquillity, without\nthe trace of a winged breeze on any part of its bosom. Beyond its\nfarther shore was Monument Mountain, in a recumbent position,\nstretching almost across the valley. Eustace Bright compared it to a\nhuge, headless sphinx, wrapped in a Persian shawl; and, indeed, so\nrich and diversified was the autumnal foliage of its woods, that the\nsimile of the shawl was by no means too high-colored for the reality.\nIn the lower ground, between Tanglewood and the lake, the clumps of\ntrees and borders of woodland were chiefly golden-leaved or dusky\nbrown, as having suffered more from frost than the foliage on the\nhill-sides.\n\nOver all this scene there was a genial sunshine, intermingled with a\nslight haze, which made it unspeakably soft and tender. Oh, what a day\nof Indian summer was it going to be! The children snatched their\nbaskets, and set forth, with hop, skip, and jump, and all sorts of\nfrisks and gambols; while Cousin Eustace proved his fitness to preside\nover the party, by outdoing all their antics, and performing several\nnew capers, which none of them could ever hope to imitate. Behind went\na good old dog, whose name was Ben. He was one of the most respectable\nand kind-hearted of quadrupeds, and probably felt it to be his duty\nnot to trust the children away from their parents without some better\nguardian than this feather-brained Eustace Bright.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\n \n\nSHADOW BROOK\n\nINTRODUCTORY TO THE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\n\nAt noon, our juvenile party assembled in a dell, through the depths of\nwhich ran a little brook. The dell was narrow, and its steep sides,\nfrom the margin of the stream upward, were thickly set with trees,\nchiefly walnuts and chestnuts, among which grew a few oaks and maples.\nIn the summer time, the shade of so many clustering branches, meeting\nand intermingling across the rivulet, was deep enough to produce a\nnoontide twilight. Hence came the name of Shadow Brook. But now, ever\nsince autumn had crept into this secluded place, all the dark verdure\nwas changed to gold, so that it really kindled up the dell, instead of\nshading it. The bright yellow leaves, even had it been a cloudy day,\nwould have seemed to keep the sunlight among them; and enough of them\nhad fallen to strew all the bed and margin of the brook with sunlight,\ntoo. Thus the shady nook, where summer had cooled herself, was now\nthe sunniest spot anywhere to be found.\n\nThe little brook ran along over its pathway of gold, here pausing to\nform a pool, in which minnows were darting to and fro; and then it\nhurried onward at a swifter pace, as if in haste to reach the lake;\nand, forgetting to look whither it went, it tumbled over the root of a\ntree, which stretched quite across its current. You would have laughed\nto hear how noisily it babbled about this accident. And even after it\nhad run onward, the brook still kept talking to itself, as if it were\nin a maze. It was wonder-smitten, I suppose, at finding its dark dell\nso illuminated, and at hearing the prattle and merriment of so many\nchildren. So it stole away as quickly as it could, and hid itself in\nthe lake.\n\nIn the dell of Shadow Brook, Eustace Bright and his little friends had\neaten their dinner. They had brought plenty of good things from\nTanglewood, in their baskets, and had spread them out on the stumps of\ntrees and on mossy trunks, and had feasted merrily, and made a very\nnice dinner indeed. After it was over, nobody felt like stirring.\n\n\"We will rest ourselves here,\" said several of the children, \"while\nCousin Eustace tells us another of his pretty stories.\"\n\nCousin Eustace had a good right to be tired, as well as the children,\nfor he had performed great feats on that memorable forenoon.\nDandelion, Clover, Cowslip, and Buttercup were almost persuaded that\nhe had winged slippers, like those which the Nymphs gave Perseus; so\noften had the student shown himself at the tiptop of a nut-tree, when\nonly a moment before he had been standing on the ground. And then,\nwhat showers of walnuts had he sent rattling down upon their heads,\nfor their busy little hands to gather into the baskets! In short, he\nhad been as active as a squirrel or a monkey, and now, flinging\nhimself down on the yellow leaves, seemed inclined to take a little\nrest.\n\nBut children have no mercy nor consideration for anybody's weariness;\nand if you had but a single breath left, they would ask you to spend\nit in telling them a story.\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Cowslip, \"that was a very nice story of the\nGorgon's Head. Do you think you could tell us another as good?\"\n\n\"Yes, child,\" said Eustace, pulling the brim of his cap over his eyes,\nas if preparing for a nap. \"I can tell you a dozen, as good or better,\nif I choose.\"\n\n\"O Primrose and Periwinkle, do you hear what he says?\" cried Cowslip,\ndancing with delight. \"Cousin Eustace is going to tell us a dozen\nbetter stories than that about the Gorgon's Head!\"\n\n\"I did not promise you even one, you foolish little Cowslip!\" said\nEustace, half pettishly. \"However, I suppose you must have it. This is\nthe consequence of having earned a reputation! I wish I were a great\ndeal duller than I am, or that I had never shown half the bright\nqualities with which nature has endowed me; and then I might have my\nnap out, in peace and comfort!\"\n\nBut Cousin Eustace, as I think I have hinted before, was as fond of\ntelling his stories as the children of hearing them. His mind was in a\nfree and happy state, and took delight in its own activity, and\nscarcely required any external impulse to set it at work.\n\nHow different is this spontaneous play of the intellect from the\ntrained diligence of maturer years, when toil has perhaps grown easy\nby long habit, and the day's work may have become essential to the\nday's comfort, although the rest of the matter has bubbled away! This\nremark, however, is not meant for the children to hear.\n\nWithout further solicitation, Eustace Bright proceeded to tell the\nfollowing really splendid story. It had come into his mind as he lay\nlooking upward into the depths of a tree, and observing how the touch\nof Autumn had transmuted every one of its green leaves into what\nresembled the purest gold. And this change, which we have all of us\nwitnessed, is as wonderful as anything that Eustace told about in the\nstory of Midas.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\n \n\n\nOnce upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides,\nwhose name was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but\nmyself ever heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have\nentirely forgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I\nchoose to call her Marygold.\n\nThis King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world.\nHe valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that\nprecious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was\nthe one little maiden who played so merrily around her father's\nfootstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he\ndesire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolish man! that the best\nthing he could possibly do for this dear child would be to bequeath\nher the immensest pile of yellow, glistening coin, that had ever been\nheaped together since the world was made. Thus, he gave all his\nthoughts and all his time to this one purpose. If ever he happened to\ngaze for an instant at the gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished\nthat they were real gold, and that they could be squeezed safely into\nhis strong box. When little Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of\nbuttercups and dandelions, he used to say, \"Poh, poh, child! If these\nflowers were as golden as they look, they would be worth the\nplucking!\"\n\nAnd yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed of\nthis insane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for\nflowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and\nbeautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt.\nThese roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and\nas fragrant, as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them,\nand inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it\nwas only to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of\nthe innumerable rose-petals were a thin plate of gold. And though he\nonce was fond of music (in spite of an idle story about his ears,\nwhich were said to resemble those of an ass), the only music for poor\nMidas, now, was the chink of one coin against another.\n\nAt length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they\ntake care to grow wiser and wiser), Midas had got to be so exceedingly\nunreasonable, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object\nthat was not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large\nportion of every day in a dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at\nthe basement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To\nthis dismal hole--for it was little better than a dungeon--Midas\nbetook himself, whenever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here,\nafter carefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or\na gold cup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a\npeck-measure of gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of\nthe room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the\ndungeon-like window. He valued the sunbeam for no other reason but\nthat his treasure would not shine without its help. And then would he\nreckon over the coins in the bag; toss up the bar, and catch it as it\ncame down; sift the gold-dust through his fingers; look at the funny\nimage of his own face, as reflected in the burnished circumference of\nthe cup; and whisper to himself, \"O Midas, rich King Midas, what a\nhappy man art thou!\" But it was laughable to see how the image of his\nface kept grinning at him, out of the polished surface of the cup. It\nseemed to be aware of his foolish behavior, and to have a naughty\ninclination to make fun of him.\n\nMidas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite\nso happy as he might be. The very tiptop of enjoyment would never be\nreached, unless the whole world were to become his treasure-room, and\nbe filled with yellow metal which should be all his own.\n\nNow, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in\nthe old, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things\ncame to pass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to\nhappen in our own day and country. And, on the other hand, a great\nmany things take place nowadays, which seem not only wonderful to us,\nbut at which the people of old times would have stared their eyes out.\nOn the whole, I regard our own times as the strangest of the two; but,\nhowever that may be, I must go on with my story.\n\nMidas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, one day, as usual,\nwhen he perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking\nsuddenly up, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger,\nstanding in the bright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a\ncheerful and ruddy face. Whether it was that the imagination of King\nMidas threw a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever the cause\nmight be, he could not help fancying that the smile with which the\nstranger regarded him had a kind of golden radiance in it. Certainly,\nalthough his figure intercepted the sunshine, there was now a brighter\ngleam upon all the piled-up treasures than before. Even the remotest\ncorners had their share of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger\nsmiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles of fire.\n\nAs Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and\nthat no mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure-room,\nhe, of course, concluded that his visitor must be something more than\nmortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days,\nwhen the earth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be\noften the resort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who\nused to interest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and\nchildren, half playfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings\nbefore now, and was not sorry to meet one of them again. The\nstranger's aspect, indeed, was so good-humored and kindly, if not\nbeneficent, that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of\nintending any mischief. It was far more probable that he came to do\nMidas a favor. And what could that favor be, unless to multiply his\nheaps of treasure?\n\nThe stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous smile had\nglistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again\nto Midas.\n\n\"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!\" he observed. \"I doubt whether\nany other four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have\ncontrived to pile up in this room.\"\n\n\"I have done pretty well,--pretty well,\" answered Midas, in a\ndiscontented tone. \"But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you\nconsider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one\ncould live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"Then you are not satisfied?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"And pray what would satisfy you?\" asked the stranger. \"Merely for the\ncuriosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE STRANGER APPEARING TO MIDAS]\n\nMidas paused and meditated. He felt a presentiment that this stranger,\nwith such a golden lustre in his good-humored smile, had come\nhither with both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost\nwishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to\nspeak, and obtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossible thing, it\nmight come into his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and\nthought, and heaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his\nimagination, without being able to imagine them big enough. At last, a\nbright idea occurred to King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the\nglistening metal which he loved so much.\n\nRaising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.\n\n\"Well, Midas,\" observed his visitor, \"I see that you have at length\nhit upon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.\"\n\n\"It is only this,\" replied Midas. \"I am weary of collecting my\ntreasures with so much trouble, and beholding the heap so diminutive,\nafter I have done my best. I wish everything that I touch to be\nchanged to gold!\"\n\nThe stranger's smile grew so very broad, that it seemed to fill the\nroom like an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where\nthe yellow autumnal leaves--for so looked the lumps and particles of\ngold--lie strewn in the glow of light.\n\n\"The Golden Touch!\" exclaimed he. \"You certainly deserve credit,\nfriend Midas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you\nquite sure that this will satisfy you?\"\n\n\"How could it fail?\" said Midas.\n\n\"And will you never regret the possession of it?\"\n\n\"What could induce me?\" asked Midas. \"I ask nothing else, to render me\nperfectly happy.\"\n\n\"Be it as you wish, then,\" replied the stranger, waving his hand in\ntoken of farewell. \"To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself\ngifted with the Golden Touch.\"\n\nThe figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas\ninvoluntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only\none yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of\nthe precious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.\n\nWhether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say.\nAsleep or awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a\nchild's, to whom a beautiful new plaything has been promised in the\nmorning. At any rate, day had hardly peeped over the hills, when King\nMidas was broad awake, and, stretching his arms out of bed, began to\ntouch the objects that were within reach. He was anxious to prove\nwhether the Golden Touch had really come, according to the stranger's\npromise. So he laid his finger on a chair by the bedside, and on\nvarious other things, but was grievously disappointed to perceive that\nthey remained of exactly the same substance as before. Indeed, he felt\nvery much afraid that he had only dreamed about the lustrous stranger,\nor else that the latter had been making game of him. And what a\nmiserable affair would it be, if, after all his hopes, Midas must\ncontent himself with what little gold he could scrape together by\nordinary means, instead of creating it by a touch!\n\nAll this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak\nof brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it.\nHe lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his\nhopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam\nshone through the window, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It\nseemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in\nrather a singular way on the white covering of the bed. Looking more\nclosely, what was his astonishment and delight, when he found that\nthis linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture\nof the purest and brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him\nwith the first sunbeam!\n\nMidas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room,\ngrasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one\nof the bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He\npulled aside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of\nthe wonders which he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his\nhand,--a mass of gold. He took up a book from the table. At his first\ntouch, it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and\ngilt-edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays; but, on running\nhis fingers through the leaves, behold! it was a bundle of thin golden\nplates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible. He\nhurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a\nmagnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and\nsoftness, although it burdened him a little with its weight. He drew\nout his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That\nwas likewise gold, with the dear child's neat and pretty stitches\nrunning all along the border, in gold thread!\n\nSomehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King\nMidas. He would rather that his little daughter's handiwork should\nhave remained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it\ninto his hand.\n\nBut it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now\ntook his spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, in\norder that he might see more distinctly what he was about. In those\ndays, spectacles for common people had not been invented, but were\nalready worn by kings; else, how could Midas have had any? To his\ngreat perplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, he\ndiscovered that he could not possibly see through them. But this was\nthe most natural thing in the world; for, on taking them off, the\ntransparent crystal turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of\ncourse, were worthless as spectacles, though valuable as gold. It\nstruck Midas as rather inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he\ncould never again be rich enough to own a pair of serviceable\nspectacles.\n\n\"It is no great matter, nevertheless,\" said he to himself, very\nphilosophically. \"We cannot expect any great good, without its being\naccompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth\nthe sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one's very\neyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little\nMarygold will soon be old enough to read to me.\"\n\nWise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune, that the palace\nseemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went\ndownstairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the\nstaircase became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it,\nin his descent. He lifted the door-latch (it was brass only a moment\nago, but golden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the\ngarden. Here, as it happened, he found a great number of beautiful\nroses in full bloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and\nblossom. Very delicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze.\nTheir delicate blush was one of the fairest sights in the world; so\ngentle, so modest, and so full of sweet tranquillity, did these roses\nseem to be.\n\nBut Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his\nway of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great\npains in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most\nindefatigably; until every individual flower and bud, and even the\nworms at the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time\nthis good work was completed, King Midas was summoned to breakfast;\nand as the morning air had given him an excellent appetite, he made\nhaste back to the palace.\n\nWhat was usually a king's breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do\nnot know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my\nbelief, however, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted\nof hot cakes, some nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes, fresh\nboiled eggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread\nand milk for his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast\nfit to set before a king; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas\ncould not have had a better.\n\nLittle Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered\nher to be called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child's\ncoming, in order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he\nreally loved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this\nmorning, on account of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was\nnot a great while before he heard her coming along the passageway\ncrying bitterly. This circumstance surprised him, because Marygold was\none of the cheerfullest little people whom you would see in a summer's\nday, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. When\nMidas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Marygold into better\nspirits, by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he\ntouched his daughter's bowl (which was a China one, with pretty\nfigures all around it), and transmuted it to gleaming gold.\n\nMeanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and\nshowed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her\nheart would break.\n\n\"How now, my little lady!\" cried Midas. \"Pray what is the matter with\nyou, this bright morning?\"\n\nMarygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand,\nin which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" exclaimed her father. \"And what is there in this\nmagnificent golden rose to make you cry?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear father!\" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let\nher; \"it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As\nsoon as I was dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for\nyou; because I know you like them, and like them the better when\ngathered by your little daughter. But, oh dear, dear me! What do you\nthink has happened? Such a misfortune! All the beautiful roses, that\nsmelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and\nspoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no\nlonger any fragrance! What can have been the matter with them?\"\n\n\"Poh, my dear little girl,--pray don't cry about it!\" said Midas, who\nwas ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so\ngreatly afflicted her. \"Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will\nfind it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will\nlast hundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a\nday.\"\n\n\"I don't care for such roses as this!\" cried Marygold, tossing it\ncontemptuously away. \"It has no smell, and the hard petals prick my\nnose!\"\n\nThe child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief\nfor the blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful\ntransmutation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for\nMarygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer\nfigures, and strange trees and houses, that were painted on the\ncircumference of the bowl; and these ornaments were now entirely lost\nin the yellow hue of the metal.\n\nMidas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of\ncourse, the coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took\nit up, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it\nwas rather an extravagant style of splendor, in a king of his simple\nhabits, to breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled\nwith the difficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and\nthe kitchen would no longer be a secure place of deposit for articles\nso valuable as golden bowls and coffee-pots.\n\nAmid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and,\nsipping it, was astonished to perceive that, the instant his lips\ntouched the liquid, it became molten gold, and, the next moment,\nhardened into a lump!\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.\n\n\"What is the matter, father?\" asked little Marygold, gazing at him,\nwith the tears still standing in her eyes.\n\n\"Nothing, child, nothing!\" said Midas. \"Eat your milk, before it gets\nquite cold.\"\n\nHe took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of\nexperiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was\nimmediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a\ngold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep\nin glass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a\nmetallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the\nnicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires;\nits fins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks\nof the fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely\nfried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as\nyou may suppose; only King Midas, just at that moment, would much\nrather have had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and\nvaluable imitation of one.\n\n\"I don't quite see,\" thought he to himself, \"how I am to get any\nbreakfast.\"\n\nHe took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it,\nwhen, to his cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been\nof the whitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say\nthe truth, if it had really been a hot Indian cake, Midas would have\nprized it a good deal more than he now did, when its solidity and\nincreased weight made him too bitterly sensible that it was gold.\nAlmost in despair, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which\nimmediately underwent a change similar to those of the trout and the\ncake. The egg, indeed, might have been mistaken for one of those which\nthe famous goose, in the story-book, was in the habit of laying; but\nKing Midas was the only goose that had anything to do with the matter.\n\n\"Well, this is a quandary!\" thought he, leaning back in his chair, and\nlooking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her\nbread and milk with great satisfaction. \"Such a costly breakfast\nbefore me, and nothing that can be eaten!\"\n\nHoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what he now\nfelt to be a considerable inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a\nhot potato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in\na hurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his\nmouth full, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt\nhis tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began\nto dance and stamp about the room, both with pain and affright.\n\n\"Father, dear father!\" cried little Marygold, who was a very\naffectionate child, \"pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your\nmouth?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear child,\" groaned Midas, dolefully, \"I don't know what is to\nbecome of your poor father!\"\n\nAnd, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable\ncase in all your lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that\ncould be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely\ngood for nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crust of\nbread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose\ndelicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be\ndone? Already, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be\nless so by dinner time? And how ravenous would be his appetite for\nsupper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of\nindigestible dishes as those now before him! How many days, think you,\nwould he survive a continuance of this rich fare?\n\nThese reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt\nwhether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world,\nor even the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So\nfascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he\nwould still have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a\nconsideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's\nvictuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions\nof money (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon\nup) for some fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of\ncoffee!\n\n\"It would be quite too dear,\" thought Midas.\n\nNevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his\nsituation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our\npretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing\nat her father, and trying, with all the might of her little wits, to\nfind out what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and\nsorrowful impulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, and,\nrunning to Midas, threw her arms affectionately about his knees. He\nbent down and kissed her. He felt that his little daughter's love was\nworth a thousand times more than he had gained by the Golden Touch.\n\n\"My precious, precious Marygold!\" cried he.\n\nBut Marygold made no answer.\n\nAlas, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger\nbestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a\nchange had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as\nit had been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow tear-drops\ncongealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same\ntint. Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within\nher father's encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune! The victim of\nhis insatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no\nlonger, but a golden statue!\n\n[Illustration: MIDAS' DAVGHTER TVRNED TO GOLD]\n\nYes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and\npity, hardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woeful\nsight that ever mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold\nwere there; even the beloved little dimple remained in her golden\nchin. But the more perfect was the resemblance, the greater was the\nfather's agony at beholding this golden image, which was all that was\nleft him of a daughter. It had been a favorite phrase of Midas,\nwhenever he felt particularly fond of the child, to say that she was\nworth her weight in gold. And now the phrase had become literally\ntrue. And now, at last, when it was too late, he felt how infinitely a\nwarm and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in value all the\nwealth that could be piled up betwixt the earth and sky!\n\nIt would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the\nfullness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and\nbemoan himself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor\nyet to look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the\nimage, he could not possibly believe that she was changed to gold.\nBut, stealing another glance, there was the precious little figure,\nwith a yellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and\ntender, that it seemed as if that very expression must needs soften\nthe gold, and make it flesh again. This, however, could not be. So\nMidas had only to wring his hands, and to wish that he were the\npoorest man in the wide world, if the loss of all his wealth might\nbring back the faintest rose-color to his dear child's face.\n\nWhile he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld a stranger\nstanding near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking;\nfor he recognized the same figure which had appeared to him, the day\nbefore, in the treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous\nfaculty of the Golden Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a\nsmile, which seemed to shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and\ngleamed on little Marygold's image, and on the other objects that had\nbeen transmuted by the touch of Midas.\n\n\"Well, friend Midas,\" said the stranger, \"pray how do you succeed with\nthe Golden Touch?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"I am very miserable,\" said he.\n\n\"Very miserable, indeed!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"And how happens\nthat? Have I not faithfully kept my promise with you? Have you not\neverything that your heart desired?\"\n\n\"Gold is not everything,\" answered Midas. \"And I have lost all that my\nheart really cared for.\"\n\n\"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?\" observed the\nstranger. \"Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is\nreally worth the most,--the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of\nclear cold water?\"\n\n\"O blessed water!\" exclaimed Midas. \"It will never moisten my parched\nthroat again!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" continued the stranger, \"or a crust of bread?\"\n\n\"A piece of bread,\" answered Midas, \"is worth all the gold on earth!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" asked the stranger, \"or your own little Marygold,\nwarm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago?\"\n\n\"Oh, my child, my dear child!\" cried poor Midas, wringing his hands.\n\"I would not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the\npower of changing this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold!\"\n\n\"You are wiser than you were, King Midas!\" said the stranger, looking\nseriously at him. \"Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely\nchanged from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be\ndesperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that\nthe commonest things, such as lie within everybody's grasp, are more\nvaluable than the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle\nafter. Tell me, now, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this\nGolden Touch?\"\n\n\"It is hateful to me!\" replied Midas.\n\nA fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; for it,\ntoo, had become gold. Midas shuddered.\n\n\"Go, then,\" said the stranger, \"and plunge into the river that glides\npast the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same\nwater, and sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change\nback again from gold into its former substance. If you do this in\nearnestness and sincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which\nyour avarice has occasioned.\"\n\nKing Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous\nstranger had vanished.\n\nYou will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a\ngreat earthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he\ntouched it), and hastening to the river-side. As he scampered along,\nand forced his way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvelous\nto see how the foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had\nbeen there, and nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he\nplunged headlong in, without waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.\n\n\"Poof! poof! poof!\" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the\nwater. \"Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must\nhave quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my\npitcher!\"\n\n[Illustration: MIDAS WITH THE PITCHER]\n\nAs he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart\nto see it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel\nwhich it had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a\nchange within himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have\ngone out of his bosom. No doubt, his heart had been gradually losing\nits human substance, and transmuting itself into insensible metal, but\nhad now softened back again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew\non the bank of the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was\noverjoyed to find that the delicate flower retained its purple hue,\ninstead of undergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch\nhad, therefore, really been removed from him.\n\nKing Midas hastened back to the palace; and, I suppose, the servants\nknew not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so\ncarefully bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water,\nwhich was to undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was\nmore precious to Midas than an ocean of molten gold could have been.\nThe first thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it\nby handfuls over the golden figure of little Marygold.\n\nNo sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how\nthe rosy color came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began\nto sneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself\ndripping wet, and her father still throwing more water over her!\n\n\"Pray do not, dear father!\" cried she. \"See how you have wet my nice\nfrock, which I put on only this morning!\"\n\nFor Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue;\nnor could she remember anything that had happened since the moment\nwhen she ran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.\n\nHer father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how\nvery foolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much\nwiser he had now grown. For this purpose, he led little Marygold into\nthe garden, where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the\nrose-bushes, and with such good effect that above five thousand roses\nrecovered their beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances,\nhowever, which, as long as he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of\nthe Golden Touch. One was, that the sands of the river sparkled like\ngold; the other, that little Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge,\nwhich he had never observed in it before she had been transmuted by\nthe effect of his kiss. This change of hue was really an improvement,\nand made Marygold's hair richer than in her babyhood.\n\nWhen King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot\nMarygold's children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this\nmarvelous story, pretty much as I have now told it to you. And then\nwould he stroke their glossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair,\nlikewise, had a rich shade of gold, which they had inherited from\ntheir mother.\n\n\"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks,\" quoth King\nMidas, diligently trotting the children all the while, \"ever since\nthat morning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save\nthis!\"\n\n \n\n\n\n\nSHADOW BROOK AFTER THE STORY\n\n \n\n\n\"Well, children,\" inquired Eustace, who was very fond of eliciting a\ndefinite opinion from his auditors, \"did you ever, in all your lives,\nlisten to a better story than this of 'The Golden Touch'?\"\n\n\"Why, as to the story of King Midas,\" said saucy Primrose, \"it was a\nfamous one thousands of years before Mr. Eustace Bright came into the\nworld, and will continue to be so long after he quits it. But some\npeople have what we may call 'The Leaden Touch,' and make everything\ndull and heavy that they lay their fingers upon.\"\n\n\"You are a smart child, Primrose, to be not yet in your teens,\" said\nEustace, taken rather aback by the piquancy of her criticism. \"But you\nwell know, in your naughty little heart, that I have burnished the old\ngold of Midas all over anew, and have made it shine as it never shone\nbefore. And then that figure of Marygold! Do you perceive no nice\nworkmanship in that? And how finely I have brought out and deepened\nthe moral! What say you, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, Clover, Periwinkle?\nWould any of you, after hearing this story, be so foolish as to desire\nthe faculty of changing things to gold?\"\n\n\"I should like,\" said Periwinkle, a girl of ten, \"to have the power of\nturning everything to gold with my right forefinger; but, with my left\nforefinger, I should want the power of changing it back again, if the\nfirst change did not please me. And I know what I would do, this very\nafternoon!\"\n\n\"Pray tell me,\" said Eustace.\n\n\"Why,\" answered Periwinkle, \"I would touch every one of these golden\nleaves on the trees with my left forefinger, and make them all green\nagain; so that we might have the summer back at once, with no ugly\nwinter in the mean time.\"\n\n\"O Periwinkle!\" cried Eustace Bright, \"there you are wrong, and would\ndo a great deal of mischief. Were I Midas, I would make nothing else\nbut just such golden days as these over and over again, all the year\nthroughout. My best thoughts always come a little too late. Why did\nnot I tell you how old King Midas came to America, and changed the\ndusky autumn, such as it is in other countries, into the burnished\nbeauty which it here puts on? He gilded the leaves of the great volume\nof Nature.\"\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Sweet Fern, a good little boy, who was always\nmaking particular inquiries about the precise height of giants and the\nlittleness of fairies, \"how big was Marygold, and how much did she\nweigh after she was turned to gold?\"\n\n\"She was about as tall as you are,\" replied Eustace, \"and, as gold is\nvery heavy, she weighed at least two thousand pounds, and might have\nbeen coined into thirty or forty thousand gold dollars. I wish\nPrimrose were worth half as much. Come, little people, let us clamber\nout of the dell, and look about us.\"\n\nThey did so. The sun was now an hour or two beyond its noontide mark,\nand filled the great hollow of the valley with its western radiance,\nso that it seemed to be brimming with mellow light, and to spill it\nover the surrounding hill-sides, like golden wine out of a bowl. It\nwas such a day that you could not help saying of it, \"There never was\nsuch a day before!\" although yesterday was just such a day, and\nto-morrow will be just such another. Ah, but there are very few of\nthem in a twelvemonth's circle! It is a remarkable peculiarity of\nthese October days, that each of them seems to occupy a great deal of\nspace, although the sun rises rather tardily at that season of the\nyear, and goes to bed, as little children ought, at sober six o'clock,\nor even earlier. We cannot, therefore, call the days long; but they\nappear, somehow or other, to make up for their shortness by their\nbreadth; and when the cool night comes, we are conscious of having\nenjoyed a big armful of life, since morning.\n\n\"Come, children, come!\" cried Eustace Bright. \"More nuts, more nuts,\nmore nuts! Fill all your baskets; and, at Christmas time, I will crack\nthem for you, and tell you beautiful stories!\"\n\nSo away they went; all of them in excellent spirits, except little\nDandelion, who, I am sorry to tell you, had been sitting on a\nchestnut-bur, and was stuck as full as a pincushion of its prickles.\nDear me, how uncomfortably he must have felt!\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n\n \n\nTANGLEWOOD PLAY-ROOM. INTRODUCTORY TO THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n\n\nThe golden days of October passed away, as so many other Octobers\nhave, and brown November likewise, and the greater part of chill\nDecember, too. At last came merry Christmas, and Eustace Bright along\nwith it, making it all the merrier by his presence. And, the day after\nhis arrival from college, there came a mighty snow-storm. Up to this\ntime, the winter had held back, and had given us a good many mild\ndays, which were like smiles upon its wrinkled visage. The grass had\nkept itself green, in sheltered places, such as the nooks of southern\nhill-slopes, and along the lee of the stone fences. It was but a week\nor two ago, and since the beginning of the month, that the children\nhad found a dandelion in bloom, on the margin of Shadow Brook, where\nit glides out of the dell.\n\nBut no more green grass and dandelions now. This was such a\nsnow-storm! Twenty miles of it might have been visible at once,\nbetween the windows of Tanglewood and the dome of Taconic, had it been\npossible to see so far among the eddying drifts that whitened all the\natmosphere. It seemed as if the hills were giants, and were flinging\nmonstrous handfuls of snow at one another, in their enormous sport. So\nthick were the fluttering snow-flakes, that even the trees, midway\ndown the valley, were hidden by them the greater part of the time.\nSometimes, it is true, the little prisoners of Tanglewood could\ndiscern a dim outline of Monument Mountain, and the smooth whiteness\nof the frozen lake at its base, and the black or gray tracts of\nwoodland in the nearer landscape. But these were merely peeps through\nthe tempest.\n\nNevertheless, the children rejoiced greatly in the snow-storm. They\nhad already made acquaintance with it, by tumbling heels over head\ninto its highest drifts, and flinging snow at one another, as we have\njust fancied the Berkshire mountains to be doing. And now they had\ncome back to their spacious play-room, which was as big as the great\ndrawing-room, and was lumbered with all sorts of playthings, large and\nsmall. The biggest was a rocking-horse, that looked like a real pony;\nand there was a whole family of wooden, waxen, plaster, and china\ndolls, besides rag-babies; and blocks enough to build Bunker Hill\nMonument, and nine-pins, and balls, and humming-tops, and battledores,\nand grace-sticks, and skipping-ropes, and more of such valuable\nproperty than I could tell of in a printed page. But the children\nliked the snow-storm better than them all. It suggested so many brisk\nenjoyments for to-morrow, and all the remainder of the winter. The\nsleigh-ride; the slides down hill into the valley; the snow-images\nthat were to be shaped out; the snow-fortresses that were to be built;\nand the snowballing to be carried on!\n\nSo the little folks blessed the snow-storm, and were glad to see it\ncome thicker and thicker, and watched hopefully the long drift that\nwas piling itself up in the avenue, and was already higher than any of\ntheir heads.\n\n\"Why, we shall be blocked up till spring!\" cried they, with the hugest\ndelight. \"What a pity that the house is too high to be quite covered\nup! The little red house, down yonder, will be buried up to its\neaves.\"\n\n\"You silly children, what do you want of more snow?\" asked Eustace,\nwho, tired of some novel that he was skimming through, had strolled\ninto the play-room. \"It has done mischief enough already, by spoiling\nthe only skating that I could hope for through the winter. We shall\nsee nothing more of the lake till April; and this was to have been my\nfirst day upon it! Don't you pity me, Primrose?\"\n\n\"Oh, to be sure!\" answered Primrose, laughing. \"But, for your comfort,\nwe will listen to another of your old stories, such as you told us\nunder the porch, and down in the hollow, by Shadow Brook. Perhaps I\nshall like them better now, when there is nothing to do, than while\nthere were nuts to be gathered, and beautiful weather to enjoy.\"\n\nHereupon, Periwinkle, Clover, Sweet Fern, and as many others of the\nlittle fraternity and cousinhood as were still at Tanglewood, gathered\nabout Eustace, and earnestly besought him for a story. The student\nyawned, stretched himself, and then, to the vast admiration of the\nsmall people, skipped three times back and forth over the top of a\nchair, in order, as he explained to them, to set his wits in motion.\n\n\"Well, well, children,\" said he, after these preliminaries, \"since you\ninsist, and Primrose has set her heart upon it, I will see what can be\ndone for you. And, that you may know what happy days there were before\nsnow-storms came into fashion, I will tell you a story of the oldest\nof all old times, when the world was as new as Sweet Fern's bran-new\nhumming-top. There was then but one season in the year, and that was\nthe delightful summer; and but one age for mortals, and that was\nchildhood.\"\n\n\"I never heard of that before,\" said Primrose.\n\n\"Of course, you never did,\" answered Eustace. \"It shall be a story of\nwhat nobody but myself ever dreamed of,--a Paradise of children,--and\nhow, by the naughtiness of just such a little imp as Primrose here, it\nall came to nothing.\"\n\nSo Eustace Bright sat down in the chair which he had just been\nskipping over, took Cowslip upon his knee, ordered silence throughout\nthe auditory, and began a story about a sad naughty child, whose name\nwas Pandora, and about her playfellow Epimetheus.\n\nYou may read it, word for word, in the pages that come next.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n\n \n\n\nLong, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there\nwas a child, named Epimetheus, who never had either father or mother;\nand, that he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and\nmotherless like himself, was sent from a far country, to live with\nhim, and be his playfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora.\n\nThe first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where\nEpimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which\nshe put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this,--\n\n\"Epimetheus, what have you in that box?\"\n\n\"My dear little Pandora,\" answered Epimetheus, \"that is a secret, and\nyou must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was\nleft here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it\ncontains.\"\n\n\"But who gave it to you?\" asked Pandora. \"And where did it come from?\"\n\n\"That is a secret, too,\" replied Epimetheus.\n\n\"How provoking!\" exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. \"I wish the great\nugly box were out of the way!\"\n\n\"Oh come, don't think of it any more,\" cried Epimetheus. \"Let us run\nout of doors, and have some nice play with the other children.\"\n\nIt is thousands of years since Epimetheus and Pandora were alive; and\nthe world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it\nwas in their time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed no\nfathers and mothers to take care of the children; because there was no\ndanger, nor trouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and\nthere was always plenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted his\ndinner, he found it growing on a tree; and, if he looked at the tree\nin the morning, he could see the expanding blossom of that night's\nsupper; or, at eventide, he saw the tender bud of to-morrow's\nbreakfast. It was a very pleasant life indeed. No labor to be done, no\ntasks to be studied; nothing but sports and dances, and sweet voices\nof children talking, or carolling like birds, or gushing out in merry\nlaughter, throughout the livelong day.\n\nWhat was most wonderful of all, the children never quarreled among\nthemselves; neither had they any crying fits; nor, since time first\nbegan, had a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart into a\ncorner, and sulked. Oh, what a good time was that to be alive in! The\ntruth is, those ugly little winged monsters, called Troubles, which\nare now almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never yet been seen on\nthe earth. It is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a\nchild had ever experienced was Pandora's vexation at not being able to\ndiscover the secret of the mysterious box.\n\nThis was at first only the faint shadow of a Trouble; but, every day,\nit grew more and more substantial, until, before a great while, the\ncottage of Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than those of the\nother children.\n\n\"Whence can the box have come?\" Pandora continually kept saying to\nherself and to Epimetheus. \"And what in the world can be inside of\nit?\"\n\n\"Always talking about this box!\" said Epimetheus, at last; for he had\ngrown extremely tired of the subject. \"I wish, dear Pandora, you would\ntry to talk of something else. Come, let us go and gather some ripe\nfigs, and eat them under the trees, for our supper. And I know a vine\nthat has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.\"\n\n\"Always talking about grapes and figs!\" cried Pandora, pettishly.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child,\nlike a multitude of children in those days, \"let us run out and have a\nmerry time with our playmates.\"\n\n\"I am tired of merry times, and don't care if I never have any more!\"\nanswered our pettish little Pandora. \"And, besides, I never do have\nany. This ugly box! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the\ntime. I insist upon your telling me what is inside of it.\"\n\n[Illustration: PANDORA WONDERS AT THE BOX]\n\n\"As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know!\" replied\nEpimetheus, getting a little vexed. \"How, then, can I tell you what is\ninside?\"\n\n\"You might open it,\" said Pandora, looking sideways at Epimetheus,\n\"and then we could see for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Pandora, what are you thinking of?\" exclaimed Epimetheus.\n\nAnd his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a\nbox, which had been confided to him on the condition of his never\nopening it, that Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more.\nStill, however, she could not help thinking and talking about the box.\n\n\"At least,\" said she, \"you can tell me how it came here.\"\n\n\"It was just left at the door,\" replied Epimetheus, \"just before you\ncame, by a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who\ncould hardly forbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an\nodd kind of a cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of\nfeathers, so that it looked almost as if it had wings.\"\n\n\"What sort of a staff had he?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!\" cried Epimetheus. \"It was\nlike two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally\nthat I, at first, thought the serpents were alive.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Pandora, thoughtfully. \"Nobody else has such a\nstaff. It was Quicksilver; and he brought me hither, as well as the\nbox. No doubt he intended it for me; and, most probably, it contains\npretty dresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or\nsomething very nice for us both to eat!\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" answered Epimetheus, turning away. \"But until\nQuicksilver comes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any\nright to lift the lid of the box.\"\n\n\"What a dull boy he is!\" muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the\ncottage. \"I do wish he had a little more enterprise!\"\n\nFor the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without\nasking Pandora to accompany him. He went to gather figs and grapes by\nhimself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society\nthan his little playfellow's. He was tired to death of hearing about\nthe box, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the\nmessenger's name, had left it at some other child's door, where\nPandora would never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as she did\nbabble about this one thing! The box, the box, and nothing but the\nbox! It seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage\nwere not big enough to hold it, without Pandora's continually\nstumbling over it, and making Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and\nbruising all four of their shins.\n\nWell, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his\nears from morning till night; especially as the little people of the\nearth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that\nthey knew not how to deal with them. Thus, a small vexation made as\nmuch disturbance then, as a far bigger one would in our own times.\n\nAfter Epimetheus was gone, Pandora stood gazing at the box. She had\ncalled it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she\nhad said against it, it was positively a very handsome article of\nfurniture, and would have been quite an ornament to any room in which\nit should be placed. It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with\ndark and rich veins spreading over its surface, which was so highly\npolished that little Pandora could see her face in it. As the child\nhad no other looking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box,\nmerely on this account.\n\nThe edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful\nskill. Around the margin there were figures of graceful men and women,\nand the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a\nprofusion of flowers and foliage; and these various objects were so\nexquisitely represented, and were wrought together in such harmony,\nthat flowers, foliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a\nwreath of mingled beauty. But here and there, peeping forth from\nbehind the carved foliage, Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw\na face not so lovely, or something or other that was disagreeable, and\nwhich stole the beauty out of all the rest. Nevertheless, on looking\nmore closely, and touching the spot with her finger, she could\ndiscover nothing of the kind. Some face, that was really beautiful,\nhad been made to look ugly by her catching a sideway glimpse at it.\n\nThe most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief,\nin the centre of the lid. There was nothing else, save the dark,\nsmooth richness of the polished wood, and this one face in the centre,\nwith a garland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this\nface a great many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it\nliked, or be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The\nfeatures, indeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous\nexpression, which looked almost as if it needs must burst out of the\ncarved lips, and utter itself in words.\n\nHad the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like\nthis:--\n\n\"Do not be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening the box?\nNever mind that poor, simple Epimetheus! You are wiser than he, and\nhave ten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not\nfind something very pretty!\"\n\nThe box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fastened; not by a lock,\nnor by any other such contrivance, but by a very intricate knot of\ngold cord. There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning.\nNever was a knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs,\nwhich roguishly defied the skillfullest fingers to disentangle them.\nAnd yet, by the very difficulty that there was in it, Pandora was the\nmore tempted to examine the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or\nthree times, already, she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot\nbetween her thumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to\nundo it.\n\n\"I really believe,\" said she to herself, \"that I begin to see how it\nwas done. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again, after undoing it.\nThere would be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not\nblame me for that. I need not open the box, and should not, of course,\nwithout the foolish boy's consent, even if the knot were untied.\"\n\nIt might have been better for Pandora if she had had a little work to\ndo, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly\nthinking of this one subject. But children led so easy a life, before\nany Troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal\ntoo much leisure. They could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek\namong the flower-shrubs, or at blind-man's-buff with garlands over\ntheir eyes, or at whatever other games had been found out, while\nMother Earth was in her babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the\nreal play. There was absolutely nothing to do. A little sweeping and\ndusting about the cottage, I suppose, and the gathering of fresh\nflowers (which were only too abundant everywhere), and arranging them\nin vases,--and poor little Pandora's day's work was over. And then,\nfor the rest of the day, there was the box!\n\nAfter all, I am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her\nin its way. It supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of,\nand to talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen! When she was\nin good-humor, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and\nthe rich border of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it.\nOr, if she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or\nkick it with her naughty little foot. And many a kick did the\nbox--(but it was a mischievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all\nit got)--many a kick did it receive. But, certain it is, if it had not\nbeen for the box, our active-minded little Pandora would not have\nknown half so well how to spend her time as she now did.\n\n[Illustration: PANDORA DESIRES TO OPEN THE BOX]\n\nFor it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside. What\ncould it be, indeed? Just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your\nwits would be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as you\nmight have reason to suppose, contained something new and pretty for\nyour Christmas or New Year's gifts. Do you think that you should be\nless curious than Pandora? If you were left alone with the box, might\nyou not feel a little tempted to lift the lid? But you would not do\nit. Oh, fie! No, no! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it\nwould be so very hard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one\npeep! I know not whether Pandora expected any toys; for none had yet\nbegun to be made, probably, in those days, when the world itself was\none great plaything for the children that dwelt upon it. But Pandora\nwas convinced that there was something very beautiful and valuable in\nthe box; and therefore she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any\nof these little girls, here around me, would have felt. And,\npossibly, a little more so; but of that I am not quite so certain.\n\nOn this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking\nabout, her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that,\nat last, she approached the box. She was more than half determined to\nopen it, if she could. Ah, naughty Pandora!\n\nFirst, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy; quite too heavy\nfor the slender strength of a child, like Pandora. She raised one end\nof the box a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a\npretty loud thump. A moment afterwards, she almost fancied that she\nheard something stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely\nas possible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be a kind of\nstifled murmur, within! Or was it merely the singing in Pandora's\nears? Or could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not\nquite satisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at\nall events, her curiosity was stronger than ever.\n\nAs she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.\n\n\"It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,\" said\nPandora to herself. \"But I think I could untie it nevertheless. I am\nresolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.\"\n\nSo she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its\nintricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it, or\nquite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in\nattempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sunshine came through the\nopen window; as did likewise the merry voices of the children, playing\nat a distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus among them. Pandora\nstopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was! Would it not be wiser,\nif she were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about\nthe box, but run and join her little playfellows, and be happy?\n\nAll this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with\nthe knot; and happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the\nlid of the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at\nher.\n\n\"That face looks very mischievous,\" thought Pandora. \"I wonder whether\nit smiles because I am doing wrong! I have the greatest mind in the\nworld to run away!\"\n\nBut just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a\ntwist, which produced a wonderful result. The gold cord untwined\nitself, as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.\n\n\"This is the strangest thing I ever knew!\" said Pandora. \"What will\nEpimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?\"\n\nShe made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it\nquite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that\nshe could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled\ninto one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and\nappearance of the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her\nmind. Nothing was to be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as\nit was until Epimetheus should come in.\n\n\"But,\" said Pandora, \"when he finds the knot untied, he will know that\nI have done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked\ninto the box?\"\n\nAnd then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since\nshe would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just\nas well do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You\nshould have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving\nundone what was wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus\nwould have said or believed. And so perhaps she might, if the\nenchanted face on the lid of the box had not looked so bewitchingly\npersuasive at her, and if she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly\nthan before, the murmur of small voices within. She could not tell\nwhether it was fancy or no; but there was quite a little tumult of\nwhispers in her ear,--or else it was her curiosity that whispered,--\n\n\"Let us out, dear Pandora,--pray let us out! We will be such nice\npretty playfellows for you! Only let us out!\"\n\n\"What can it be?\" thought Pandora. \"Is there something alive in the\nbox? Well!--yes!--I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep;\nand then the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot\npossibly be any harm in just one little peep!\"\n\nBut it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.\n\nThis was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell\nwith him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did\nnot partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on\nother days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if\nEpimetheus had a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs);\nor, if ripe at all, they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be\ncloying. There was no mirth in his heart, such as usually made his\nvoice gush out, of its own accord, and swell the merriment of his\ncompanions. In short, he grew so uneasy and discontented, that the\nother children could not imagine what was the matter with Epimetheus.\nNeither did he himself know what ailed him, any better than they did.\nFor you must recollect that, at the time we are speaking of, it was\neverybody's nature, and constant habit, to be happy. The world had not\nyet learned to be otherwise. Not a single soul or body, since these\nchildren were first sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful earth,\nhad ever been sick or out of sorts.\n\nAt length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all\nthe play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in\na humor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her\npleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which\nhe meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely,--roses,\nand lilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a\ntrail of fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the\nwreath was put together with as much skill as could reasonably be\nexpected of a boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always appeared\nto me, are the fittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it,\nin those days, rather better than they can now.\n\nAnd here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in\nthe sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the\nsun. But, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud\nbegan to intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad\nobscurity.\n\nHe entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,\nand fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be\naware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his\ntreading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he\npleased,--as heavily as a grown man,--as heavily, I was going to say,\nas an elephant,--without much probability of Pandora's hearing his\nfootsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his\nentering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid,\nand was on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld\nher. If he had cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her\nhand, and the fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.\n\nBut Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his\nown share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that\nPandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his\nplayfellow should not be the only wise person in the cottage. And if\nthere were anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take\nhalf of it to himself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora\nabout restraining her curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as\nfoolish, and nearly as much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame\nPandora for what happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at\nEpimetheus likewise.\n\nAs Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for\nthe black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have\nburied it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low\ngrowling and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of\nthunder. But Pandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid\nnearly upright, and looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of\nwinged creatures brushed past her, taking flight out of the box,\nwhile, at the same instant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a\nlamentable tone, as if he were in pain.\n\n[Illustration: PANDORA OPENS THE BOX]\n\n\"Oh, I am stung!\" cried he. \"I am stung! Naughty Pandora! why have you\nopened this wicked box?\"\n\nPandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see\nwhat had befallen Epimetheus. The thunder-cloud had so darkened the\nroom that she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she\nheard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or\ngigantic mosquitoes, or those insects which we call dor-bugs, and\npinching-dogs, were darting about. And, as her eyes grew more\naccustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little\nshapes, with bats' wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with\nterribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these that had\nstung Epimetheus. Nor was it a great while before Pandora herself\nbegan to scream, in no less pain and affright than her playfellow, and\nmaking a vast deal more hubbub about it. An odious little monster had\nsettled on her forehead, and would have stung her I know not how\ndeeply, if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.\n\nNow, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had\nmade their escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the\nwhole family of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions; there were\na great many species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and\nfifty Sorrows; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and\npainful shapes; there were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be\nof any use to talk about. In short, everything that has since\nafflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the\nmysterious box, and given to Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely,\nin order that the happy children of the world might never be molested\nby them. Had they been faithful to their trust, all would have gone\nwell. No grown person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had\ncause to shed a single tear, from that hour until this moment.\n\nBut--and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a\ncalamity to the whole world--by Pandora's lifting the lid of that\nmiserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing\nher, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem\nvery likely to be driven away in a hurry. For it was impossible, as\nyou will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly\nswarm in their own little cottage. On the contrary, the first thing\nthat they did was to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of\ngetting rid of them; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles\nall abroad, and so pestered and tormented the small people, everywhere\nabout, that none of them so much as smiled for many days afterwards.\nAnd, what was very singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on\nearth, not one of which had hitherto faded, now began to droop and\nshed their leaves, after a day or two. The children, moreover, who\nbefore seemed immortal in their childhood, now grew older, day by day,\nand came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women by and by,\nand aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing.\n\nMeanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus,\nremained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung, and\nwere in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to\nthem, because it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since\nthe world began. Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and\ncould have no idea what it meant. Besides all this, they were in\nexceedingly bad humor, both with themselves and with one another. In\norder to indulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a\ncorner with his back towards Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon\nthe floor and rested her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was\ncrying bitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.\n\nSuddenly there was a gentle little tap on the inside of the lid.\n\n\"What can that be?\" cried Pandora, lifting her head.\n\nBut either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of\nhumor to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.\n\n\"You are very unkind,\" said Pandora, sobbing anew, \"not to speak to\nme!\"\n\nAgain the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand,\nknocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.\n\"Who are you, inside of this naughty box?\"\n\nA sweet little voice spoke from within,--\n\n\"Only lift the lid, and you shall see.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, \"I have had enough\nof lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and\nthere you shall stay! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and\nsisters already flying about the world. You need never think that I\nshall be so foolish as to let you out!\"\n\nShe looked towards Epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he\nwould commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered\nthat she was wise a little too late.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the sweet little voice again, \"you had much better let me\nout. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their\ntails. They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at\nonce, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty\nPandora! I am sure you will let me out!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that\nmade it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice\nasked. Pandora's heart had insensibly grown lighter at every word that\ncame from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner,\nhad turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than\nbefore.\n\n\"My dear Epimetheus,\" cried Pandora, \"have you heard this little\nvoice?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure I have,\" answered he, but in no very good humor as\nyet. \"And what of it?\"\n\n\"Shall I lift the lid again?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said Epimetheus. \"You have done so much mischief\nalready, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other\nTrouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can\nmake no very great difference.\"\n\n\"You might speak a little more kindly!\" murmured Pandora, wiping her\neyes.\n\n\"Ah, naughty boy!\" cried the little voice within the box, in an arch\nand laughing tone. \"He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear\nPandora, lift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only\nlet me have some fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are\nnot quite so dismal as you think them!\"\n\n\"Epimetheus,\" exclaimed Pandora, \"come what may, I am resolved to open\nthe box!\"\n\n\"And as the lid seems very heavy,\" cried Epimetheus, running across\nthe room, \"I will help you!\"\n\nSo, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew\na sunny and smiling little personage, and hovered about the room,\nthrowing a light wherever she went. Have you never made the sunshine\ndance into dark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking-glass?\nWell, so looked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger,\namid the gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the\nleast touch of her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had\nstung him, and immediately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed\nPandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.\n\nAfter performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered\nsportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them,\nthat they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened\nthe box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a\nprisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.\n\n\"Pray, who are you, beautiful creature?\" inquired Pandora.\n\n\"I am to be called Hope!\" answered the sunshiny figure. \"And because I\nam such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box, to make\namends to the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was\ndestined to be let loose among them. Never fear! we shall do pretty\nwell in spite of them all.\"\n\n\"Your wings are colored like the rainbow!\" exclaimed Pandora. \"How\nvery beautiful!\"\n\n\"Yes, they are like the rainbow,\" said Hope, \"because, glad as my\nnature is, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles.\"\n\n\"And will you stay with us,\" asked Epimetheus, \"forever and ever?\"\n\n\"As long as you need me,\" said Hope, with her pleasant smile,--\"and\nthat will be as long as you live in the world,--I promise never to\ndesert you. There may come times and seasons, now and then, when you\nwill think that I have utterly vanished. But again, and again, and\nagain, when perhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer\nof my wings on the ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and\nI know something very good and beautiful that is to be given you\nhereafter!\"\n\n\"Oh, tell us,\" they exclaimed,--\"tell us what it is!\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.\n\"But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on\nthis earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.\"\n\n\"We do trust you!\" cried Epimetheus and Pandora, both in one breath.\n\nAnd so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope,\nthat has since been alive. And to tell you the truth, I cannot help\nbeing glad--(though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing\nfor her to do)--but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora\npeeped into the box. No doubt--no doubt--the Troubles are still flying\nabout the world, and have increased in multitude, rather than\nlessened, and are a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous\nstings in their tails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel\nthem more, as I grow older. But then that lovely and lightsome little\nfigure of Hope! What in the world could we do without her? Hope\nspiritualizes the earth; Hope makes it always new; and, even in the\nearth's best and brightest aspect, Hope shows it to be only the shadow\nof an infinite bliss hereafter.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTANGLEWOOD PLAY-ROOM\n\n \n\nAFTER THE STORY\n\n\n\"Primrose,\" asked Eustace, pinching her ear, \"how do you like my\nlittle Pandora? Don't you think her the exact picture of yourself? But\nyou would not have hesitated half so long about opening the box.\"\n\n\"Then I should have been well punished for my naughtiness,\" retorted\nPrimrose, smartly; \"for the first thing to pop out, after the lid was\nlifted, would have been Mr. Eustace Bright, in the shape of a\nTrouble.\"\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" said Sweet Fern, \"did the box hold all the trouble\nthat has ever come into the world?\"\n\n\"Every mite of it!\" answered Eustace. \"This very snow-storm, which has\nspoiled my skating, was packed up there.\"\n\n\"And how big was the box?\" asked Sweet Fern.\n\n\"Why, perhaps three feet long,\" said Eustace, \"two feet wide, and two\nfeet and a half high.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the child, \"you are making fun of me, Cousin Eustace! I\nknow there is not trouble enough in the world to fill such a great box\nas that. As for the snow-storm, it is no trouble at all, but a\npleasure; so it could not have been in the box.\"\n\n\"Hear the child!\" cried Primrose, with an air of superiority. \"How\nlittle he knows about the troubles of this world! Poor fellow! He will\nbe wiser when he has seen as much of life as I have.\"\n\nSo saying, she began to skip the rope.\n\nMeantime, the day was drawing towards its close. Out of doors the\nscene certainly looked dreary. There was a gray drift, far and wide,\nthrough the gathering twilight; the earth was as pathless as the air;\nand the bank of snow over the steps of the porch proved that nobody\nhad entered or gone out for a good many hours past. Had there been\nonly one child at the window of Tanglewood, gazing at this wintry\nprospect, it would perhaps have made him sad. But half a dozen\nchildren together, though they cannot quite turn the world into a\nparadise, may defy old Winter and all his storms to put them out of\nspirits. Eustace Bright, moreover, on the spur of the moment, invented\nseveral new kinds of play, which kept them all in a roar of merriment\ntill bedtime, and served for the next stormy day besides.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n\n \n\nTANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE\n\nINTRODUCTORY TO THE 3 GOLDEN APPLES\n\n\nThe snow-storm lasted another day; but what became of it afterwards, I\ncannot possibly imagine. At any rate, it entirely cleared away during\nthe night; and when the sun arose the next morning, it shone brightly\ndown on as bleak a tract of hill-country here in Berkshire, as could\nbe seen anywhere in the world. The frost-work had so covered the\nwindow-panes that it was hardly possible to get a glimpse at the\nscenery outside. But, while waiting for breakfast, the small populace\nof Tanglewood had scratched peep-holes with their finger-nails, and\nsaw with vast delight that--unless it were one or two bare patches on\na precipitous hill-side, or the gray effect of the snow, intermingled\nwith the black pine forest--all nature was as white as a sheet. How\nexceedingly pleasant! And, to make it all the better, it was cold\nenough to nip one's nose short off! If people have but life enough in\nthem to bear it, there is nothing that so raises the spirits, and\nmakes the blood ripple and dance so nimbly, like a brook down the\nslope of a hill, as a bright, hard frost.\n\nNo sooner was breakfast over, than the whole party, well muffled in\nfurs and woolens, floundered forth into the midst of the snow. Well,\nwhat a day of frosty sport was this! They slid down hill into the\nvalley, a hundred times, nobody knows how far; and, to make it all the\nmerrier, upsetting their sledges, and tumbling head over heels, quite\nas often as they came safely to the bottom. And, once, Eustace Bright\ntook Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, and Squash-Blossom, on the sledge with\nhim, by way of insuring a safe passage; and down they went, full\nspeed. But, behold, halfway down, the sledge hit against a hidden\nstump, and flung all four of its passengers into a heap; and, on\ngathering themselves up, there was no little Squash-Blossom to be\nfound! Why, what could have become of the child? And while they were\nwondering and staring about, up started Squash-Blossom out of a\nsnow-bank, with the reddest face you ever saw, and looking as if a\nlarge scarlet flower had suddenly sprouted up in midwinter. Then there\nwas a great laugh.\n\nWhen they had grown tired of sliding down hill, Eustace set the\nchildren to digging a cave in the biggest snow-drift that they could\nfind. Unluckily, just as it was completed, and the party had squeezed\nthemselves into the hollow, down came the roof upon their heads, and\nburied every soul of them alive! The next moment, up popped all their\nlittle heads out of the ruins, and the tall student's head in the\nmidst of them, looking hoary and venerable with the snow-dust that had\ngot amongst his brown curls. And then, to punish Cousin Eustace for\nadvising them to dig such a tumble-down cavern, the children attacked\nhim in a body, and so bepelted him with snowballs that he was fain to\ntake to his heels.\n\nSo he ran away, and went into the woods, and thence to the margin of\nShadow Brook, where he could hear the streamlet grumbling along, under\ngreat overhanging banks of snow and ice, which would scarcely let it\nsee the light of day. There were adamantine icicles glittering around\nall its little cascades. Thence he strolled to the shore of the lake,\nand beheld a white, untrodden plain before him, stretching from his\nown feet to the foot of Monument Mountain. And, it being now almost\nsunset, Eustace thought that he had never beheld anything so fresh and\nbeautiful as the scene. He was glad that the children were not with\nhim; for their lively spirits and tumble-about activity would quite\nhave chased away his higher and graver mood, so that he would merely\nhave been merry (as he had already been, the whole day long), and\nwould not have known the loveliness of the winter sunset among the\nhills.\n\nWhen the sun was fairly down, our friend Eustace went home to eat his\nsupper. After the meal was over, he betook himself to the study with a\npurpose, I rather imagine, to write an ode, or two or three sonnets,\nor verses of some kind or other, in praise of the purple and golden\nclouds which he had seen around the setting sun. But, before he had\nhammered out the very first rhyme, the door opened, and Primrose and\nPeriwinkle made their appearance.\n\n\"Go away, children! I can't be troubled with you now!\" cried the\nstudent, looking over his shoulder, with the pen between his fingers.\n\"What in the world do you want here? I thought you were all in bed!\"\n\n\"Hear him, Periwinkle, trying to talk like a grown man!\" said\nPrimrose. \"And he seems to forget that I am now thirteen years old,\nand may sit up almost as late as I please. But, Cousin Eustace, you\nmust put off your airs, and come with us to the drawing-room. The\nchildren have talked so much about your stories, that my father wishes\nto hear one of them, in order to judge whether they are likely to do\nany mischief.\"\n\n\"Poh, poh, Primrose!\" exclaimed the student, rather vexed. \"I don't\nbelieve I can tell one of my stories in the presence of grown people.\nBesides, your father is a classical scholar; not that I am much afraid\nof his scholarship, neither, for I doubt not it is as rusty as an old\ncase-knife by this time. But then he will be sure to quarrel with the\nadmirable nonsense that I put into these stories, out of my own head,\nand which makes the great charm of the matter for children, like\nyourself. No man of fifty, who has read the classical myths in his\nyouth, can possibly understand my merit as a reinventor and improver\nof them.\"\n\n\"All this may be very true,\" said Primrose, \"but come you must! My\nfather will not open his book, nor will mamma open the piano, till\nyou have given us some of your nonsense, as you very correctly call\nit. So be a good boy, and come along.\"\n\nWhatever he might pretend, the student was rather glad than otherwise,\non second thoughts, to catch at the opportunity of proving to Mr.\nPringle what an excellent faculty he had in modernizing the myths of\nancient times. Until twenty years of age, a young man may, indeed, be\nrather bashful about showing his poetry and his prose; but, for all\nthat, he is pretty apt to think that these very productions would\nplace him at the tiptop of literature, if once they could be known.\nAccordingly, without much more resistance, Eustace suffered Primrose\nand Periwinkle to drag him into the drawing-room.\n\nIt was a large, handsome apartment, with a semi-circular window at one\nend, in the recess of which stood a marble copy of Greenough's Angel\nand Child. On one side of the fireplace there were many shelves of\nbooks, gravely but richly bound. The white light of the astral-lamp,\nand the red glow of the bright coal-fire, made the room brilliant and\ncheerful; and before the fire, in a deep arm-chair, sat Mr. Pringle,\nlooking just fit to be seated in such a chair, and in such a room. He\nwas a tall and quite a handsome gentleman, with a bald brow; and was\nalways so nicely dressed, that even Eustace Bright never liked to\nenter his presence without at least pausing at the threshold to settle\nhis shirt-collar. But now, as Primrose had hold of one of his hands,\nand Periwinkle of the other, he was forced to make his appearance\nwith a rough-and-tumble sort of look, as if he had been rolling all\nday in a snow-bank. And so he had.\n\nMr. Pringle turned towards the student benignly enough, but in a way\nthat made him feel how uncombed and unbrushed he was, and how uncombed\nand unbrushed, likewise, were his mind and thoughts.\n\n\"Eustace,\" said Mr. Pringle, with a smile, \"I find that you are\nproducing a great sensation among the little public of Tanglewood, by\nthe exercise of your gifts of narrative. Primrose here, as the little\nfolks choose to call her, and the rest of the children, have been so\nloud in praise of your stories, that Mrs. Pringle and myself are\nreally curious to hear a specimen. It would be so much the more\ngratifying to myself, as the stories appear to be an attempt to render\nthe fables of classical antiquity into the idiom of modern fancy and\nfeeling. At least, so I judge from a few of the incidents which have\ncome to me at second hand.\"\n\n\"You are not exactly the auditor that I should have chosen, sir,\"\nobserved the student, \"for fantasies of this nature.\"\n\n\"Possibly not,\" replied Mr. Pringle. \"I suspect, however, that a young\nauthor's most useful critic is precisely the one whom he would be\nleast apt to choose. Pray oblige me, therefore.\"\n\n\"Sympathy, methinks, should have some little share in the critic's\nqualifications,\" murmured Eustace Bright. \"However, sir, if you will\nfind patience, I will find stories. But be kind enough to remember\nthat I am addressing myself to the imagination and sympathies of the\nchildren, not to your own.\"\n\nAccordingly, the student snatched hold of the first theme which\npresented itself. It was suggested by a plate of apples that he\nhappened to spy on the mantel-piece.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n\n \n\n\nDid you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the\nHesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price,\nby the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards\nof nowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful\nfruit on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of\nthose apples exists any longer.\n\nAnd, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of\nthe Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted\nwhether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon\ntheir branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have\nseen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to\nstories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when\nthey should be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a\nbraver thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this\nfruit. Many of them returned no more; none of them brought back the\napples. No wonder that they found it impossible to gather them! It is\nsaid that there was a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible\nheads, fifty of which were always on the watch, while the other fifty\nslept.\n\nIn my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of\na solid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy,\nindeed that would be another matter. There might then have been some\nsense in trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.\n\nBut, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with\nyoung persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search\nof the garden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken\nby a hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into\nthe world. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering\nthrough the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand,\nand a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the\nskin of the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and\nwhich he himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind,\nand generous, and noble, there was a good deal of the lion's\nfierceness in his heart. As he went on his way, he continually\ninquired whether that were the right road to the famous garden. But\nnone of the country people knew anything about the matter, and many\nlooked as if they would have laughed at the question, if the stranger\nhad not carried so very big a club.\n\nSo he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at\nlast, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women\nsat twining wreaths of flowers.\n\n\"Can you tell me, pretty maidens,\" asked the stranger, \"whether this\nis the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nThe young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the\nflowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. And there\nseemed to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made\nthe flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter\nfragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been\ngrowing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger's\nquestion, they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at\nhim with astonishment.\n\n\"The garden of the Hesperides!\" cried one. \"We thought mortals had\nbeen weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,\nadventurous traveler, what do you want there?\"\n\n\"A certain king, who is my cousin,\" replied he, \"has ordered me to get\nhim three of the golden apples.\"\n\n\"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,\" observed\nanother of the damsels, \"desire to obtain them for themselves, or to\npresent them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love\nthis king, your cousin, so very much?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" replied the stranger, sighing. \"He has often been\nsevere and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.\"\n\n\"And do you know,\" asked the damsel who had first spoken, \"that a\nterrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden\napple-tree?\"\n\n\"I know it well,\" answered the stranger, calmly. \"But, from my cradle\nupwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with\nserpents and dragons.\"\n\nThe young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's\nskin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and\nthey whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who\nmight reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other\nmen. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if\nhe possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a\nmonster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to\nsee this brave and handsome traveler attempt what was so very\ndangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the\ndragon's hundred ravenous mouths.\n\n\"Go back,\" cried they all,--\"go back to your own home! Your mother,\nbeholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she\ndo more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the\ngolden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not\nwish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!\"\n\n[Illustration: HERCVLES & THE NYMPHS]\n\nThe stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He\ncarelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that\nlay half buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle\nblow, the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger\nno more effort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one\nof the young maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.\n\n\"Do you not believe,\" said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,\n\"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred\nheads?\"\n\nThen he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or\nas much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first\ncradled in a warrior's brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense\nserpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to\ndevour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the\nfierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to\ndeath. When he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost\nas big as the one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his\nshoulders. The next thing that he had done was to fight a battle with\nan ugly sort of monster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine\nheads, and exceedingly sharp teeth in every one.\n\n\"But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,\" observed one of the\ndamsels, \"has a hundred heads!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" replied the stranger, \"I would rather fight two such\ndragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two\nothers grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads\nthat could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as\never, long after it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a\nstone, where it is doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra's\nbody, and its eight other heads, will never do any further mischief.\"\n\nThe damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while,\nhad been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger\nmight refresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure\nin helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them\nwould put a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him\nbashful to eat alone.\n\nThe traveler proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag,\nfor a twelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and\nhad at last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And\nhe had fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half\nmen, and had put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order\nthat their ugly figures might never be seen any more. Besides all\nthis, he took to himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.\n\n\"Do you call that a wonderful exploit?\" asked one of the young\nmaidens, with a smile. \"Any clown in the country has done as much!\"\n\n\"Had it been an ordinary stable,\" replied the stranger, \"I should not\nhave mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have\ntaken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of\nturning the channel of a river through the stable-door. That did the\nbusiness in a very short time!\"\n\nSeeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how\nhe had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and\nlet him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had\nconquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,\nlikewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta's enchanted girdle, and had\ngiven it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.\n\n\"Was it the girdle of Venus,\" inquired the prettiest of the damsels,\n\"which makes women beautiful?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the stranger. \"It had formerly been the sword-belt of\nMars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous.\"\n\n\"An old sword-belt!\" cried the damsel, tossing her head. \"Then I\nshould not care about having it!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said the stranger.\n\nGoing on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as\nstrange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,\nthe six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure,\nas you may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand\nor snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking\nalong together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was\nno more than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming.\nBut it was only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six\nlegs!\n\nSix legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very\nqueer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather!\n\nWhen the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked\naround at the attentive faces of the maidens.\n\n\"Perhaps you may have heard of me before,\" said he, modestly. \"My name\nis Hercules!\"\n\n\"We had already guessed it,\" replied the maidens; \"for your wonderful\ndeeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any\nlonger, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the\nHesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!\"\n\nThen they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty\nshoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with\nroses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it\nabout with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that\nnot a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked\nall like a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and\ndanced around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own\naccord, and grew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious\nHercules.\n\nAnd Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know\nthat these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it\nhad cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was\nnot satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was\nworthy of so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult\nadventure to be undertaken.\n\n\"Dear maidens,\" said he, when they paused to take breath, \"now that\nyou know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of\nthe Hesperides?\"\n\n\"Ah! must you go so soon?\" they exclaimed. \"You--that have performed\nso many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content\nyourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful\nriver?\"\n\nHercules shook his head.\n\n\"I must depart now,\" said he.\n\n\"We will then give you the best directions we can,\" replied the\ndamsels. \"You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and\ncompel him to inform you where the golden apples are to be found.\"\n\n\"The Old One!\" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. \"And,\npray, who may the Old One be?\"\n\n\"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!\" answered one of the\ndamsels. \"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very\nbeautiful; but we do not think it proper to be acquainted with them,\nbecause they have sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must\ntalk with this Old Man of the Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and\nknows all about the garden of the Hesperides; for it is situated in an\nisland which he is often in the habit of visiting.\"\n\nHercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met\nwith. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their\nkindness,--for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the\nlovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and\ndances wherewith they had done him honor,--and he thanked them, most\nof all, for telling him the right way,--and immediately set forth upon\nhis journey.\n\nBut, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after\nhim.\n\n\"Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him!\" cried she,\nsmiling, and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive.\n\"Do not be astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast,\nand he will tell you what you wish to know.\"\n\nHercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens\nresumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked\nabout the hero, long after he was gone.\n\n\"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,\" said they,\n\"when he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying\nthe dragon with a hundred heads.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Hercules traveled constantly onward, over hill and dale,\nand through the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and\nsplintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of\nthe giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to\nfight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a\nmonster. And so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken,\nthat he almost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels,\nwasting idle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it\nalways is with persons who are destined to perform great things. What\nthey have already done seems less than nothing. What they have taken\nin hand to do seems worth toil, danger, and life itself.\n\nPersons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been\naffrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a\nsingle blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and\nthe broad boughs came rustling and crashing down.\n\nHastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and\nby heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased\nhis speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves\ntumbled themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam.\nAt one end of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where\nsome green shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look\nsoft and beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with\nsweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of\nthe cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old\nman, fast asleep!\n\nBut was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it\nlooked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to\nbe some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and\narms there were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and\nweb-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being\nof a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea-weed\nthan of an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that\nhas been long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown\nwith barnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been\nthrown up from the very deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man\nwould have put you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar! But\nHercules, the instant he set eyes on this strange figure, was\nconvinced that it could be no other than the Old One, who was to\ndirect him on his way.\n\nYes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable\nmaidens had talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky\naccident of finding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe\ntowards him, and caught him by the arm and leg.\n\n\"Tell me,\" cried he, before the Old One was well awake, \"which is the\nway to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\n[Illustration: HERCVLES & THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA]\n\nAs you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright.\nBut his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of\nHercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to\ndisappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the\nfore and hind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag\ndisappeared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and\nscreaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the\nbird could not get away. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly\nthree-headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped\nfiercely at the hands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let\nhim go. In another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what\nshould appear but Geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at\nHercules with five of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at\nliberty! But Hercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a\nhuge snake, like one of those which Hercules had strangled in his\nbabyhood, only a hundred times as big; and it twisted and twined about\nthe hero's neck and body, and threw its tail high into the air, and\nopened its deadly jaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was\nreally a very terrible spectacle! But Hercules was no whit\ndisheartened, and squeezed the great snake so tightly that he soon\nbegan to hiss with pain.\n\nYou must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally\nlooked so much like the wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the\npower of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so\nroughly seized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into\nsuch surprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the\nhero would be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp,\nthe Old One would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of\nthe sea, whence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of\ncoming up, in order to answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine\npeople out of a hundred, I suppose, would have been frightened out of\ntheir wits by the very first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken\nto their heels at once. For, one of the hardest things in this world\nis, to see the difference between real dangers and imaginary ones.\n\nBut, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One\nso much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no\nsmall torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own\nfigure. So there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of\npersonage, with something like a tuft of sea-weed at his chin.\n\n\"Pray, what do you want with me?\" cried the Old One, as soon as he\ncould take breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so\nmany false shapes. \"Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go, this\nmoment, or I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!\"\n\n\"My name is Hercules!\" roared the mighty stranger. \"And you will never\nget out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the garden\nof the Hesperides!\"\n\nWhen the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with\nhalf an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he\nwanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must\nrecollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other sea-faring people.\nOf course, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the\nwonderful things that he was constantly performing, in various parts\nof the earth, and how determined he always was to accomplish whatever\nhe undertook. He therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told\nthe hero how to find the garden of the Hesperides, and likewise\nwarned him of many difficulties which must be overcome, before he\ncould arrive thither.\n\n\"You must go on, thus and thus,\" said the Old Man of the Sea, after\ntaking the points of the compass, \"till you come in sight of a very\ntall giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he\nhappens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of\nthe Hesperides lies.\"\n\n\"And if the giant happens not to be in the humor,\" remarked Hercules,\nbalancing his club on the tip of his finger, \"perhaps I shall find\nmeans to persuade him!\"\n\nThanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having\nsqueezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a\ngreat many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing,\nif I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.\n\nIt was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a\nprodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature, that\nevery time he touched the earth he became ten times as strong as ever\nhe had been before. His name was Antæus. You may see, plainly enough,\nthat it was a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow;\nfor, as often as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again,\nstronger, fiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than if his enemy had\nlet him alone. Thus, the harder Hercules pounded the giant with his\nclub, the further he seemed from winning the victory. I have sometimes\nargued with such people, but never fought with one. The only way in\nwhich Hercules found it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting\nAntæus off his feet into the air, and squeezing, and squeezing, and\nsqueezing him, until, finally, the strength was quite squeezed out of\nhis enormous body.\n\nWhen this affair was finished, Hercules continued his travels, and\nwent to the land of Egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have\nbeen put to death, if he had not slain the king of the country, and\nmade his escape. Passing through the deserts of Africa, and going as\nfast as he could, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean.\nAnd here, unless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed\nas if his journey must needs be at an end.\n\nNothing was before him, save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.\nBut, suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a\ngreat way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed\nvery brightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk of\nthe sun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It\nevidently drew nearer; for, at every instant, this wonderful object\nbecame larger and more lustrous. At length, it had come so nigh that\nHercules discovered it to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of\ngold or burnished brass. How it had got afloat upon the sea is more\nthan I can tell you. There it was, at all events, rolling on the\ntumultuous billows, which tossed it up and down, and heaved their\nfoamy tops against its sides, but without ever throwing their spray\nover the brim.\n\n\"I have seen many giants, in my time,\" thought Hercules, \"but never\none that would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!\"\n\nAnd, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large--as\nlarge--but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it\nwas. To speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great\nmill-wheel; and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving\nsurges more lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves\ntumbled it onward, until it grazed against the shore, within a short\ndistance of the spot where Hercules was standing.\n\nAs soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not\ngone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty\nwell how to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little\nout of the common rule. It was just as clear as daylight that this\nmarvelous cup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided\nhitherward, in order to carry Hercules across the sea, on his way to\nthe garden of the Hesperides. Accordingly, without a moment's delay,\nhe clambered over the brim, and slid down on the inside, where,\nspreading out his lion's skin, he proceeded to take a little repose.\nHe had scarcely rested, until now, since he bade farewell to the\ndamsels on the margin of the river. The waves dashed, with a pleasant\nand ringing sound, against the circumference of the hollow cup; it\nrocked lightly to and fro, and the motion was so soothing that it\nspeedily rocked Hercules into an agreeable slumber.\n\nHis nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to\ngraze against a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and\nreverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times\nas loudly as ever you heard a church-bell. The noise awoke Hercules,\nwho instantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts\nhe was. He was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across\na great part of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed\nto be an island. And, on that island, what do you think he saw?\n\nNo; you will never guess it, not if you were to try fifty thousand\ntimes! It positively appears to me that this was the most marvelous\nspectacle that had ever been seen by Hercules, in the whole course of\nhis wonderful travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than the\nhydra with nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were\ncut off; greater than the six-legged man-monster; greater than Antæus;\ngreater than anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since\nthe days of Hercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld, by\ntravelers in all time to come. It was a giant!\n\nBut such an intolerably big giant! A giant as tall as a mountain; so\nvast a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle,\nand hung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge\neyes, so that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in\nwhich he was voyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up\nhis great hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as\nHercules could discern through the clouds, was resting upon his head!\nThis does really seem almost too much to believe.\n\n[Illustration: HERCVLES AND ATLAS]\n\nMeanwhile, the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally\ntouched the strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from\nbefore the giant's visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its\nenormous features; eyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a\nmile long, and a mouth of the same width. It was a countenance\nterrible from its enormity of size, but disconsolate and weary, even\nas you may see the faces of many people, nowadays, who are compelled\nto sustain burdens above their strength. What the sky was to the\ngiant, such are the cares of earth to those who let themselves be\nweighed down by them. And whenever men undertake what is beyond the\njust measure of their abilities, they encounter precisely such a doom\nas had befallen this poor giant.\n\nPoor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient\nforest had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees,\nof six or seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced\nthemselves between his toes.\n\nThe giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and,\nperceiving Hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder,\nproceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.\n\n\"Who are you, down at my feet there? And whence do you come, in that\nlittle cup?\"\n\n\"I am Hercules!\" thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or\nquite as loud as the giant's own. \"And I am seeking for the garden of\nthe Hesperides!\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. \"That is\na wise adventure, truly!\"\n\n\"And why not?\" cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant's\nmirth. \"Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!\"\n\nJust at this time, while they were talking together, some black clouds\ngathered about the giant's middle, and burst into a tremendous storm\nof thunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules found it\nimpossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant's immeasurable legs\nwere to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and,\nnow and then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a\nvolume of mist. He seemed to be speaking, most of the time; but his\nbig, deep, rough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the\nthunder-claps, and rolled away over the hills, like them. Thus, by\ntalking out of season, the foolish giant expended an incalculable\nquantity of breath, to no purpose; for the thunder spoke quite as\nintelligibly as he.\n\nAt last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it had come. And there\nagain was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the\npleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it\nagainst the background of the sullen thunder-clouds. So far above the\nshower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the\nrain-drops!\n\nWhen the giant could see Hercules still standing on the sea-shore, he\nroared out to him anew.\n\n\"I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold the sky upon\nmy head!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" answered Hercules. \"But, can you show me the way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides?\"\n\n\"What do you want there?\" asked the giant.\n\n\"I want three of the golden apples,\" shouted Hercules, \"for my cousin,\nthe king.\"\n\n\"There is nobody but myself,\" quoth the giant, \"that can go to the\ngarden of the Hesperides, and gather the golden apples. If it were not\nfor this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a\ndozen steps across the sea, and get them for you.\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" replied Hercules. \"And cannot you rest the sky\nupon a mountain?\"\n\n\"None of them are quite high enough,\" said Atlas, shaking his head.\n\"But, if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest\none, your head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem\nto be a fellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on\nyour shoulders, while I do your errand for you?\"\n\nHercules, as you must be careful to remember, was a remarkably strong\nman; and though it certainly requires a great deal of muscular power\nto uphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of\nsuch an exploit, he was the one. Nevertheless, it seemed so difficult\nan undertaking, that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.\n\n\"Is the sky very heavy?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Why, not particularly so, at first,\" answered the giant, shrugging\nhis shoulders. \"But it gets to be a little burdensome, after a\nthousand years!\"\n\n\"And how long a time,\" asked the hero, \"will it take you to get the\ngolden apples?\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be done in a few moments,\" cried Atlas. \"I shall take\nten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again\nbefore your shoulders begin to ache.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered Hercules, \"I will climb the mountain behind you\nthere, and relieve you of your burden.\"\n\nThe truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered\nthat he should be doing the giant a favor, by allowing him this\nopportunity for a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would be\nstill more for his own glory, if he could boast of upholding the sky,\nthan merely to do so ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a\nhundred heads. Accordingly, without more words, the sky was shifted\nfrom the shoulders of Atlas, and placed upon those of Hercules.\n\nWhen this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did\nwas to stretch himself; and you may imagine what a prodigious\nspectacle he was then. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of\nthe forest that had grown up around it; then, the other. Then, all at\nonce, he began to caper, and leap, and dance, for joy at his freedom;\nflinging himself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering\ndown again with a shock that made the earth tremble. Then he\nlaughed--Ho! ho! ho!--with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the\nmountains, far and near, as if they and the giant had been so many\nrejoicing brothers. When his joy had a little subsided, he stepped\ninto the sea; ten miles at the first stride, which brought him midleg\ndeep; and ten miles at the second, when the water came just above his\nknees; and ten miles more at the third, by which he was immersed\nnearly to his waist. This was the greatest depth of the sea.\n\nHercules watched the giant, as he still went onward; for it was really\na wonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles\noff, half hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and\nmisty, and blue, as a distant mountain. At last the gigantic shape\nfaded entirely out of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he\nshould do, in case Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were\nto be stung to death by the dragon with the hundred heads, which\nguarded the golden apples of the Hesperides. If any such misfortune\nwere to happen, how could he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by,\nits weight began already to be a little irksome to his head and\nshoulders.\n\n\"I really pity the poor giant,\" thought Hercules. \"If it wearies me so\nmuch in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand\nyears!\"\n\nO my sweet little people, you have no idea what a weight there was in\nthat same blue sky, which looks so soft and aerial above our heads!\nAnd there, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill and watery\nclouds, and the blazing sun, all taking their turns to make Hercules\nuncomfortable! He began to be afraid that the giant would never come\nback. He gazed wistfully at the world beneath him, and acknowledged to\nhimself that it was a far happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the\nfoot of a mountain, than to stand on its dizzy summit, and bear up the\nfirmament with his might and main. For, of course, as you will easily\nunderstand, Hercules had an immense responsibility on his mind, as\nwell as a weight on his head and shoulders. Why, if he did not stand\nperfectly still, and keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be\nput ajar! Or, after nightfall, a great many of the stars might be\nloosened from their places, and shower down, like fiery rain, upon the\npeople's heads! And how ashamed would the hero be, if, owing to his\nunsteadiness beneath its weight, the sky should crack, and show a\ngreat fissure quite across it!\n\nI know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld\nthe huge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the\nsea. At his nearer approach, Atlas held up his hand, in which Hercules\ncould perceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins,\nall hanging from one branch.\n\n\"I am glad to see you again,\" shouted Hercules, when the giant was\nwithin hearing. \"So you have got the golden apples?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" answered Atlas; \"and very fair apples they\nare. I took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah! it is\na beautiful spot, that garden of the Hesperides. Yes; and the dragon\nwith a hundred heads is a sight worth any man's seeing. After all, you\nhad better have gone for the apples yourself.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied Hercules. \"You have had a pleasant ramble, and\nhave done the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for\nyour trouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and am rather in\nhaste,--and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden\napples,--will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders\nagain?\"\n\n\"Why, as to that,\" said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the\nair twenty miles high, or thereabouts, and catching them as they came\ndown,--\"as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little\nunreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your\ncousin, much quicker than you could? As his majesty is in such a hurry\nto get them, I promise you to take my longest strides. And, besides, I\nhave no fancy for burdening myself with the sky, just now.\"\n\nHere Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders.\nIt being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble\nout of their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in affright,\nthinking that the sky might be going to fall next.\n\n\"Oh, that will never do!\" cried Giant Atlas, with a great roar of\nlaughter. \"I have not let fall so many stars within the last five\ncenturies. By the time you have stood there as long as I did, you will\nbegin to learn patience!\"\n\n\"What!\" shouted Hercules, very wrathfully, \"do you intend to make me\nbear this burden forever?\"\n\n\"We will see about that, one of these days,\" answered the giant. \"At\nall events, you ought not to complain, if you have to bear it the next\nhundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while\nlonger, in spite of the back-ache. Well, then, after a thousand years,\nif I happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again.\nYou are certainly a very strong man, and can never have a better\nopportunity to prove it. Posterity will talk of you, I warrant it!\"\n\n\"Pish! a fig for its talk!\" cried Hercules, with another hitch of his\nshoulders. \"Just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you? I\nwant to make a cushion of my lion's skin, for the weight to rest upon.\nIt really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so\nmany centuries as I am to stand here.\"\n\n\"That's no more than fair, and I'll do it!\" quoth the giant; for he\nhad no unkind feeling towards Hercules, and was merely acting with a\ntoo selfish consideration of his own ease. \"For just five minutes,\nthen, I'll take back the sky. Only for five minutes, recollect! I have\nno idea of spending another thousand years as I spent the last.\nVariety is the spice of life, say I.\"\n\nAh, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant! He threw down the golden\napples, and received back the sky, from the head and shoulders of\nHercules, upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked\nup the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins,\nand straightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the\nslightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed\nafter him to come back. Another forest sprang up around his feet, and\ngrew ancient there; and again might be seen oak-trees, of six or seven\ncenturies old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.\n\nAnd there stands the giant to this day; or, at any rate, there stands\na mountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the\nthunder rumbles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of\nGiant Atlas, bellowing after Hercules!\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE\n\n \n\nAFTER THE STORY\n\n\n\"Cousin Eustace,\" demanded Sweet Fern, who had been sitting at the\nstory-teller's feet, with his mouth wide open, \"exactly how tall was\nthis giant?\"\n\n\"O Sweet Fern, Sweet Fern!\" cried the student. \"Do you think that I\nwas there, to measure him with a yard-stick? Well, if you must know to\na hair's-breadth, I suppose he might be from three to fifteen miles\nstraight upward, and that he might have seated himself on Taconic, and\nhad Monument Mountain for a footstool.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" ejaculated the good little boy, with a contented sort of a\ngrunt, \"that was a giant, sure enough! And how long was his little\nfinger?\"\n\n\"As long as from Tanglewood to the lake,\" said Eustace.\n\n\"Sure enough, that was a giant!\" repeated Sweet Fern, in an ecstasy at\nthe precision of these measurements. \"And how broad, I wonder, were\nthe shoulders of Hercules?\"\n\n\"That is what I have never been able to find out,\" answered the\nstudent. \"But I think they must have been a great deal broader than\nmine, or than your father's, or than almost any shoulders which one\nsees nowadays.\"\n\n\"I wish,\" whispered Sweet Fern, with his mouth close to the student's\near, \"that you would tell me how big were some of the oak-trees that\ngrew between the giant's toes.\"\n\n\"They were bigger,\" said Eustace, \"than the great chestnut-tree which\nstands beyond Captain Smith's house.\"\n\n\"Eustace,\" remarked Mr. Pringle, after some deliberation, \"I find it\nimpossible to express such an opinion of this story as will be likely\nto gratify, in the smallest degree, your pride of authorship. Pray let\nme advise you never more to meddle with a classical myth. Your\nimagination is altogether Gothic, and will inevitably Gothicize\neverything that you touch. The effect is like bedaubing a marble\nstatue with paint. This giant, now! How can you have ventured to\nthrust his huge, disproportioned mass among the seemly outlines of\nGrecian fable, the tendency of which is to reduce even the extravagant\nwithin limits, by its pervading elegance?\"\n\n\"I described the giant as he appeared to me,\" replied the student,\nrather piqued. \"And, sir, if you would only bring your mind into such\na relation with these fables as is necessary in order to remodel them,\nyou would see at once that an old Greek had no more exclusive right\nto them than a modern Yankee has. They are the common property of the\nworld, and of all time. The ancient poets remodeled them at pleasure,\nand held them plastic in their hands; and why should they not be\nplastic in my hands as well?\"\n\nMr. Pringle could not forbear a smile.\n\n\"And besides,\" continued Eustace, \"the moment you put any warmth of\nheart, any passion or affection, any human or divine morality, into a\nclassic mould, you make it quite another thing from what it was\nbefore. My own opinion is, that the Greeks, by taking possession of\nthese legends (which were the immemorial birthright of mankind), and\nputting them into shapes of indestructible beauty, indeed, but cold\nand heartless, have done all subsequent ages an incalculable injury.\"\n\n\"Which you, doubtless, were born to remedy,\" said Mr. Pringle,\nlaughing outright. \"Well, well, go on; but take my advice, and never\nput any of your travesties on paper. And, as your next effort, what if\nyou should try your hand on some one of the legends of Apollo?\"\n\n\"Ah, sir, you propose it as an impossibility,\" observed the student,\nafter a moment's meditation; \"and, to be sure, at first thought, the\nidea of a Gothic Apollo strikes one rather ludicrously. But I will\nturn over your suggestion in my mind, and do not quite despair of\nsuccess.\"\n\nDuring the above discussion, the children (who understood not a word\nof it) had grown very sleepy, and were now sent off to bed. Their\ndrowsy babble was heard, ascending the staircase, while a northwest\nwind roared loudly among the tree-tops of Tanglewood, and played an\nanthem around the house. Eustace Bright went back to the study, and\nagain endeavored to hammer out some verses, but fell asleep between\ntwo of the rhymes.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n \n\nTHE HILL-SIDE\n\nINTRODUCTORY TO THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n\nAnd when, and where, do you think we find the children next? No longer\nin the winter-time, but in the merry month of May. No longer in\nTanglewood play-room, or at Tanglewood fireside, but more than halfway\nup a monstrous hill, or a mountain, as perhaps it would be better\npleased to have us call it. They had set out from home with the mighty\npurpose of climbing this high hill, even to the very tiptop of its\nbald head. To be sure, it was not quite so high as Chimborazo or Mont\nBlanc, and was even a good deal lower than old Graylock. But, at any\nrate, it was higher than a thousand ant-hillocks or a million of\nmole-hills; and, when measured by the short strides of little\nchildren, might be reckoned a very respectable mountain.\n\nAnd was Cousin Eustace with the party? Of that you may be certain;\nelse how could the book go on a step farther? He was now in the middle\nof the spring vacation, and looked pretty much as we saw him four or\nfive months ago, except that, if you gazed quite closely at his upper\nlip, you could discern the funniest little bit of a mustache upon it.\nSetting aside this mark of mature manhood, you might have considered\nCousin Eustace just as much a boy as when you first became acquainted\nwith him. He was as merry, as playful, as good-humored, as light of\nfoot and of spirits, and equally a favorite with the little folks, as\nhe had always been. This expedition up the mountain was entirely of\nhis contrivance. All the way up the steep ascent, he had encouraged\nthe elder children with his cheerful voice; and when Dandelion,\nCowslip, and Squash-Blossom grew weary, he had lugged them along,\nalternately, on his back. In this manner, they had passed through the\norchards and pastures on the lower part of the hill, and had reached\nthe wood, which extends thence towards its bare summit.\n\nThe month of May, thus far, had been more amiable than it often is,\nand this was as sweet and genial a day as the heart of man or child\ncould wish. In their progress up the hill, the small people had found\nenough of violets, blue and white, and some that were as golden as if\nthey had the touch of Midas on them. That sociablest of flowers, the\nlittle Houstonia, was very abundant. It is a flower that never lives\nalone, but which loves its own kind, and is always fond of dwelling\nwith a great many friends and relatives around it. Sometimes you see a\nfamily of them, covering a space no bigger than the palm of your hand;\nand sometimes a large community, whitening a whole tract of pasture,\nand all keeping one another in cheerful heart and life.\n\nWithin the verge of the wood there were columbines, looking more pale\nthan red, because they were so modest, and had thought proper to\nseclude themselves too anxiously from the sun. There were wild\ngeraniums, too, and a thousand white blossoms of the strawberry. The\ntrailing arbutus was not yet quite out of bloom; but it hid its\nprecious flowers under the last year's withered forest-leaves, as\ncarefully as a mother-bird hides its little young ones. It knew, I\nsuppose, how beautiful and sweet-scented they were. So cunning was\ntheir concealment, that the children sometimes smelt the delicate\nrichness of their perfume before they knew whence it proceeded.\n\nAmid so much new life, it was strange and truly pitiful to behold,\nhere and there, in the fields and pastures, the hoary periwigs of\ndandelions that had already gone to seed. They had done with summer\nbefore the summer came. Within those small globes of winged seeds it\nwas autumn now!\n\nWell, but we must not waste our valuable pages with any more talk\nabout the spring-time and wild flowers. There is something, we hope,\nmore interesting to be talked about. If you look at the group of\nchildren, you may see them all gathered around Eustace Bright, who,\nsitting on the stump of a tree, seems to be just beginning a story.\nThe fact is, the younger part of the troop have found out that it\ntakes rather too many of their short strides to measure the long\nascent of the hill. Cousin Eustace, therefore, has decided to leave\nSweet Fern, Cowslip, Squash-Blossom, and Dandelion, at this point,\nmidway up, until the return of the rest of the party from the summit.\nAnd because they complain a little, and do not quite like to stay\nbehind, he gives them some apples out of his pocket, and proposes to\ntell them a very pretty story. Hereupon they brighten up, and change\ntheir grieved looks into the broadest kind of smiles.\n\nAs for the story, I was there to hear it, hidden behind a bush, and\nshall tell it over to you in the pages that come next.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n \n\n\nOne evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his old wife Baucis\nsat at their cottage-door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset.\nThey had already eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend\na quiet hour or two before bedtime. So they talked together about\ntheir garden, and their cow, and their bees, and their grapevine,\nwhich clambered over the cottage-wall, and on which the grapes were\nbeginning to turn purple. But the rude shouts of children and the\nfierce barking of dogs, in the village near at hand, grew louder and\nlouder, until, at last, it was hardly possible for Baucis and Philemon\nto hear each other speak.\n\n\"Ah, wife,\" cried Philemon, \"I fear some poor traveler is seeking\nhospitality among our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him\nfood and lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom\nis!\"\n\n[Illustration: PHILEMON & BAVCIS]\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" answered old Baucis, \"I do wish our neighbors felt a\nlittle more kindness for their fellow-creatures. And only think of\nbringing up their children in this naughty way, and patting them on\nthe head when they fling stones at strangers!\"\n\n\"Those children will never come to any good,\" said Philemon, shaking\nhis white head. \"To tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if\nsome terrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village\nunless they mend their manners. But, as for you and me, so long as\nProvidence affords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half\nto any poor, homeless stranger that may come along and need it.\"\n\n\"That's right, husband!\" said Baucis. \"So we will!\"\n\nThese old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work\npretty hard for a living. Old Philemon toiled diligently in his\ngarden, while Baucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a\nlittle butter and cheese with their cow's milk, or doing one thing and\nanother about the cottage. Their food was seldom anything but bread,\nmilk, and vegetables, with sometimes a portion of honey from their\nbeehive, and now and then a bunch of grapes, that had ripened against\nthe cottage wall. But they were two of the kindest old people in the\nworld, and would cheerfully have gone without their dinners, any day,\nrather than refuse a slice of their brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and\na spoonful of honey, to the weary traveler who might pause before\ntheir door. They felt as if such guests had a sort of holiness, and\nthat they ought, therefore, to treat them better and more bountifully\nthan their own selves.\n\nTheir cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a\nvillage, which lay in a hollow valley, that was about half a mile in\nbreadth. This valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had\nprobably been the bed of a lake. There, fishes had glided to and fro\nin the depths, and water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees\nand hills had seen their reflected images in the broad and peaceful\nmirror. But, as the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and\nbuilt houses on it, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no\ntraces of the ancient lake, except a very small brook, which meandered\nthrough the midst of the village, and supplied the inhabitants with\nwater. The valley had been dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up,\nand grown great and high, and perished with old age, and been\nsucceeded by others, as tall and stately as the first. Never was there\na prettier or more fruitful valley. The very sight of the plenty\naround them should have made the inhabitants kind and gentle, and\nready to show their gratitude to Providence by doing good to their\nfellow-creatures.\n\nBut, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not\nworthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently.\nThey were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for\nthe poor, nor sympathy with the homeless. They would only have\nlaughed, had anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to\none another, because there is no other method of paying the debt of\nlove and care which all of us owe to Providence. You will hardly\nbelieve what I am going to tell you. These naughty people taught their\nchildren to be no better than themselves, and used to clap their\nhands, by way of encouragement, when they saw the little boys and\ngirls run after some poor stranger, shouting at his heels and pelting\nhim with stones. They kept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a\ntraveler ventured to show himself in the village street, this pack of\ndisagreeable curs scampered to meet him, barking, snarling, and\nshowing their teeth. Then they would seize him by his leg, or by his\nclothes, just as it happened; and if he were ragged when he came, he\nwas generally a pitiable object before he had time to run away. This\nwas a very terrible thing to poor travelers, as you may suppose,\nespecially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble, or lame, or old.\nSuch persons (if they once knew how badly these unkind people, and\ntheir unkind children and curs, were in the habit of behaving) would\ngo miles and miles out of their way, rather than try to pass through\nthe village again.\n\nWhat made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich\npersons came in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with\ntheir servants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be\nmore civil and obsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They\nwould take off their hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If\nthe children were rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears\nboxed; and as for the dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to\nyelp, his master instantly beat him with a club, and tied him up\nwithout any supper. This would have been all very well, only it proved\nthat the villagers cared much about the money that a stranger had in\nhis pocket, and nothing whatever for the human soul, which lives\nequally in the beggar and the prince.\n\nSo now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when\nhe heard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at\nthe farther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din,\nwhich lasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the\nbreadth of the valley.\n\n\"I never heard the dogs so loud!\" observed the good old man.\n\n\"Nor the children so rude!\" answered his good old wife.\n\nThey sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came\nnearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which\ntheir cottage stood, they saw two travelers approaching on foot. Close\nbehind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A\nlittle farther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries,\nand flung stones at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or\ntwice, the younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active\nfigure) turned about and drove back the dogs with a staff which he\ncarried in his hand. His companion, who was a very tall person, walked\ncalmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children,\nor the pack of curs, whose manners the children seemed to imitate.\n\n[Illustration: THE STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE]\n\nBoth of the travelers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they\nmight not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's\nlodging. And this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had\nallowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely.\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said Philemon to Baucis, \"let us go and meet these poor\npeople. No doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the\nhill.\"\n\n\"Go you and meet them,\" answered Baucis, \"while I make haste within\ndoors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper. A\ncomfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising\ntheir spirits.\"\n\nAccordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Philemon, on his part,\nwent forward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that\nthere was no need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the\nheartiest tone imaginable,--\n\n\"Welcome, strangers! welcome!\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way,\nnotwithstanding his weariness and trouble. \"This is quite another\ngreeting than we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why do you\nlive in such a bad neighborhood?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smile,\n\"Providence put me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I\nmay make you what amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbors.\"\n\n\"Well said, old father!\" cried the traveler, laughing; \"and, if the\ntruth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends. Those\nchildren (the little rascals!) have bespattered us finely with their\nmud-balls; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged\nenough already. But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I\nthink you may have heard him yelp, even thus far off.\"\n\nPhilemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would\nyou have fancied, by the traveler's look and manner, that he was weary\nwith a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough\ntreatment at the end of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with\na sort of cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears.\nThough it was a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt\nclosely about him, perhaps because his under garments were shabby.\nPhilemon perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but,\nas it was now growing dusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the\nsharpest, he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness\nconsisted. One thing, certainly, seemed queer. The traveler was so\nwonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his feet\nsometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be\nkept down by an effort.\n\n\"I used to be light-footed, in my youth,\" said Philemon to the\ntraveler. \"But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.\"\n\n\"There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,\" answered the\nstranger; \"and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.\"\n\nThis staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had\never beheld. It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a\nlittle pair of wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood,\nwere represented as twining themselves about the staff, and were so\nvery skillfully executed that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were\ngetting rather dim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see\nthem wriggling and twisting.\n\n\"A curious piece of work, sure enough!\" said he. \"A staff with wings!\nIt would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride\nastride of!\"\n\nBy this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage\ndoor.\n\n\"Friends,\" said the old man, \"sit down and rest yourselves here on\nthis bench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for\nsupper. We are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we\nhave in the cupboard.\"\n\nThe younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting\nhis staff fall, as he did so. And here happened something rather\nmarvelous, though trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up\nfrom the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of\nwings, it half hopped, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall\nof the cottage. There it stood quite still, except that the snakes\ncontinued to wriggle. But, in my private opinion, old Philemon's\neyesight had been playing him tricks again.\n\nBefore he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his\nattention from the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.\n\n\"Was there not,\" asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of\nvoice, \"a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now\nstands yonder village?\"\n\n\"Not in my day, friend,\" answered Philemon; \"and yet I am an old man,\nas you see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are\nnow, and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the\nmidst of the valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it\notherwise, so far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same,\nwhen old Philemon shall be gone and forgotten!\"\n\n\"That is more than can be safely foretold,\" observed the stranger; and\nthere was something very stern in his deep voice. He shook his head,\ntoo, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement.\n\"Since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections\nand sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be\nrippling over their dwellings again!\"\n\nThe traveler looked so stern that Philemon was really almost\nfrightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed\nsuddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a\nroll as of thunder in the air.\n\nBut, in a moment afterwards, the stranger's face became so kindly and\nmild that the old man quite forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could\nnot help feeling that this elder traveler must be no ordinary\npersonage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly and to be\njourneying on foot. Not that Philemon fancied him a prince in\ndisguise, or any character of that sort; but rather some exceedingly\nwise man, who went about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth\nand all worldly objects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his\nwisdom. This idea appeared the more probable, because, when Philemon\nraised his eyes to the stranger's face, he seemed to see more thought\nthere, in one look, than he could have studied out in a lifetime.\n\nWhile Baucis was getting the supper, the travelers both began to talk\nvery sociably with Philemon. The younger, indeed, was extremely\nloquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old\nman continually burst out a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest\nfellow whom he had seen for many a day.\n\n\"Pray, my young friend,\" said he, as they grew familiar together,\n\"what may I call your name?\"\n\n\"Why, I am very nimble, as you see,\" answered the traveler. \"So, if\nyou call me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well.\"\n\n\"Quicksilver? Quicksilver?\" repeated Philemon, looking in the\ntraveler's face, to see if he were making fun of him. \"It is a very\nodd name! And your companion there? Has he as strange a one?\"\n\n\"You must ask the thunder to tell it you!\" replied Quicksilver,\nputting on a mysterious look. \"No other voice is loud enough.\"\n\nThis remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused\nPhilemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on\nventuring to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in\nhis visage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever\nsat so humbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it\nwas with gravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly\nmoved to tell him everything which he had most at heart. This is\nalways the feeling that people have, when they meet with any one wise\nenough to comprehend all their good and evil, and to despise not a\ntittle of it.\n\nBut Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not\nmany secrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about\nthe events of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never\nbeen a score of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself\nhad dwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread\nby honest labor, always poor, but still contented. He told what\nexcellent butter and cheese Baucis made, and how nice were the\nvegetables which he raised in his garden. He said, too, that, because\nthey loved one another so very much, it was the wish of both that\ndeath might not separate them, but that they should die, as they had\nlived, together.\n\nAs the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and\nmade its expression as sweet as it was grand.\n\n\"You are a good old man,\" said he to Philemon, \"and you have a good\nold wife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted.\"\n\nAnd it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up\na bright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.\n\nBaucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to\nmake apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before\nher guests.\n\n\"Had we known you were coming,\" said she, \"my good man and myself\nwould have gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better\nsupper. But I took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and\nour last loaf is already half eaten. Ah me! I never feel the sorrow of\nbeing poor, save when a poor traveler knocks at our door.\"\n\n\"All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,\"\nreplied the elder stranger, kindly. \"An honest, hearty welcome to a\nguest works miracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the\ncoarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.\"\n\n\"A welcome you shall have,\" cried Baucis, \"and likewise a little honey\nthat we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast!\" exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing,\n\"an absolute feast! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part\nat it! I think I never felt hungrier in my life.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us!\" whispered Baucis to her husband. \"If the young man has\nsuch a terrible appetite, I am afraid there will not be half enough\nsupper!\"\n\nThey all went into the cottage.\n\nAnd now, my little auditors, shall I tell you something that will make\nyou open your eyes very wide? It is really one of the oddest\ncircumstances in the whole story. Quicksilver's staff, you recollect,\nhad set itself up against the wall of the cottage. Well; when its\nmaster entered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what\nshould it do but immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping\nand fluttering up the door-steps! Tap, tap, went the staff, on the\nkitchen floor; nor did it rest until it had stood itself on end, with\nthe greatest gravity and decorum, beside Quicksilver's chair. Old\nPhilemon, however, as well as his wife, was so taken up in attending\nto their guests, that no notice was given to what the staff had been\nabout.\n\nAs Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry\ntravelers. In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf,\nwith a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on\nthe other. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the\nguests. A moderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood\nat a corner of the board; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and\nset them before the strangers, only a little milk remained in the\nbottom of the pitcher. Alas! it is a very sad business, when a\nbountiful heart finds itself pinched and squeezed among narrow\ncircumstances. Poor Baucis kept wishing that she might starve for a\nweek to come, if it were possible, by so doing, to provide these\nhungry folks a more plentiful supper.\n\nAnd, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help\nwishing that their appetites had not been quite so large. Why, at\ntheir very first sitting down, the travelers both drank off all the\nmilk in their two bowls, at a draught.\n\n\"A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,\" said\nQuicksilver. \"The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear people,\" answered Baucis, in great confusion, \"I am so\nsorry and ashamed! But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk\nin the pitcher. O husband! husband! why didn't we go without our\nsupper?\"\n\n\"Why, it appears to me,\" cried Quicksilver, starting up from table and\ntaking the pitcher by the handle, \"it really appears to me that\nmatters are not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is certainly\nmore milk in the pitcher.\"\n\nSo saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to\nfill, not only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the\npitcher, that was supposed to be almost empty. The good woman could\nscarcely believe her eyes. She had certainly poured out nearly all the\nmilk, and had peeped in afterwards, and seen the bottom of the\npitcher, as she set it down upon the table.\n\n\"But I am old,\" thought Baucis to herself, \"and apt to be forgetful. I\nsuppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot\nhelp being empty now, after filling the bowls twice over.\"\n\n\"What excellent milk!\" observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the\ncontents of the second bowl. \"Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must\nreally ask you for a little more.\"\n\nNow Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that\nQuicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had\npoured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl. Of course,\nthere could not possibly be any left. However, in order to let him\nknow precisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a\ngesture as if pouring milk into Quicksilver's bowl, but without the\nremotest idea that any milk would stream forth. What was her surprise,\ntherefore, when such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl,\nthat it was immediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the\ntable! The two snakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but\nneither Baucis nor Philemon happened to observe this circumstance)\nstretched out their heads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.\n\nAnd then what a delicious fragrance the milk had! It seemed as if\nPhilemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest\nherbage that could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish that\neach of you, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice\nmilk, at supper-time!\n\n\"And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,\" said Quicksilver,\n\"and a little of that honey!\"\n\n[Illustration: THE STRANGERS ENTERTAINED]\n\nBaucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and\nher husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be\npalatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of\nthe oven. Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it\nmore delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe\nthat it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking. Yet, what other\nloaf could it possibly be?\n\nBut, oh the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to\ndescribe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its color was that of\nthe purest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a\nthousand flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly\ngarden, and to seek which the bees must have flown high above the\nclouds. The wonder is, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so\ndelicious fragrance and immortal bloom, they should have been content\nto fly down again to their hive in Philemon's garden. Never was such\nhoney tasted, seen, or smelt. The perfume floated around the kitchen,\nand made it so delightful, that, had you closed your eyes, you would\ninstantly have forgotten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have\nfancied yourself in an arbor, with celestial honeysuckles creeping\nover it.\n\nAlthough good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but\nthink that there was something rather out of the common way, in all\nthat had been going on. So, after helping the guests to bread and\nhoney, and laying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat\ndown by Philemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.\n\n\"Did you ever hear the like?\" asked she.\n\n\"No, I never did,\" answered Philemon, with a smile. \"And I rather\nthink, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a\ndream. If I had poured out the milk, I should have seen through the\nbusiness at once. There happened to be a little more in the pitcher\nthan you thought,--that is all.\"\n\n\"Ah, husband,\" said Baucis, \"say what you will, these are very\nuncommon people.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied Philemon, still smiling, \"perhaps they are. They\ncertainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily\nglad to see them making so comfortable a supper.\"\n\nEach of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.\nBaucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of\nopinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each\nseparate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice.\nIt was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been\nproduced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage\nwall.\n\n\"Very admirable grapes these!\" observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed\none after another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. \"Pray,\nmy good host, whence did you gather them?\"\n\n\"From my own vine,\" answered Philemon. \"You may see one of its\nbranches twisting across the window, yonder. But wife and I never\nthought the grapes very fine ones.\"\n\n\"I never tasted better,\" said the guest. \"Another cup of this\ndelicious milk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better\nthan a prince.\"\n\nThis time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher;\nfor he was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the\nmarvels which Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old\nwife was incapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in\nwhat she supposed to be true; but this was so very singular a case,\nthat he wanted to see into it with his own eyes. On taking up the\npitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied\nthat it contained not so much as a single drop. All at once, however,\nhe beheld a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of\nthe pitcher, and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and\ndeliciously fragrant milk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his\nsurprise, did not drop the miraculous pitcher from his hand.\n\n\"Who are ye, wonder-working strangers?\" cried he, even more bewildered\nthan his wife had been.\n\n\"Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends,\" replied the elder\ntraveler, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet\nand awe-inspiring in it. \"Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may\nyour pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more\nthan for the needy wayfarer!\"\n\nThe supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to\ntheir place of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with\nthem a little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt,\nand their delight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much\nbetter and more abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveler had\ninspired them with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any\nquestions. And when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how\nunder the sun a fountain of milk could have got into an old earthen\npitcher, this latter personage pointed to his staff.\n\n\"There is the whole mystery of the affair,\" quoth Quicksilver; \"and if\nyou can make it out, I'll thank you to let me know. I can't tell what\nto make of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this;\nsometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away.\nIf I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was\nbewitched!\"\n\nHe said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather\nfancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his\nheels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old\ncouple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the\nevening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They\nhad given up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed\nfor themselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as\ntheir own hearts.\n\nThe old man and his wife were stirring betimes in the morning, and the\nstrangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to\ndepart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,\nuntil Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,\nperhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast. The guests,\nhowever, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their\njourney before the heat of the day should come on. They, therefore,\npersisted in setting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to\nwalk forth with them a short distance, and show them the road which\nthey were to take.\n\nSo they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old\nfriends. It was very remarkable, indeed, how familiar the old couple\ninsensibly grew with the elder traveler, and how their good and simple\nspirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into\nthe illimitable ocean. And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick,\nlaughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but\npeeped into their minds, before they suspected it themselves. They\nsometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so\nquick-witted, and also that he would fling away his staff, which\nlooked so mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing\nabout it. But then, again, Quicksilver showed himself so very\ngood-humored, that they would have been rejoiced to keep him in their\ncottage, staff, snakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.\n\n\"Ah me! Well-a-day!\" exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little\nway from their door. \"If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing\nit is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their\ndogs, and never allow their children to fling another stone.\"\n\n\"It is a sin and shame for them to behave so,--that it is!\" cried good\nold Baucis, vehemently. \"And I mean to go this very day, and tell some\nof them what naughty people they are!\"\n\n\"I fear,\" remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, \"that you will find\nnone of them at home.\"\n\nThe elder traveler's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and\nawful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon\ndared to speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, as if they\nhad been gazing at the sky.\n\n\"When men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a\nbrother,\" said the traveler, in tones so deep that they sounded like\nthose of an organ, \"they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was\ncreated as the abode of a great human brotherhood!\"\n\n\"And, by the by, my dear old people,\" cried Quicksilver, with the\nliveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, \"where is this same\nvillage that you talk about? On which side of us does it lie? Methinks\nI do not see it hereabouts.\"\n\nPhilemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset,\nonly the day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the\ngardens, the clumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with\nchildren playing in it, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and\nprosperity. But what was their astonishment! There was no longer any\nappearance of a village! Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which\nit lay, had ceased to have existence. In its stead, they beheld the\nbroad, blue surface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the\nvalley from brim to brim, and reflected the surrounding hills in its\nbosom with as tranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the\ncreation of the world. For an instant, the lake remained perfectly\nsmooth. Then, a little breeze sprang up, and caused the water to\ndance, glitter, and sparkle in the early sunbeams, and to dash, with a\npleasant rippling murmur, against the hither shore.\n\nThe lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were\ngreatly perplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming\nabout a village having lain there. But, the next moment, they\nremembered the vanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the\ninhabitants, far too distinctly for a dream. The village had been\nthere yesterday, and now was gone!\n\n\"Alas!\" cried these kind-hearted old people, \"what has become of our\npoor neighbors?\"\n\n\"They exist no longer as men and women,\" said the elder traveler, in\nhis grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at\na distance. \"There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as\ntheirs; for they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality\nby the exercise of kindly affections between man and man. They\nretained no image of the better life in their bosoms; therefore, the\nlake, that was of old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the\nsky!\"\n\n\"And as for those foolish people,\" said Quicksilver, with his\nmischievous smile, \"they are all transformed to fishes. There needed\nbut little change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and\nthe coldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind Mother Baucis,\nwhenever you or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled\ntrout, he can throw in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old\nneighbors!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Baucis, shuddering, \"I would not, for the world, put one\nof them on the gridiron!\"\n\n\"No,\" added Philemon, making a wry face, \"we could never relish them!\"\n\n\"As for you, good Philemon,\" continued the elder traveler,--\"and you,\nkind Baucis,--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much\nheartfelt hospitality with your entertainment of the homeless\nstranger, that the milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and\nthe brown loaf and the honey were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have\nfeasted, at your board, off the same viands that supply their banquets\non Olympus. You have done well, my dear old friends. Wherefore,\nrequest whatever favor you have most at heart, and it is granted.\"\n\nPhilemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then,--I know not which\nof the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both\ntheir hearts.\n\n\"Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same\ninstant, when we die! For we have always loved one another!\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. \"Now, look\ntowards your cottage!\"\n\nThey did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice\nof white marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where\ntheir humble residence had so lately stood!\n\n\"There is your home,\" said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them\nboth. \"Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace as freely as in the\npoor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening.\"\n\nThe old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! neither\nhe nor Quicksilver was there.\n\nSo Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace,\nand spent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making\neverybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way. The\nmilk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvelous quality\nof being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever\nan honest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from\nthis pitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most\ninvigorating fluid that ever ran down his throat. But, if a cross and\ndisagreeable curmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to\ntwist his visage into a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour\nmilk!\n\nThus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and\ngrew older and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there\ncame a summer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their\nappearance, as on other mornings, with one hospitable smile\noverspreading both their pleasant faces, to invite the guests of\nover-night to breakfast. The guests searched everywhere, from top to\nbottom of the spacious palace, and all to no purpose. But, after a\ngreat deal of perplexity, they espied, in front of the portal, two\nvenerable trees, which nobody could remember to have seen there the\nday before. Yet there they stood, with their roots fastened deep into\nthe soil, and a huge breadth of foliage overshadowing the whole front\nof the edifice. One was an oak, and the other a linden-tree. Their\nboughs--it was strange and beautiful to see--were intertwined\ntogether, and embraced one another, so that each tree seemed to live\nin the other tree's bosom much more than in its own.\n\nWhile the guests were marveling how these trees, that must have\nrequired at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and\nvenerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their\nintermingled boughs astir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in\nthe air, as if the two mysterious trees were speaking.\n\n\"I am old Philemon!\" murmured the oak.\n\n\"I am old Baucis!\" murmured the linden-tree.\n\nBut, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at\nonce,--\"Philemon! Baucis! Baucis! Philemon!\"--as if one were both and\nboth were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual\nheart. It was plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had\nrenewed their age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful\nhundred years or so, Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden-tree.\nAnd oh, what a hospitable shade did they fling around them. Whenever a\nwayfarer paused beneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves\nabove his head, and wondered how the sound should so much resemble\nwords like these:--\n\n\"Welcome, welcome, dear traveler, welcome!\"\n\nAnd some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and\nold Philemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks,\nwhere, for a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and\nthe thirsty used to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out\nof the miraculous pitcher.\n\nAnd I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE HILL-SIDE\n\n \n\nAFTER THE STORY\n\n\n\"How much did the pitcher hold?\" asked Sweet Fern.\n\n\"It did not hold quite a quart,\" answered the student; \"but you might\nkeep pouring milk out of it, till you should fill a hogshead, if you\npleased. The truth is, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at\nmidsummer,--which is more than can be said of yonder rill, that goes\nbabbling down the hill-side.\"\n\n\"And what has become of the pitcher now?\" inquired the little boy.\n\n\"It was broken, I am sorry to say, about twenty-five thousand years\nago,\" replied Cousin Eustace. \"The people mended it as well as they\ncould, but, though it would hold milk pretty well, it was never\nafterwards known to fill itself of its own accord. So, you see, it was\nno better than any other cracked earthen pitcher.\"\n\n\"What a pity!\" cried all the children at once.\n\nThe respectable dog Ben had accompanied the party, as did likewise a\nhalf-grown Newfoundland puppy, who went by the name of Bruin, because\nhe was just as black as a bear. Ben, being elderly, and of very\ncircumspect habits, was respectfully requested, by Cousin Eustace, to\nstay behind with the four little children, in order to keep them out\nof mischief. As for black Bruin, who was himself nothing but a child,\nthe student thought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play\nwith the other children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling\nand tumbling down the hill. Advising Cowslip, Sweet Fern, Dandelion,\nand Squash-Blossom to sit pretty still, in the spot where he left\nthem, the student, with Primrose and the elder children, began to\nascend, and were soon out of sight among the trees.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE CHIMÆRA\n\n \n\nBALD SUMMIT\n\nINTRODUCTORY TO THE CHIMÆRA\n\n\nUpward, along the steep and wooded hill-side, went Eustace Bright and\nhis companions. The trees were not yet in full leaf, but had budded\nforth sufficiently to throw an airy shadow, while the sunshine filled\nthem with green light. There were moss-grown rocks, half hidden among\nthe old, brown, fallen leaves; there were rotten tree-trunks, lying at\nfull length where they had long ago fallen; there were decayed boughs,\nthat had been shaken down by the wintry gales, and were scattered\neverywhere about. But still, though these things looked so aged, the\naspect of the wood was that of the newest life; for, whichever way you\nturned your eyes, something fresh and green was springing forth, so as\nto be ready for the summer.\n\nAt last, the young people reached the upper verge of the wood, and\nfound themselves almost at the summit of the hill. It was not a peak,\nnor a great round ball, but a pretty wide plain, or table-land, with\na house and barn upon it, at some distance. That house was the home of\na solitary family; and oftentimes the clouds, whence fell the rain,\nand whence the snow-storm drifted down into the valley, hung lower\nthan this bleak and lonely dwelling-place.\n\nOn the highest point of the hill was a heap of stones, in the centre\nof which was stuck a long pole, with a little flag fluttering at the\nend of it. Eustace led the children thither, and bade them look\naround, and see how large a tract of our beautiful world they could\ntake in at a glance. And their eyes grew wider as they looked.\n\nMonument Mountain, to the southward, was still in the centre of the\nscene, but seemed to have sunk and subsided, so that it was now but an\nundistinguished member of a large family of hills. Beyond it, the\nTaconic range looked higher and bulkier than before. Our pretty lake\nwas seen, with all its little bays and inlets; and not that alone, but\ntwo or three new lakes were opening their blue eyes to the sun.\nSeveral white villages, each with its steeple, were scattered about in\nthe distance. There were so many farm-houses, with their acres of\nwoodland, pasture, mowing-fields, and tillage, that the children could\nhardly make room in their minds to receive all these different\nobjects. There, too, was Tanglewood, which they had hitherto thought\nsuch an important apex of the world. It now occupied so small a space,\nthat they gazed far beyond it, and on either side, and searched a good\nwhile with all their eyes, before discovering whereabout it stood.\n\nWhite, fleecy clouds were hanging in the air, and threw the dark spots\nof their shadow here and there over the landscape. But, by and by, the\nsunshine was where the shadow had been, and the shadow was somewhere\nelse.\n\nFar to the westward was a range of blue mountains, which Eustace\nBright told the children were the Catskills. Among those misty hills,\nhe said, was a spot where some old Dutchmen were playing an\neverlasting game of nine-pins, and where an idle fellow, whose name\nwas Rip Van Winkle, had fallen asleep, and slept twenty years at a\nstretch. The children eagerly besought Eustace to tell them all about\nthis wonderful affair. But the student replied that the story had been\ntold once already, and better than it ever could be told again; and\nthat nobody would have a right to alter a word of it, until it should\nhave grown as old as \"The Gorgon's Head,\" and \"The Three Golden\nApples,\" and the rest of those miraculous legends.\n\n\"At least,\" said Periwinkle, \"while we rest ourselves here, and are\nlooking about us, you can tell us another of your own stories.\"\n\n\"Yes, Cousin Eustace,\" cried Primrose, \"I advise you to tell us a\nstory here. Take some lofty subject or other, and see if your\nimagination will not come up to it. Perhaps the mountain air may make\nyou poetical, for once. And no matter how strange and wonderful the\nstory may be, now that we are up among the clouds, we can believe\nanything.\"\n\n\"Can you believe,\" asked Eustace, \"that there was once a winged\nhorse?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said saucy Primrose; \"but I am afraid you will never be able to\ncatch him.\"\n\n\"For that matter, Primrose,\" rejoined the student, \"I might possibly\ncatch Pegasus, and get upon his back, too, as well as a dozen other\nfellows that I know of. At any rate, here is a story about him; and,\nof all places in the world, it ought certainly to be told upon a\nmountain-top.\"\n\nSo, sitting on the pile of stones, while the children clustered\nthemselves at its base, Eustace fixed his eyes on a white cloud that\nwas sailing by, and began as follows.\n\n \n\n\n\n\nTHE CHIMÆRA\n\n \n\n\nOnce, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell\nyou about happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain\ngushed out of a hill-side, in the marvelous land of Greece. And, for\naught I know, after so many thousand years, it is still gushing out of\nthe very selfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain,\nwelling freshly forth and sparkling adown the hill-side, in the golden\nsunset, when a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its\nmargin. In his hand he held a bridle, studded with brilliant gems, and\nadorned with a golden bit. Seeing an old man, and another of middle\nage, and a little boy, near the fountain, and likewise a maiden, who\nwas dipping up some of the water in a pitcher, he paused, and begged\nthat he might refresh himself with a draught.\n\n\"This is very delicious water,\" he said to the maiden as he rinsed and\nfilled her pitcher, after drinking out of it. \"Will you be kind enough\nto tell me whether the fountain has any name?\"\n\n\"Yes; it is called the Fountain of Pirene,\" answered the maiden; and\nthen she added, \"My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain\nwas once a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows\nof the huntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the\nwater, which you find so cool and sweet, is the sorrow of that poor\nmother's heart!\"\n\n\"I should not have dreamed,\" observed the young stranger, \"that so\nclear a well-spring, with its gush and gurgle, and its cheery dance\nout of the shade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in\nits bosom! And this, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for\ntelling me its name. I have come from a far-away country to find this\nvery spot.\"\n\nA middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of\nthe spring) stared hard at young Bellerophon, and at the handsome\nbridle which he carried in his hand.\n\n\"The water-courses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the\nworld,\" remarked he, \"if you come so far only to find the Fountain of\nPirene. But, pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle\nin your hand; and a very pretty one it is with that double row of\nbright stones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are\nmuch to be pitied for losing him.\"\n\n\"I have lost no horse,\" said Bellerophon, with a smile. \"But I happen\nto be seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed\nme, must be found hereabouts, if anywhere. Do you know whether the\nwinged horse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used\nto do in your forefathers' days?\"\n\nBut then the country fellow laughed.\n\nSome of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus\nwas a snow-white steed, with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most\nof his time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild, and as\nswift, and as buoyant, in his flight through the air, as any eagle\nthat ever soared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in\nthe world. He had no mate; he never had been backed or bridled by a\nmaster; and, for many a long year, he led a solitary and a happy life.\n\nOh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as\nhe did, on a lofty mountain-top, and passing the greater part of the\nday in the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.\nWhenever he was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the\nsunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged\nto the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray\namong our mists and vapors, and was seeking his way back again. It was\nvery pretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright\ncloud, and be lost in it, for a moment or two, and then break forth\nfrom the other side. Or, in a sullen rain-storm, when there was a gray\npavement of clouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that\nthe winged horse descended right through it, and the glad light of the\nupper region would gleam after him. In another instant, it is true,\nboth Pegasus and the pleasant light would be gone away together. But\nany one that was fortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt\ncheerful the whole day afterwards, and as much longer as the storm\nlasted.\n\nIn the summer-time, and in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often\nalighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would\ngallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fleetly as the wind. Oftener\nthan in any other place, he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene,\ndrinking the delicious water, or rolling himself upon the soft grass\nof the margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his\nfood), he would crop a few of the clover-blossoms that happened to be\nsweetest.\n\nTo the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had\nbeen in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful, and\nretained their faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse\nat the beautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom\nseen. Indeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within\nhalf an hour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and\ndid not believe that there was any such creature in existence. The\ncountry fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of\nthose incredulous persons.\n\nAnd that was the reason why he laughed.\n\n\"Pegasus, indeed!\" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a\nflat nose could be turned up,--\"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse,\ntruly! Why, friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings\nbe to a horse? Could he drag the plow so well, think you? To be sure,\nthere might be a little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how\nwould a man like to see his horse flying out of the stable\nwindow?--yes, or whisking up him above the clouds, when he only wanted\nto ride to mill? No, no! I don't believe in Pegasus. There never was\nsuch a ridiculous kind of a horse-fowl made!\"\n\n\"I have some reason to think otherwise,\" said Bellerophon, quietly.\n\nAnd then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff,\nand listening very attentively, with his head stretched forward, and\none hand at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been\ngetting rather deaf.\n\n\"And what say you, venerable sir?\" inquired he. \"In your younger days,\nI should imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!\"\n\n\"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!\" said the aged man. \"When\nI was a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a\nhorse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to\nthink, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever\nsaw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the\ntruth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I\nwas quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof-tramps round about the\nbrink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof-marks; and\nso might some other horse.\"\n\n[Illustration: BELLEROPHON AT THE FOVNTAIN]\n\n\"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?\" asked Bellerophon of\nthe girl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went\non. \"You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes\nare very bright.\"\n\n\"Once I thought I saw him,\" replied the maiden, with a smile and a\nblush. \"It was either Pegasus, or a large white bird, a very great way\nup in the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain\nwith my pitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh\nas that was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it\nstartled me, nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my\npitcher.\"\n\n\"That was truly a pity!\" said Bellerophon.\n\nAnd he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the\nstory, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at\nstrangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.\n\n\"Well, my little fellow,\" cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of\nhis curls, \"I suppose you have often seen the winged horse.\"\n\n\"That I have,\" answered the child, very readily. \"I saw him yesterday,\nand many times before.\"\n\n\"You are a fine little man!\" said Bellerophon, drawing the child\ncloser to him. \"Come, tell me all about it.\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied the child, \"I often come here to sail little boats in\nthe fountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And\nsometimes, when I look down into the water, I see the image of the\nwinged horse, in the picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would\ncome down, and take me on his back, and let me ride him up to the\nmoon! But, if I so much as stir to look at him, he flies far away out\nof sight.\"\n\nAnd Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of\nPegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so\nmelodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only\nin cart-horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful\nthings of his youth.\n\nTherefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many\ndays afterwards. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at\nthe sky, or else down into the water, hoping forever that he should\nsee either the reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvelous\nreality. He held the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit,\nalways ready in his hand. The rustic people, who dwelt in the\nneighborhood, and drove their cattle to the fountain to drink, would\noften laugh at poor Bellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty\nseverely to task. They told him that an able-bodied young man, like\nhimself, ought to have better business than to be wasting his time in\nsuch an idle pursuit. They offered to sell him a horse, if he wanted\none; and when Bellerophon declined the purchase, they tried to drive a\nbargain with him for his fine bridle.\n\nEven the country boys thought him so very foolish, that they used to\nhave a great deal of sport about him, and were rude enough not to care\na fig, although Bellerophon saw and heard it. One little urchin, for\nexample, would play Pegasus, and cut the oddest imaginable capers, by\nway of flying; while one of his schoolfellows would scamper after him,\nholding forth a twist of bulrushes, which was intended to represent\nBellerophon's ornamental bridle. But the gentle child, who had seen\nthe picture of Pegasus in the water, comforted the young stranger more\nthan all the naughty boys could torment him. The dear little fellow,\nin his play-hours, often sat down beside him, and, without speaking a\nword, would look down into the fountain and up towards the sky, with\nso innocent a faith, that Bellerophon could not help feeling\nencouraged.\n\nNow you will, perhaps, wish to be told why it was that Bellerophon had\nundertaken to catch the winged horse. And we shall find no better\nopportunity to speak about this matter than while he is waiting for\nPegasus to appear.\n\nIf I were to relate the whole of Bellerophon's previous adventures,\nthey might easily grow into a very long story. It will be quite enough\nto say, that, in a certain country of Asia, a terrible monster, called\na Chimæra, had made its appearance, and was doing more mischief than\ncould be talked about between now and sunset. According to the best\naccounts which I have been able to obtain, this Chimæra was nearly, if\nnot quite, the ugliest and most poisonous creature, and the strangest\nand unaccountablest, and the hardest to fight with, and the most\ndifficult to run away from, that ever came out of the earth's inside.\nIt had a tail like a boa-constrictor; its body was like I do not care\nwhat; and it had three separate heads, one of which was a lion's, the\nsecond a goat's, and the third an abominably great snake's. And a hot\nblast of fire came flaming out of each of its three mouths! Being an\nearthly monster, I doubt whether it had any wings; but, wings or no,\nit ran like a goat and a lion, and wriggled along like a serpent, and\nthus contrived to make about as much speed as all the three together.\n\nOh, the mischief, and mischief, and mischief that this naughty\ncreature did! With its flaming breath, it could set a forest on fire,\nor burn up a field of grain, or, for that matter, a village, with all\nits fences and houses. It laid waste the whole country round about,\nand used to eat up people and animals alive, and cook them afterwards\nin the burning oven of its stomach. Mercy on us, little children, I\nhope neither you nor I will ever happen to meet a Chimæra!\n\nWhile the hateful beast (if a beast we can anywise call it) was doing\nall these horrible things, it so chanced that Bellerophon came to that\npart of the world, on a visit to the king. The king's name was\nIobates, and Lycia was the country which he ruled over. Bellerophon\nwas one of the bravest youths in the world, and desired nothing so\nmuch as to do some valiant and beneficent deed, such as would make all\nmankind admire and love him. In those days, the only way for a young\nman to distinguish himself was by fighting battles, either with the\nenemies of his country, or with wicked giants, or with troublesome\ndragons, or with wild beasts, when he could find nothing more\ndangerous to encounter. King Iobates, perceiving the courage of his\nyouthful visitor, proposed to him to go and fight the Chimæra, which\neverybody else was afraid of, and which, unless it should be soon\nkilled, was likely to convert Lycia into a desert. Bellerophon\nhesitated not a moment, but assured the king that he would either slay\nthis dreaded Chimæra, or perish in the attempt.\n\nBut, in the first place, as the monster was so prodigiously swift, he\nbethought himself that he should never win the victory by fighting on\nfoot. The wisest thing he could do, therefore, was to get the very\nbest and fleetest horse that could anywhere be found. And what other\nhorse, in all the world, was half so fleet as the marvelous horse\nPegasus, who had wings as well as legs, and was even more active in\nthe air than on the earth? To be sure, a great many people denied that\nthere was any such horse with wings, and said that the stories about\nhim were all poetry and nonsense. But, wonderful as it appeared,\nBellerophon believed that Pegasus was a real steed, and hoped that he\nhimself might be fortunate enough to find him; and, once fairly\nmounted on his back, he would be able to fight the Chimæra at better\nadvantage.\n\nAnd this was the purpose with which he had traveled from Lycia to\nGreece, and had brought the beautifully ornamented bridle in his hand.\nIt was an enchanted bridle. If he could only succeed in putting the\ngolden bit into the mouth of Pegasus, the winged horse would be\nsubmissive, and would own Bellerophon for his master, and fly\nwhithersoever he might choose to turn therein.\n\nBut, indeed, it was a weary and anxious time, while Bellerophon waited\nand waited for Pegasus, in hopes that he would come and drink at the\nFountain of Pirene. He was afraid lest King Iobates should imagine\nthat he had fled from the Chimæra. It pained him, too, to think how\nmuch mischief the monster was doing, while he himself, instead of\nfighting with it, was compelled to sit idly poring over the bright\nwaters of Pirene, as they gushed out of the sparkling sand. And as\nPegasus came thither so seldom in these latter years, and scarcely\nalighted there more than once in a lifetime, Bellerophon feared that\nhe might grow an old man, and have no strength left in his arms nor\ncourage in his heart, before the winged horse would appear. Oh, how\nheavily passes the time, while an adventurous youth is yearning to do\nhis part in life, and to gather in the harvest of his renown! How hard\na lesson it is to wait! Our life is brief, and how much of it is spent\nin teaching us only this!\n\nWell was it for Bellerophon that the gentle child had grown so fond of\nhim, and was never weary of keeping him company. Every morning the\nchild gave him a new hope to put in his bosom, instead of yesterday's\nwithered one.\n\n\"Dear Bellerophon,\" he would cry, looking up hopefully into his face,\n\"I think we shall see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd, at length, if it had not been for the little boy's unwavering\nfaith, Bellerophon would have given up all hope, and would have gone\nback to Lycia, and have done his best to slay the Chimæra without the\nhelp of the winged horse. And in that case poor Bellerophon would at\nleast have been terribly scorched by the creature's breath, and would\nmost probably have been killed and devoured. Nobody should ever try to\nfight an earth-born Chimæra, unless he can first get upon the back of\nan aerial steed.\n\nOne morning the child spoke to Bellerophon even more hopefully than\nusual.\n\n\"Dear, dear Bellerophon,\" cried he, \"I know not why it is, but I feel\nas if we should certainly see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd all that day he would not stir a step from Bellerophon's side; so\nthey ate a crust of bread together, and drank some of the water of the\nfountain. In the afternoon, there they sat, and Bellerophon had thrown\nhis arm around the child, who likewise had put one of his little hands\ninto Bellerophon's. The latter was lost in his own thoughts, and was\nfixing his eyes vacantly on the trunks of the trees that overshadowed\nthe fountain, and on the grapevines that clambered up among their\nbranches. But the gentle child was gazing down into the water; he was\ngrieved, for Bellerophon's sake, that the hope of another day should\nbe deceived, like so many before it; and two or three quiet tear-drops\nfell from his eyes, and mingled with what were said to be the many\ntears of Pirene, when she wept for her slain children.\n\nBut, when he least thought of it, Bellerophon felt the pressure of the\nchild's little hand, and heard a soft, almost breathless, whisper.\n\n\"See there, dear Bellerophon! There is an image in the water!\"\n\nThe young man looked down into the dimpling mirror of the fountain,\nand saw what he took to be the reflection of a bird which seemed to be\nflying at a great height in the air, with a gleam of sunshine on its\nsnowy or silvery wings.\n\n\"What a splendid bird it must be!\" said he. \"And how very large it\nlooks, though it must really be flying higher than the clouds!\"\n\n\"It makes me tremble!\" whispered the child. \"I am afraid to look up\ninto the air! It is very beautiful, and yet I dare only look at its\nimage in the water. Dear Bellerophon, do you not see that it is no\nbird? It is the winged horse Pegasus!\"\n\nBellerophon's heart began to throb! He gazed keenly upward, but could\nnot see the winged creature, whether bird or horse; because, just\nthen, it had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud. It was\nbut a moment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly\ndown out of the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the\nearth. Bellerophon caught the child in his arms, and shrank back with\nhim, so that they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which\ngrew all around the fountain. Not that he was afraid of any harm, but\nhe dreaded lest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far\naway, and alight in some inaccessible mountain-top. For it was really\nthe winged horse. After they had expected him so long, he was coming\nto quench his thirst with the water of Pirene.\n\nNearer and nearer came the aerial wonder, flying in great circles, as\nyou may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus,\nin those wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower\nstill, as he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of\nhim, the more beautiful he was, and the more marvelous the sweep of\nhis silvery wings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend\nthe grass about the fountain, or imprint a hoof-tramp in the sand of\nits margin, he alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink.\nHe drew in the water, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil\npauses of enjoyment; and then another draught, and another, and\nanother. For, nowhere in the world, or up among the clouds, did\nPegasus love any water as he loved this of Pirene. And when his thirst\nwas slaked, he cropped a few of the honey-blossoms of the clover,\ndelicately tasting them, but not caring to make a hearty meal, because\nthe herbage, just beneath the clouds, on the lofty sides of Mount\nHelicon, suited his palate better than this ordinary grass.\n\nAfter thus drinking to his heart's content, and, in his dainty\nfashion, condescending to take a little food, the winged horse began\nto caper to and fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and\nsport. There never was a more playful creature made than this very\nPegasus. So there he frisked, in a way that it delights me to think\nabout, fluttering his great wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and\nrunning little races, half on earth and half in air, and which I know\nnot whether to call a flight or a gallop. When a creature is\nperfectly able to fly, he sometimes chooses to run, just for the\npastime of the thing; and so did Pegasus, although it cost him some\nlittle trouble to keep his hoofs so near the ground. Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, holding the child's hand, peeped forth from the shrubbery,\nand thought that never was any sight so beautiful as this, nor ever a\nhorse's eyes so wild and spirited as those of Pegasus. It seemed a sin\nto think of bridling him and riding on his back.\n\nOnce or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his\nears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly\nsuspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing\nno sound, he soon began his antics again.\n\nAt length--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious--Pegasus\nfolded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too\nfull of aerial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon\nrolled over on his back, with his four slender legs in the air. It was\nbeautiful to see him, this one solitary creature, whose mate had never\nbeen created, but who needed no companion, and, living a great many\nhundred years, was as happy as the centuries were long. The more he\ndid such things as mortal horses are accustomed to do, the less\nearthly and the more wonderful he seemed. Bellerophon and the child\nalmost held their breath, partly from a delightful awe, but still more\nbecause they dreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send\nhim up, with the speed of an arrow-flight, into the farthest blue of\nthe sky.\n\nFinally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus\nturned himself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out\nhis fore legs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who\nhad guessed that he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and\nleaped astride of his back.\n\nYes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!\n\nBut what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt\nthe weight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he\nhad time to draw a breath, Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet\naloft, and still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and\ntrembled with terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he\nplunged into the cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little\nwhile before, Bellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very\npleasant spot. Then again, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot\ndown like a thunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his\nrider headlong against a rock. Then he went through about a thousand\nof the wildest caprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird\nor a horse.\n\nI cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and\nsideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on\na wreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out\nhis heels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his\nwings pointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the\nearth, he turned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where\nhis head should have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky,\ninstead of up. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in\nthe face, with fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to\nbite him. He fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver\nfeathers was shaken out, and, floating earthward, was picked up by the\nchild, who kept it as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and\nBellerophon.\n\nBut the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever\ngalloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the\ngolden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No\nsooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had\ntaken food, all his life, out of Bellerophon's hand. To speak what I\nreally feel, it was almost a sadness to see so wild a creature grow\nsuddenly so tame. And Pegasus seemed to feel it so, likewise. He\nlooked round to Bellerophon, with the tears in his beautiful eyes,\ninstead of the fire that so recently flashed from them. But when\nBellerophon patted his head, and spoke a few authoritative, yet kind\nand soothing words, another look came into the eyes of Pegasus; for he\nwas glad at heart, after so many lonely centuries, to have found a\ncompanion and a master.\n\nThus it always is with winged horses, and with all such wild and\nsolitary creatures. If you can catch and overcome them, it is the\nsurest way to win their love.\n\nWhile Pegasus had been doing his utmost to shake Bellerophon off his\nback, he had flown a very long distance; and they had come within\nsight of a lofty mountain by the time the bit was in his mouth.\nBellerophon had seen this mountain before, and knew it to be Helicon,\non the summit of which was the winged horse's abode. Thither (after\nlooking gently into his rider's face, as if to ask leave) Pegasus now\nflew, and, alighting, waited patiently until Bellerophon should please\nto dismount. The young man, accordingly, leaped from his steed's back,\nbut still held him fast by the bridle. Meeting his eyes, however, he\nwas so affected by the gentleness of his aspect, and by the thought of\nthe free life which Pegasus had heretofore lived, that he could not\nbear to keep him a prisoner, if he really desired his liberty.\n\nObeying this generous impulse he slipped the enchanted bridle off the\nhead of Pegasus, and took the bit from his mouth.\n\n\"Leave me, Pegasus!\" said he. \"Either leave me, or love me.\"\n\nIn an instant, the winged horse shot almost out of sight, soaring\nstraight upward from the summit of Mount Helicon. Being long after\nsunset, it was now twilight on the mountain-top, and dusky evening\nover all the country round about. But Pegasus flew so high that he\novertook the departed day, and was bathed in the upper radiance of the\nsun. Ascending higher and higher, he looked like a bright speck, and,\nat last, could no longer be seen in the hollow waste of the sky. And\nBellerophon was afraid that he should never behold him more. But,\nwhile he was lamenting his own folly, the bright speck reappeared, and\ndrew nearer and nearer, until it descended lower than the sunshine;\nand, behold, Pegasus had come back! After this trial there was no more\nfear of the winged horse's making his escape. He and Bellerophon were\nfriends, and put loving faith in one another.\n\nThat night they lay down and slept together, with Bellerophon's arm\nabout the neck of Pegasus, not as a caution, but for kindness. And\nthey awoke at peep of day, and bade one another good morning, each in\nhis own language.\n\nIn this manner, Bellerophon and the wondrous steed spent several days,\nand grew better acquainted and fonder of each other all the time. They\nwent on long aerial journeys, and sometimes ascended so high that the\nearth looked hardly bigger than--the moon. They visited distant\ncountries, and amazed the inhabitants, who thought that the beautiful\nyoung man, on the back of the winged horse, must have come down out of\nthe sky. A thousand miles a day was no more than an easy space for the\nfleet Pegasus to pass over. Bellerophon was delighted with this kind\nof life, and would have liked nothing better than to live always in\nthe same way, aloft in the clear atmosphere; for it was always sunny\nweather up there, however cheerless and rainy it might be in the lower\nregion. But he could not forget the horrible Chimæra, which he had\npromised King Iobates to slay. So, at last, when he had become well\naccustomed to feats of horsemanship in the air, and could manage\nPegasus with the least motion of his hand, and had taught him to obey\nhis voice, he determined to attempt the performance of this perilous\nadventure.\n\nAt daybreak, therefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes, he gently\npinched the winged horse's ear, in order to arouse him. Pegasus\nimmediately started from the ground, and pranced about a quarter of a\nmile aloft, and made a grand sweep around the mountain-top, by way of\nshowing that he was wide awake, and ready for any kind of an\nexcursion. During the whole of this little flight, he uttered a loud,\nbrisk, and melodious neigh, and finally came down at Bellerophon's\nside, as lightly as ever you saw a sparrow hop upon a twig.\n\n\"Well done, dear Pegasus! well done, my sky-skimmer!\" cried\nBellerophon, fondly stroking the horse's neck. \"And now, my fleet and\nbeautiful friend, we must break our fast. To-day we are to fight the\nterrible Chimæra.\"\n\nAs soon as they had eaten their morning meal, and drank some sparkling\nwater from a spring called Hippocrene, Pegasus held out his head, of\nhis own accord, so that his master might put on the bridle. Then, with\na great many playful leaps and airy caperings, he showed his\nimpatience to be gone; while Bellerophon was girding on his sword, and\nhanging his shield about his neck, and preparing himself for battle.\nWhen everything was ready, the rider mounted, and (as was his custom,\nwhen going a long distance) ascended five miles perpendicularly, so as\nthe better to see whither he was directing his course. He then turned\nthe head of Pegasus towards the east, and set out for Lycia. In their\nflight they overtook an eagle, and came so nigh him, before he could\nget out of their way, that Bellerophon might easily have caught him by\nthe leg. Hastening onward at this rate, it was still early in the\nforenoon when they beheld the lofty mountains of Lycia, with their\ndeep and shaggy valleys. If Bellerophon had been told truly, it was in\none of those dismal valleys that the hideous Chimæra had taken up its\nabode.\n\nBeing now so near their journey's end, the winged horse gradually\ndescended with his rider; and they took advantage of some clouds that\nwere floating over the mountain-tops, in order to conceal themselves.\nHovering on the upper surface of a cloud, and peeping over its edge,\nBellerophon had a pretty distinct view of the mountainous part of\nLycia, and could look into all its shadowy vales at once. At first\nthere appeared to be nothing remarkable. It was a wild, savage, and\nrocky tract of high and precipitous hills. In the more level part of\nthe country, there were the ruins of houses that had been burnt, and,\nhere and there, the carcasses of dead cattle, strewn about the\npastures where they had been feeding.\n\n\"The Chimæra must have done this mischief,\" thought Bellerophon. \"But\nwhere can the monster be?\"\n\nAs I have already said, there was nothing remarkable to be detected,\nat first sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the\nprecipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed,\nit were three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to\nbe the mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.\nBefore reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke-wreaths\nmingled themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath\nthe winged horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand\nfeet. The smoke, as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous,\nstifling scent, which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to\nsneeze. So disagreeable was it to the marvelous steed (who was\naccustomed to breathe only the purest air), that he waved his wings,\nand shot half a mile out of the range of this offensive vapor.\n\nBut, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him\nfirst to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a\nsign, which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the\nair, until his hoofs were scarcely more than a man's height above the\nrocky bottom of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a\nstone, was the cavern's mouth, with the three smoke-wreaths oozing out\nof it. And what else did Bellerophon behold there?\n\nThere seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up\nwithin the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together, that\nBellerophon could not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their\nheads, one of these creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce\nlion, and the third an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep;\nthe snake was broad awake, and kept staring around him with a great\npair of fiery eyes. But--and this was the most wonderful part of the\nmatter--the three spires of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils\nof these three heads! So strange was the spectacle, that, though\nBellerophon had been all along expecting it, the truth did not\nimmediately occur to him, that here was the terrible three-headed\nChimæra. He had found out the Chimæra's cavern. The snake, the lion,\nand the goat, as he supposed them to be, were not three separate\ncreatures, but one monster!\n\nThe wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two thirds of it were, it\nstill held, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate\nlamb,--or possibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little\nboy,--which its three mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell\nasleep!\n\nAll at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be\nthe Chimæra. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent\nforth a neigh, that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At\nthis sound the three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out\ngreat flashes of flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what\nto do next, the monster flung itself out of the cavern and sprung\nstraight towards him, with its immense claws extended, and its snaky\ntail twisting itself venomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as\nnimble as a bird, both he and his rider would have been overthrown by\nthe Chimæra's headlong rush, and thus the battle have been ended\nbefore it was well begun. But the winged horse was not to be caught\nso. In the twinkling of an eye he was up aloft, halfway to the clouds,\nsnorting with anger. He shuddered, too, not with affright, but with\nutter disgust at the loathsomeness of this poisonous thing with three\nheads.\n\nThe Chimæra, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand\nabsolutely on the tip-end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely\nin the air, and its three heads spluttering fire at Pegasus and his\nrider. My stars, how it roared, and hissed, and bellowed! Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.\n\n\"Now, my beloved Pegasus,\" he whispered in the winged horse's ear,\n\"thou must help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou\nshalt fly back to thy solitary mountain-peak without thy friend\nBellerophon. For either the Chimæra dies, or its three mouths shall\ngnaw this head of mine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!\"\n\nPegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly\nagainst his rider's cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though\nhe had wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it\nwere possible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon\nbehind.\n\n\"I thank you, Pegasus,\" answered Bellerophon. \"Now, then, let us make\na dash at the monster!\"\n\nUttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down\naslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right towards the\nChimæra's three-fold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as\nhigh as it could into the air. As he came within arm's-length,\nBellerophon made a cut at the monster, but was carried onward by his\nsteed, before he could see whether the blow had been successful.\nPegasus continued his course, but soon wheeled round, at about the\nsame distance from the Chimæra as before. Bellerophon then perceived\nthat he had cut the goat's head of the monster almost off, so that it\ndangled downward by the skin, and seemed quite dead.\n\nBut, to make amends, the snake's head and the lion's head had taken\nall the fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame,\nand hissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.\n\n\"Never mind, my brave Pegasus!\" cried Bellerophon. \"With another\nstroke like that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring.\"\n\nAnd again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the\nwinged horse made another arrow-flight towards the Chimæra, and\nBellerophon aimed another downright stroke at one of the two remaining\nheads, as he shot by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so\nwell as at first. With one of its claws, the Chimæra had given the\nyoung man a deep scratch in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the\nleft wing of the flying steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon\nhad mortally wounded the lion's head of the monster, insomuch that it\nnow hung downward, with its fire almost extinguished, and sending out\ngasps of thick black smoke. The snake's head, however (which was\nthe only one now left), was twice as fierce and venomous as ever\nbefore. It belched forth shoots of fire five hundred yards long, and\nemitted hisses so loud, so harsh, and so ear-piercing, that King\nIobates heard them, fifty miles off, and trembled till the throne\nshook under him.\n\n[Illustration: BELLEROPHON SLAYS THE CHIMÆRA]\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" thought the poor king; \"the Chimæra is certainly coming\nto devour me!\"\n\nMeanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily,\nwhile sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How\nunlike the lurid fire of the Chimæra! The aerial steed's spirit was\nall aroused, and so was that of Bellerophon.\n\n\"Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?\" cried the young man, caring less\nfor his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that\nought never to have tasted pain. \"The execrable Chimæra shall pay for\nthis mischief with his last head!\"\n\nThen he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not\naslantwise as before, but straight at the monster's hideous front. So\nrapid was the onset, that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before\nBellerophon was at close gripes with his enemy.\n\nThe Chimæra, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into\na red-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half\non earth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which\nelement it rested upon. It opened its snake-jaws to such an\nabominable width, that Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have\nflown right down its throat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their\napproach it shot out a tremendous blast of its fiery breath, and\nenveloped Bellerophon and his steed in a perfect atmosphere of flame,\nsingeing the wings of Pegasus, scorching off one whole side of the\nyoung man's golden ringlets, and making them both far hotter than was\ncomfortable, from head to foot.\n\nBut this was nothing to what followed.\n\nWhen the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the\ndistance of a hundred yards, the Chimæra gave a spring, and flung its\nhuge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon\npoor Pegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied up its\nsnaky tail into a knot! Up flew the aerial steed, higher, higher,\nhigher, above the mountain-peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of\nsight of the solid earth. But still the earth-born monster kept its\nhold, and was borne upward, along with the creature of light and air.\nBellerophon, meanwhile, turning about, found himself face to face with\nthe ugly grimness of the Chimæra's visage, and could only avoid being\nscorched to death, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield.\nOver the upper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage\neyes of the monster.\n\nBut the Chimæra was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard\nitself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all,\nthe best way to fight a Chimæra is by getting as close to it as you\ncan. In its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy,\nthe creature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,\nBellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.\nImmediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its\nhold of Pegasus, and fell from that vast height, downward; while the\nfire within its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than\never, and quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out\nof the sky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the\nearth) was mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But, at early\nsunrise, some cottagers were going to their day's labor, and saw, to\ntheir astonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with\nblack ashes. In the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened\nbones, a great deal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen\nof the dreadful Chimæra!\n\nAnd when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed\nPegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.\n\n\"Back now, my beloved steed!\" said he. \"Back to the Fountain of\nPirene!\"\n\nPegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and\nreached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old\nman leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and\nthe pretty maiden filling her pitcher.\n\n\"I remember now,\" quoth the old man, \"I saw this winged horse once\nbefore, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in\nthose days.\"\n\n\"I own a cart-horse, worth three of him!\" said the country fellow. \"If\nthis pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his\nwings!\"\n\nBut the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be\nafraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble\ndown, and broke it.\n\n\"Where is the gentle child,\" asked Bellerophon, \"who used to keep me\ncompany, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into\nthe fountain?\"\n\n\"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!\" said the child, softly.\n\nFor the little boy had spent day after day, on the margin of Pirene,\nwaiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon\ndescending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had\nshrunk back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child,\nand dreaded lest the old man and the country fellow should see the\ntears gushing from his eyes.\n\n\"Thou hast won the victory,\" said he, joyfully, running to the knee of\nBellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. \"I knew thou\nwouldst.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear child!\" replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged\nhorse. \"But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited\nfor Pegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have\nconquered the terrible Chimæra. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast\ndone it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty.\"\n\nSo he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvelous\nsteed.\n\n\"Be free, forevermore, my Pegasus!\" cried he, with a shade of sadness\nin his tone. \"Be as free as thou art fleet!\"\n\nBut Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon's shoulder, and would not\nbe persuaded to take flight.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, \"thou shalt\nbe with me, as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith,\nand tell King Iobates that the Chimæra is destroyed.\"\n\nThen Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to\nhim again, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher\nflights upon the aerial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved\nmore honorable deeds than his friend's victory over the Chimæra. For,\ngentle and tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!\n\n \n\n\n\n\nBALD SUMMIT\n\n \n\nAFTER THE STORY\n\n\nEustace Bright told the legend of Bellerophon with as much fervor and\nanimation as if he had really been taking a gallop on the winged\nhorse. At the conclusion, he was gratified to discern, by the glowing\ncountenances of his auditors, how greatly they had been interested.\nAll their eyes were dancing in their heads, except those of Primrose.\nIn her eyes there were positively tears; for she was conscious of\nsomething in the legend which the rest of them were not yet old enough\nto feel. Child's story as it was, the student had contrived to breathe\nthrough it the ardor, the generous hope, and the imaginative\nenterprise of youth.\n\n\"I forgive you, now, Primrose,\" said he, \"for all your ridicule of\nmyself and my stories. One tear pays for a great deal of laughter.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Bright,\" answered Primrose, wiping her eyes, and giving him\nanother of her mischievous smiles, \"it certainly does elevate your\nideas, to get your head above the clouds. I advise you never to tell\nanother story, unless it be, as at present, from the top of a\nmountain.\"\n\n\"Or from the back of Pegasus,\" replied Eustace, laughing. \"Don't you\nthink that I succeeded pretty well in catching that wonderful pony?\"\n\n\"It was so like one of your madcap pranks!\" cried Primrose, clapping\nher hands. \"I think I see you now on his back, two miles high, and\nwith your head downward! It is well that you have not really an\nopportunity of trying your horsemanship on any wilder steed than our\nsober Davy, or Old Hundred.\"\n\n\"For my part, I wish I had Pegasus here, at this moment,\" said the\nstudent. \"I would mount him forthwith, and gallop about the country,\nwithin a circumference of a few miles, making literary calls on my\nbrother-authors. Dr. Dewey would be within my reach, at the foot of\nTaconic. In Stockbridge, yonder, is Mr. James, conspicuous to all the\nworld on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I\nbelieve, is not yet at the Ox-bow, else the winged horse would neigh\nat the sight of him. But, here in Lenox, I should find our most\ntruthful novelist, who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all\nher own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville,\nshaping out the gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the\ngigantic shape of Graylock looms upon him from his study-window.\nAnother bound of my flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes,\nwhom I mention last, because Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the\nnext minute, and claim the poet as his rider.\"\n\n\"Have we not an author for our next neighbor?\" asked Primrose. \"That\nsilent man, who lives in the old red house, near Tanglewood Avenue,\nand whom we sometimes meet, with two children at his side, in the\nwoods or at the lake. I think I have heard of his having written a\npoem, or a romance, or an arithmetic, or a school-history, or some\nother kind of a book.\"\n\n\"Hush, Primrose, hush!\" exclaimed Eustace, in a thrilling whisper, and\nputting his finger on his lip. \"Not a word about that man, even on a\nhill-top! If our babble were to reach his ears, and happen not to\nplease him, he has but to fling a quire or two of paper into the\nstove, and you, Primrose, and I, and Periwinkle, Sweet Fern,\nSquash-Blossom, Blue Eye, Huckleberry, Clover, Cowslip, Plantain,\nMilkweed, Dandelion, and Buttercup,--yes, and wise Mr. Pringle, with\nhis unfavorable criticisms on my legends, and poor Mrs. Pringle,\ntoo,--would all turn to smoke, and go whisking up the funnel! Our\nneighbor in the red house is a harmless sort of person enough, for\naught I know, as concerns the rest of the world; but something\nwhispers to me that he has a terrible power over ourselves, extending\nto nothing short of annihilation.\"\n\n\"And would Tanglewood turn to smoke, as well as we?\" asked Periwinkle,\nquite appalled at the threatened destruction. \"And what would become\nof Ben and Bruin?\"\n\n\"Tanglewood would remain,\" replied the student, \"looking just as it\ndoes now, but occupied by an entirely different family. And Ben and\nBruin would be still alive, and would make themselves very comfortable\nwith the bones from the dinner-table, without ever thinking of the\ngood times which they and we have had together!\"\n\n\"What nonsense you are talking!\" exclaimed Primrose.\n\nWith idle chat of this kind, the party had already begun to descend\nthe hill, and were now within the shadow of the woods. Primrose\ngathered some mountain-laurel, the leaf of which, though of last\nyear's growth, was still as verdant and elastic as if the frost and\nthaw had not alternately tried their force upon its texture. Of these\ntwigs of laurel she twined a wreath, and took off the student's cap,\nin order to place it on his brow.\n\n\"Nobody else is likely to crown you for your stories,\" observed saucy\nPrimrose, \"so take this from me.\"\n\n\"Do not be too sure,\" answered Eustace, looking really like a youthful\npoet, with the laurel among his glossy curls, \"that I shall not win\nother wreaths by these wonderful and admirable stories. I mean to\nspend all my leisure, during the rest of the vacation, and throughout\nthe summer term at college, in writing them out for the press. Mr.\nJ.T. Fields (with whom I became acquainted when he was in Berkshire,\nlast summer, and who is a poet, as well as a publisher) will see their\nuncommon merit at a glance. He will get them illustrated, I hope, by\nBillings, and will bring them before the world under the very best of\nauspices, through the eminent house of TICKNOR & CO. In about five\nmonths from this moment, I make no doubt of being reckoned among the\nlights of the age!\"\n\n\"Poor boy!\" said Primrose, half aside. \"What a disappointment awaits\nhim!\"\n\nDescending a little lower, Bruin began to bark, and was answered by\nthe graver bow-wow of the respectable Ben. They soon saw the good old\ndog, keeping careful watch over Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Cowslip, and\nSquash-Blossom. These little people, quite recovered from their\nfatigue, had set about gathering checkerberries, and now came\nclambering to meet their playfellows. Thus reunited, the whole party\nwent down through Luther Butler's orchard, and made the best of their\nway home to Tanglewood."