setting of another sun?" she said. But Jason only sang the song of Chiron: No river so deep but an arm may swim, Medea, seeing that he knew not fear, gave him a magic ointment which should give him the strength of seven men and protect him from fire and steel. All the people assembled at sunrise in the field of Ares. When the fire-breathing bulls saw Jason standing in the middle of the field, fury shot from their eyes. Fierce was their rush and the multitude waited breathless to see what the end would be. As the bulls came on with lowered heads, and tails in air, Jason leaped nimbly to one side, and the monsters shot past him with bellowings that shook the earth. They turned and Jason prepared for the leap. As they passed a second time, he grasped the nearest by the horn and lightly jumped upon its back. The bull, unused to the burden, sank frightened to the ground. Jason patted its neck, caressing it, and gladly it shared the yoke with its fellow. When the ground was ploughed and sown with the teeth of the serpent, a thousand warriors sprang full-armed from the brown earth. Then King Eetes greatly rejoiced, but Medea, trembling at the sight, laid a spell upon them that they might not know friend from foe. One among them came forth and Jason advanced to meet him, walking with a limp. His enemy laughed aloud, but Jason with a mighty bound sprang upon the shoulders of his enemy and bore him helmetless to the ground. The hero quickly replaced the fallen helmet with his own, giving a golden helmet for a brazen. The other rose and fled back among his companions who, thinking it was Jason come among them, fell upon and slew him. Then they strove with each other for the golden helmet until all were slain but one who, wounded unto death, rose up from the fight and shouting "Victory" sank upon knee and elbow never to rise again. The rest of the task was quickly finished, for Medea by her spells cast a deep sleep upon the dragon. So the Golden Fleece was won and brought once more to Iolchos with a prize still more precious, for Jason bore home with him Medea, the beautiful witch maiden, who became his bride and ruled with him, let us hope, many happy years. Cheer up! 'tis no use to be glum, boys— -William Makepeace Thackeray. PICCOLA In a small, thatched cottage in Italy lived a little girl whose name was Piccola. She was an only child, and her father and mother loved her very dearly. But they were so poor that they could give her but few pleasures. The glad Christmas time was near, and in Italy, as in other countries, it is above all other days the children's festival. They are filled with wonder about the good St. Nicholas. They talk of his coming, and plan how they will lie awake to hear the prancing reindeer on the roof. And perhaps-who knows-they may catch a glimpse of the jolly old man himself, with his red cheeks and white beard and long fur coat. What joy it would be to see him filling the stockings from the pack of toys upon his back! To little Piccola it was a very happy time. She never doubted for a moment that something beautiful must happen to every child on Christmas Day. She talked and sang, and made the house ring with her joy and delight. She had been told that Santa Claus remembers all good children, and every night at bed time she would ask: "Have I been a help to you today, mother? Have I been good enough to please St. Nicholas?'' "Yes, dear child," her mother could always an swer, "but we are so poor, I fear St. Nicholas will not remember us." "Oh, yes, he will," the trusting child never failed to reply. "The kind saint, you know, loves all good children and remembers them." To her father and mother it was a time of sadness, for they were far too poor to buy presents for their little daughter. The thought of her disappointment on Christmas morning was almost more than they could bear. But what could they do? It was often hard for them to provide enough food and fuel to keep from suffering. Their house was old, and the winds beat the rain and snow through its many cracks and crevices. The much longed-for Christmas eve came at last, and with it a storm of snow and wind. The poor child was sadly troubled because she had no stockings to hang by the chimney. Perhaps St. Nicholas would come and not find a place to put his present. In a moment, however, she remembered her wooden shoes, and placing them in front of the fireplace, she pattered away to bed, happy and hopeful in the belief that her shoes would not be empty in the morning. Piccola slept soundly, and awoke sure that a gift had been left for her during the night. With a bound she was out of bed and across the room at the chimney. She looked into her shoes and foundwhat do you think? Strange as it may seem, in one of them was a tiny swallow, wet and shivering with cold. With a shout of delight she ran to her parents, holding out her treasure. "Oh, look! look!" she cried. "See what the kind saint has brought me!" Never was there a more delighted child than little Piccola. She jumped and sang and clapped her hands. Poor little brown bird! His wing had been hurt, and he could not fly. The night before he had found his way down the chimney and had crawled into the tiny shoe that stood upon the hearth. The little swallow was not in the least afraid of Piccola. He took crumbs from her hand and reached up with his bill to drink the water that she held out on her finger. All day she petted and fed her new playmate, and the bird seemed to love her in return. 1 And not in all the land of Italy, that joyous Christmas Day, could have been found a happier child than sweet, helpful little Piccola. A little neglect may breed great mischief. For want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy; all for want of a little care about a horseshoe nail.-Benjamin Franklin. |