Once there was a man who decided to take a journey to the uttermost end of the world where it touches the sky. He thought he could reach that point only by sea, but being tired of the water decided to travel on the wings of an eagle. A raven told him better, however, for the nights are months long in the far Northland and the eagle loves the sunlight.
Then this man, who was a king, gave orders to fell the greatest oak tree in his three kingdoms. Olaf the Brave undertook this task. The oak tree was very large and neither sun, moon, nor stars could shine between its leaves, they were so close together. The king commanded that deep-sea sailing ships should be made from its trunk, warships from its crown, merchant ships from its branches, children's boats from the splinters, and maidens' rowing boats from the chips.
But the wise men of Norway and Finland assembled and gave the king advice. They told him that it was no use building a wooden ship, for the spirits of the Northern Lights would set it on fire. Then the king made a ship of silver. The whole of the ship--planking, deck, masts, and chains--was of silver, and he named his vessel "The Flyer."
Then--for this was ages ago--he provided golden armor for himself, silver armor for his nobles, iron for the crew, copper for the old men, and steel for the wise men.
When everything was ready, he and his sailors set out for Finland. But they soon turned and headed "The Flyer" to the far north. The Great Bear in the sky guided them.
At the helm of the ship was a wise pilot who knew all languages and the speech of birds and beasts. The winds of Finland were angry because he slighted their country, and a great storm arose and blew the ship out of her course. The birds sang to the helmsman and told him by their song that his ship was being driven on the bleak and desolate coast of Lapland.
The king and his bold comrades succeeded in landing in Lapland, but could find no people. At last a sailor discovered a house. In it dwelt a wise man and his daughter. The king asked the wise man the way to the end of the world. The wise man answered that he had asked a vain question.
"The sea has no end, and those who go westward have found their death in the Fire Island. Turn homeward and live," said the wise man.
The king only answered by asking the wise Lapp if he would be their guide to the Fire Island. He consented and went aboard the ship. His name was Varrak.
He steered the boat due north for thirty days and thirty nights. The first danger they met was a great whirlpool, whose center was a vast hole into which had been drawn many a brave ship. Varrak threw overboard a small barrel wrapped in red cloth and trimmed with many red streamers, but with a rope attached to it. A whale swallowed this bait and then tried to escape as he felt the rope pulling him. In his flight he towed the ship to a safe place in the open sea.
This brought them far westward and at last they came within sight of the Island of Fire. Iceland, men call it now, but surely it has as much fire as ice. From the middle of this Iceland they could see great pillars of flame and vast clouds of smoke ascending into the air.
Varrak warned the king of his danger, but was commanded to run the boat ashore. Those who explored the land found a vast mountain casting up flames and another mountain pouring out smoke. Soon the party came across great spouting fountains of boiling water, and they found the ground beneath their feet to be burning lava.
The son of Sulev, who was leading this exploring party, wandered through snow-fields covered with ashes. A shower of red-hot stones warned him that he was near the volcano. Going too close to this burning mountain, his hair and eyebrows were singed and his clothing took fire. He rolled in the snow and saved himself.
Then the son of Sulev thought it best to go back to the ship. Calling his party together, he found that the youngest, the yellow-haired boy who was cupbearer to the king, was gone. The birds told the helmsman, the wise Lapp, that the lad had made friends with the water-sprites beyond the snow mountains and would never return.
The winds drove the ship about for many days till she grounded again on a strange shore.
Another party of nobles and sailors went to search this country. Being tired, they lay down under an ash tree and fell asleep. The people in this land were giants, and a giant's daughter found them. They were so very small to the giant child that she picked them up and put them in her apron, and carried them home to her father.
"Look at these strange creatures, father," she said. "I found them asleep under a head of cabbage in our garden. What are they?"
The giant knew them to be men from the east. Now the east has always been noted for its wisdom, so he questioned these men with riddles.
"What walks along the grass, steps on the edge of the fence, and walks along the sides of the reeds?" he asked.
"The bee," answered the wise man of the party.
"What drinks from the brooks and wells, and from the stones on the bank?"
"The rainbow," replied the wise man.
Then the giant told his little daughter to put the strangers back exactly where she had found them. But the wise man asked her to carry them to the ship just for fun. She leaned over the vessel like a vast cloud and shook them out of her white apron upon the deck. Then with one long breath she blew the ship four miles out to sea. The king shouted back his thanks.
But that wind blew northwest instead of north. The cold was intense and they watched from midnight to midnight the combats in the air between the spirits of the Northern Lights. The sailors were frightened, but the king was pleased. He was farther north than ever before.
The helmsman warned them that they were approaching another shore. No birds welcomed them or sang them the name of the country. Men dressed in the skins of dogs and bears met them as they landed, and took them to their homes on sledges of ice drawn by dogs. Their houses were of blocks of ice and snow, and their talk sounded like dogs barking.
The king did not like these people, for their land was cold. The wise man told him again that his search was an idle one. The end of the world was not for mortal eyes to see. At last the king believed him and sailed homeward. No man to this day has been able to find the far north, the end of the world.
North Wind likes a bit of fun as dearly as a boy does, and it is with boys he likes best to romp and play.
One day North Wind saw a brave little fellow eating his lunch under a tree. Just as he went to bite his bread, North Wind blew it out of his hand and swept away everything else that he had brought for his lunch.
"You hateful North Wind!" cried the little fellow. "Give me back my supper. I'm so hungry."
BOREAS, THE GOD OF THE NORTH WIND
Now North Wind, like all brave beings, is noble, and so he tried to make up for the mischief he had done.
"Here, take this tablecloth," said North Wind, "and, in whatever house you stay, spread it on the table; then wish, and you shall have everything you wish for to eat."
"All right!" said the boy, and he took the tablecloth and ran as fast as he could to the first house, which proved to be an inn.
"I have enough to pay for lodging, so I'll stay all night," he said to himself.
"Bring me a table," he ordered the innkeeper, as he went to his room.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the innkeeper. "You mean bring me a supper."
"No, I don't. I want only a table and that right quick. I'm hungry."
The innkeeper brought the table, but, after the door was shut, he watched through the keyhole to see what would happen.
"Beans, bread, and bacon," ordered the boy, as he spread out his tablecloth. On came beans, bread, and bacon through the open window, whirled in by North Wind. Smoking hot they all were, too, for the dishes were tightly covered. After supper was over, the boy went sound asleep.
North Wind did not waken him as the innkeeper took the table and the table-cloth and carried them down-stairs. Next morning the boy was hungry again, but there was no tablecloth and so no breakfast.
"You are a cheat, North Wind; you have taken back your tablecloth."
TOWER OF THE WINDS AT ATHENS
"No," said North Wind, "that is not the way I do." But the boy did not get his tablecloth.
After a time North Wind met him again out under the trees.
"This time I will give you a sheep," he said. "Each time that you rub his wool, out will drop a gold piece. Take care of him."
The boy ran back and found the sheep at the door of the stable, behind the inn. He caught the sheep by a strap which was around its neck, and led it slowly up the stairs of the inn, to the room from which the tablecloth had disappeared the night before.
As the boy was hungry for his breakfast, he obeyed North Wind's command and patted the sheep upon its back. A gold piece fell out of its fleece upon the floor.
"Good old North Wind!" said the boy. "Here's my breakfast and some hay for my sheep. Come breakfast, come hay," and through the open window came first a bundle of hay, and then a fine breakfast for the hungry boy. After breakfast the boy paid for a week's lodging with the gold piece.
He slept soundly that night with his sheep for his pillow, and the next night also, but the third morning when the boy awoke, his head lay upon the floor and the sheep was gone.
Perhaps too many gold pieces had been seen in the boy's hand, for he had patted his sheep very often.
He accused North Wind again. "You have taken back your sheep. I don't like you. You are as cold-hearted as you can be."
But North Wind said nothing. He put a queer stick into a bag and gave it to the boy and told him to go back and lock his door as tightly as before.
"Talk to the bag," he said, "and guard it as carefully as if there was a jewel in it."
That night the boy was wakened out of his soundest sleep by screams for help in his room. There was the innkeeper running about, and that queer stick was pounding him, first on the head, then on the feet, then on his back, then in his face.
"Help! help!" he cried.
"Give me back my sheep," said the boy.
"Get it; it is hidden in the barn," said the innkeeper.
The boy went out and found his sheep in the barn and drove it away as fast as he could, but he forgot about the innkeeper, and, maybe, that stick is pounding him to this day.
In the land of Thrace there lived, years ago, one who was called Orpheus. He was the sweetest singer ever known. His voice was low and soft.
When men heard this voice all anger ceased, and their thoughts were thoughts of peace. Even wild animals were tamed.
Orpheus went into the woods one day and took nothing but his harp with him.
No quiver of arrows was on his back, nor hunting spear at his side.
He sang and sang till the birds flew down on the ground about him, and seemed to think that a creature with such a voice must be merely another kind of bird.
ORPHEUS. Showing his broken harp
A wild cat came creeping slyly between the trees, trying to catch the little feathered listeners. Orpheus took his lute and played upon it, and the wild cat became as tame as the birds. They all followed Orpheus farther into the forest.
Soon, from behind a rock, a tiger sprang to attack the wild cat. The birds and the wild cat called to Orpheus. When he saw the trouble he took his harp again, and while he sang the tiger came trembling and purring to his feet and the birds, the wild cat, and the tiger followed Orpheus still farther into the forest.
He sat down by a tree to rest and the bees came and showed him where their honey was hidden in the tree. He fed his friends, and then he and the tiger led the way to a river where there was the purest water.
Tall trees bent low before him, and young trees tore themselves from the ground and followed in his train.
Foul waters parted so that Orpheus and his band might pass through unharmed; they knew no longer any evil thing.
Before they reached the river of pure water, to which the tiger was leading them, a lion, fierce with anger, sprang madly at his old enemy. Orpheus took his harp and played so wonderfully that the pine trees sighed with sorrow, and the lion, loosing his hold on the tiger, followed the sweet singer of Thrace. At the river the birds, the wild cat, the tiger, and the lion drank together with Orpheus, with not one thought of hurting one another.
"We are tired," said the birds. "Let us stay here by this river," and Orpheus agreed. The birds flew to the trees, while the others tried to rest on the huge rocks by the shore, but these were jagged and rough. They would give no rest to any one.
Then Orpheus began to play, and the hardest rocks were stirred. They rolled over and over into the river, and in their places the softest beds of white sand were ready for all. Orpheus rested, with the lion and the tiger for his night-watchers, and the wild cat asleep in the tree with the birds.
In the morning the harp sounded again, and the strange company wandered away, happy to be near the music. The three wild beasts fed together on the river grasses and forgot that they had been life-long enemies.
Orpheus had said, before he came into the wood, that he was tired of men and their quarrels; that wild beasts were easier to tame than angry men; and so he found it during these two days in the forest.
He took his harp and played and sang a sweet, wild song of love and peace, and overhead the leaves and branches of the oaks danced for joy of living. Not one growl, not one quarrel was heard where even the echoes of the music went. The very rocks answered the voice of Orpheus, and everything was at peace.
Then came the sound of the hunting dogs. The lion raised his shaggy head, but put it down again. Savage light came again into the eyes of the tiger and of the wild cat. The dogs came nearer. Orpheus played on his lute and the dogs came and lay down at his feet, and the hunters went home without their prey.
That night Orpheus led the birds and beasts all back to the places where he had found them, and went home to live once more in his cave in Thrace.
For years hunters told, over their camp-fires, strange stories of a tiger and a lion who lived together in the deep forest; of a wild cat with eyes like a pet fawn; and of birds whose songs were so sweet that wild beasts grew tame as they listened.
Sometimes, even in these days, it seems as if Orpheus were singing again.
When the wind stirs, there comes sweet music. The pine trees sigh, the leaves and branches of the forest trees dance as in the days when Orpheus first went into the woods of Thrace.
When the south wind blows, earth's voices become low and sweet, and the birds sing soft melodies to greet its coming.
Old books tell us that Orpheus was really the south wind itself.
"What is it in the thermometer that shines so, mother?"
"Oh, that is quicksilver, Ethel. See the line of silver run up the tube while I hold it in my hand."
"Quicksilver? I should think it was quick! See it run back, now the tube is cool. But father called it something else the other night. What was it?"
"Oh, yes; he called it mercury, my dear. It is named after one of the gods the Greeks used to worship, their swift wind-god, Mercury. We read of him in many old stories. He was so quick that he became a messenger boy for the other gods."
"Oh, I like those old myths. Tell me about Mercury. I am going to name my dove after him, for it takes messages for me. Tell me a long one, please."
"Well, my dear, Mercury is also the name of the planet that will soon be our evening star. And, Ethel, if I tell you this story now, you must tell it to me sometime when we watch his beautiful namesake in the sky. Will you try to remember it?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, I'll remember. I love the stories about the stars. It makes them seem so real. I know Venus and Jupiter, and Mars with his red eye, and now I am going to have another friend among them. Oh, I am glad I asked about that quicksilver," and Ethel settled down on a footstool at her mother's feet.
This is the story Mrs. Brown told Ethel:
"In the days when the earth was young, a little baby lay alone in its cradle in a beautiful cave in a mountain side. This baby was Mercury. His mother had left him because someone had called her away for a moment, but for some reason she stayed an hour.
"As soon as she had gone, this wee baby turned over, lifted his head, and, seeing the door of the cave ajar, put out his hand. Touching the sides of the cradle, he sprang out like a boy ten years old. Slipping through the doorway, Mercury ran quickly down to the river bank near his home. A river tortoise was in his way. His tiny toes tripped over it and he fell. Vexed to be stopped by such a slow, clumsy creature, Mercury dashed it on a rock and killed it. Then he threw it into the river and watched the fish feed on its flesh. It seemed but a minute before the empty shell drifted to his feet. Mercury picked it up and felt sorry for what he had done.
"'I will make this shell live forever,' he said. 'I do not mean to be cruel to earth's creatures.'
"Quick as a thought he bored nine holes in each side, and taking the lacings from his tiny sandals, he split them and strung them into the holes in the shell.
"Drawing his little hand across the strings, there came the sweetest sounds, and the first harp on earth was made. He was so pleased that he hid it under his white dress until he came to some thick reeds by the river, and there he laid it safely away.
"Running swiftly homeward, he came softly through the narrow opening, back into his own room, and, creeping into his cradle, he cuddled down and went to sleep."
"Why, mother, he was so little! Only a baby; how could he?"
"The old myth says he was only three days old when he did this, but remember, this is like a fairy story, and Mercury was the son of the great Jupiter. But let me tell the rest. When his mother came back, she was frightened to think he had been alone an hour, but he was sleeping so sweetly when she looked at him that she felt he had not been harmed. The mother never dreamed when she saw the open sandals that he had been away."
"But the harp, mother; didn't she ever find that?"
"No, you know the little rogue had hidden the harp in the reeds by the river. Another day he ran away and got into worse trouble than he expected, for he dared to steal some of Apollo's cattle. They were beautiful snow-white creatures, feeding in the violet meadows of the sky. As he saw them drifting slowly toward him, the mischief in him made him drive these gentle creatures into the sea, and, being tired and hungry, he tore the last one to pieces and fed on it.
"Though this mischief-maker walked backward to his home, trying to deceive any who would hunt for him, Apollo found him out. When the sun-god saw him lying there, a helpless baby in a cradle, Mercury almost made him think that he had not done the wrong. But at last even Mercury's mother believed him guilty, for the proofs brought were many, and Apollo came to take him away. Then the little wind-god took from under his cradle-clothes the harp which he had hidden there, and breathed upon it. Apollo was charmed by the melody and could only say:
"'Give me that, and I will not ask for my stolen cattle.'
MERCURY. From a statue in Florence, Italy.
"That was just what Mercury wished. He quickly handed him the tortoise shell. In Apollo's hands it made still sweeter music, for everything Apollo did was best.
"So nimble Mercury was free. When the child was a few months older, Apollo chose him for his messenger. He gave him a cap with wings at either side, and winged sandals. In his hands he always carried a winged wand with two serpents crossed and recrossed upon it. You have surely seen his picture, Ethel?"
"Oh, yes. Down at the art store there is a little statue of him. I can remember, this story always."
Vanemuine, the god of song, dwelt on the Hill of Taara. But he grew tired of living in Finland and of his beautiful hill, so he sent word for all things to come to him to receive the language they were to speak before he went away to his palace in the sky. As they gathered around him, he opened his lips and sang so sweetly, so softly, that the murmur of his harp strings seemed almost harsh as compared with the music of his rich voice.
The wandering winds who listened afar off caught and remembered only the loudest tones. The sacred stream that flows so softly around the Hill of Taara chose for its language the rustling of the silken garments which moved upon his shoulders as he played.
The listening trees of the forest heard the rushing of his flowing mantle as he descended from his throne on the crest of the hill; and ever since, this has been the language of the tree-tops. If one will sit on the mossy bank of a little brook near by a full-leaved forest, he may even now fancy that Vanemuine is come again to earth.
Some of the larger creatures took up the deeper tones of the heavy harp strings, and their language is now full of these sounds. Others loved the melody of the lighter strings, and this softer music is ever in their voices.
In his great joy Vanemuine sang songs never before heard on the earth, and the listening nightingale caught their meaning, never to forget. When you hear the nightingale pour out its song in the dusk of evening hours, you hear an echo of the song the nightingale heard upon the Hill of Taara.
Vanemuine sang of love and of the beautiful springtime. The happy lark heard and understood, and the sweetest tones of the song she sings over and over with each returning morning. As she soars higher and higher into the clear air, she sings her song, trying to tell the whole world of the love and beauty of which she heard so long ago.
While everything else was being made so happy, the poor fishes were having a sad time. They could not leave the water to go to the Hill of Taara, but they stretched their heads out of the brooks and rivers to their very eyes, yet kept their ears under. So they saw Vanemuine, the song-god, move his lips, but heard nothing, and they did as he did and made no sound. To this day the poor, dumb fishes move their lips, but speak no language.
Only the men and women who stood close around the Hill of Taara understood everything that was sung. That is why human voices more than any others can thrill us and make us see the beautiful and true.
Vanemuine sang of the glory of heaven and of the beauty of earth. He sang of the flowing waters and of the rustling leaves. He sang of the joys and the sorrows that come to all people, to children and parents, to the rich and to the poor. If we listen to the songs sung to-day, with open ears and expectant hearts, we may hear all that Vanemuine sang so long ago upon the Hill of Taara.
When Vanemuine's songs had been heard by all the world, he rose on the wings of the winds and went far into cloudland to his golden palace in the sky. There he still sings his wonderful songs for those who are greater than mankind.
To this very day the people of Finland think they can sometimes hear Vanemuine's voice when the forest trees sigh in the wind, or the water in the river softly laps against its rocky shore. Perhaps--who knows?--we may hear him, too, if we listen well!
"Oh, Grace, do see that man with all those little balloons! Don't they look like a bunch of big cherries?"
"Yes, they do, Carrie, but cherries are all of one color, and some of his balloons are red and some are blue. Oh, here is one that has burst. See, it is only a little rubber sack that was once full of air."
"That makes me think, Carrie, of a story I read the other day about a bag of winds. It was about the King of the Winds and his kindness. It was this way:
"Once a man named Ulysses was sailing over a great sea, and he came to an island. He and his sailors were so tired and hungry that they stopped for food and rest. The King of the Winds--his name was Aeolus--was very kind to them, and they feasted for fifteen days; then they had to go forward on their journey again. King Aeolus thought so much of Ulysses that he told him that he would see that he had good sailing weather all the way home, if Ulysses would promise to take charge of what he would give him.
ULYSSES. Making an offering of wine.
"King Aeolus went alone to the great cave in the mountains where he kept the four strong winds and some of the weaker ones. He pounded on the door with his heavy key to let them know he was there, and that they must wait his call. Then he unlocked the door and let out the strong East Wind, but caught the others in a great bag made of a whole ox-hide. This he tied with a stout cord, and the East Wind took it on his shoulders and carried it to the boat that was about to sail.
"Then King Aeolus told Ulysses how to fasten it to the mast, and the East Wind had great frolics with the queer bag in which were his brothers.
"King Aeolus told Ulysses never to sleep unless his faithful watchman was guarding this treasure. Ulysses thanked him and promised faithfully. Such beautiful weather had never been known before for so long a time. The East Wind had no one to quarrel with, and the boat flew like a bird for nine long days.
"The captain grew weary the tenth night and went to sleep while his watchman was off duty. That was just the chance the sailors wanted. Slyly up to the mast crept a strong sailor, thinking he would cut down this treasure which he thought was gold. As soon as the string snapped, he found out his mistake, and so did everyone in the boat.
"The mighty North Wind felt the loosening strings and rising from the corner of the ox-hide bag, into which he had been thrust, rushed past his brothers and escaped first into the open air. The West Wind came after, screaming hoarsely, while the South Wind, roused to anger by such rough treatment, whistled fiercely as his brother, North Wind, grappled with him. The clouds were twisted into curious shapes as the winds wrestled above the sea. The strong East Wind strove to drive back the West Wind, but found that nine days of rest had given his brother great strength, and the waves rose like mountains under their feet. For seven hours the winds fought, while the waters were black, for not one star dared to watch the battle. The boat of Ulysses was tossed like a seaweed, and the sailors longed for the sunlight that they might see if the storm had taken anyone from the ship. When the light came and the fury of the winds grew less, it was found that not one sailor had been lost; not even the traitor who had cut down the bag. His punishment was to live.
"The boat drifted back to the land of King Aeolus, and Ulysses begged for help. 'I cannot help you,' he said. 'You have done this by your carelessness, and you must now toil at the oars, as before, while I seek my lost winds.'
"When the winds were tired with their roaming, they came back and were willing to be led to their cave, but the stout ox-hide bag was lost, and King Aeolus never made another."
"Grace, you should not try to have the last word. It is a bad habit to get into. Shut your lips and run into another room if you can't stop yourself by any other means."
"Why, auntie, what a funny way to cure me! But I don't see that I need any such thing. Johnny was in the wrong and he knows it."
"You see, you are having the last word now. Do you remember what you heard out by the great rocks the day of the picnic?"
"Oh, that echo! Wasn't it perfect! I said, 'come here,' and it answered, 'here,' just as plainly as one of the girls, and we talked with it ever so long."
"Can you call it answering, Grace? Think what it really did."
"Oh, I know now, but I don't like to tell, because--because it seems a little as you say I do."
"Yes, Grace, and I am going to tell you a story about the very first echo. Please try to remember it and shut your lips and run away whenever you feel like having the last word. Will you, dear?"
"I'll remember the story, anyway," said Grace, as she cuddled down on a footstool at the feet of her aunt.
"This is a sad little story," said her Aunt Kate to her, "and I'm glad it is only a story.
"The first echo was a pretty girl who had only one fault--she would talk too much. She not only talked too much and sometimes, I fear, too loud, but when others tried to say a word, she would begin again and try to outdo them. She loved to tease and to vex people. Still, she was so beautiful that no one could bear to punish her.
"One day Queen Juno came down to earth (you see, Grace, this is one of the old myths) and saucy Echo dared to torment even her. Juno had left her throne in the sky to search for someone Echo knew.
"'Where is he, Echo?' Juno asked.
"'Is he Echo? Oh, no, I am Echo. Did you want me?' the saucy girl answered.
"'How dare you do it?' Juno said.
"'Dare you do it? Oh, yes, I dare do anything. Tell me what to do.'
"'You have dared too much already, silly child, and for punishment you shall lose the use of that tongue of yours, except for the one purpose of answering back. You shall still have the last word, but never again shall you speak first.'
"Just then Iris, Juno's maid of honor, came with a shining car drawn by two peacocks, and away they both went over the rainbow bridge back to Juno's throne.
"Echo in her sorrow ran and hid herself in a cavern.
From the cover of a drinking cup. Echo is seen in the branches. Pan is sitting on the rock.
"She wandered from cave to cave and rock to rock, always answering back when those who tried to find her called, but never able to tell where she was. She grew thinner and thinner, till at last nothing was left of her but her voice.
"That she will always keep, and try as hard as you may, you can never have the last word with Echo."
Queen Juno was the wife of Jupiter, the great king. She lived with her husband in one of the cloud palaces of the sky, lighted by the moon and stars at night and the sun by day.
Juno had many followers who were ready to do her bidding, but she loved best of all her beautiful maid of honor, the princess Iris. No one dared to use the rainbow but Iris, to whom it had been given by Jupiter. Whenever Iris was in haste to obey Queen Juno's orders, down from the palace she would sail in a chariot drawn by two peacocks, and if she wished she might ride all the way over the rainbow.
IRIS. From an ancient fresco.
Think of the beautiful Iris, wrapped in a fleecy cloud, gliding over this wonderful path in the heavens! Wouldn't it have been a lovely sight to see?
Once Juno sent her all the way to Dreamland to bring to Halcyone, the daughter of Aeolus, a dream of her husband, who was far away on the ocean.
Iris loved to help poor mortals, and tears filled her eyes when she heard how this lonely woman longed to see the one she loved so well.
The clouds caught the tears from the eyes of Iris, and quickly made ready for her the glorious rainbow bridge, reaching from Dreamland to the wonderful Garden of the Gods.
She wrapped herself in a cloud chosen from the sunset and, stepping into her chariot, gave the signal to her birds and drove swiftly down, down to the dim country of the King of Sleep.
Before she could reach the entrance to his palace, she had to drive through field after field of poppies, red as the sunset she had just left in the sky, for poppies give sleep to the people of Dreamland.
Somnus, the King of Sleep, lived in a deep, still cave, so dark that he had never seen the rainbow or the sun. There was no gate; soft black plumes and curtains served as doors. Here in the heart of Dreamland Iris saw all about her strange, beautiful dreams.
There were dreams for children of toys and candies and plays; dreams for men and women of all that they had ever wished for; dreams, dreams, everywhere. But Iris did not like darkness any better than you and I do, and she quickly gave an order for the King of Sleep to send the best dream possible to the anxious Halcyone. Then back she drove over the rainbow bridge, up, up to the bright palace in the clouds.
THE HEAD OF IRIS. From a frieze on the Parthenon.
As soon as she had left the rainbow's track it faded away, but, even before it was out of sight, a dream of her husband had come to Halcyone, and Iris was happy.
Iris loved the water best of all things on earth. She always wore a chain of raindrops for pearls, and a cloud for a robe. She had an army of soldiers by each river bank. Men called the soldiers plants, but their swords were always drawn for Iris, and their stately heads were adorned with her favorite colors.
When you see a group of plants clustered at the water's edge, with their sword-like leaves pointing to the sky, and their great blue flowers looking like a crown, remember that is the flower Iris loved.
Tiu, Ziu, or Tyr, were three names for one of Woden's sons. Tiu was the brother of Thor, and his mother, Frigga, was always proud of his courage in war and of his skill and strength in battle. The soldiers of the Northland cried to him for help as often as they did to his father, Woden.
Tiu's sign was a sword, and the brave old kings of Norway and their followers used to engrave his name upon their bright steel blades that they might please the great warrior who lived in Asgard. It was thought that if Tiu saw his name written in the strange Runic letters he would give his help to the man who honored that name and keep his good sword sharp.
Thor and Tiu went, in the olden time, to the house of a giant to secure a large kettle which was in the giant's house.
Thor's goats drew with magic swiftness the chariot in which the two rode, and Thor and Tiu arrived at the house in a few moments.
The giant's wife hid the two huge visitors under one of the many caldrons she had in her kitchen. When her husband came he broke all the kettles but one by just glancing at them. He welcomed his visitors in a very grim way and ordered them to be seated at the table with him. Thor ate so much that the giant grew angry, but Thor told him he would repay all by bringing him fish from the sea the next day.
Thor caught two whales and carried them to the giant's house, as he had promised. The giant laughingly said that he would give him one of the kettles if he could carry it. Tin tried twice and failed, but Thor, putting on his magic belt, lifted the kettle and set it on his head like a cap.
Then the goats took the two sons of Woden back to their home in Asgard.
If anyone should tell you that the giant was winter, and his kettles the strangely shaped icebergs of the arctic North, would you believe it? Thor was the god of thunder riding in the clouds with his brother, the god of bravery and of the strong winds.
Tiu's name has been given to the day before Woden's day, and when Tuesday comes, try to be as true, brave, and swift as Tiu, the son of Woden.
"Mother, when papa came back from South America, he told us a queer story about the sailors dressing up in masks. What holiday was it? And what did they do it for?"
"That must have been, Charlie, when the ship crossed the line, or the equator, as you call it in the geography class. I remember his telling about King Neptune and his trident."
NEPTUNE
"What did the sailors do, mother?"
"Why, one dressed to represent Neptune, a famous ocean god, and the rest masked as his followers. They were given presents by the passengers on the ship, and it was a grand holiday."
"But who is King Neptune, and where does this ocean god live, mother?"
"People used to believe that Neptune was really king of all the waters on the earth, Charlie. Doesn't that seem strange? I'll tell you a story that I heard about Neptune and some of the other gods whom the Greeks used to worship. Perhaps you will find more stories about him sometime."
"Wait a minute, mother, till I get that easy chair for you. Now we are ready to begin."
"Once on a time, Juno, the wife of Jupiter, while watching from the sky, saw some ships on the sea beneath her.
"After looking closely, she found they were the seven ships of Aeneas, who was trying to reach the land of Italy and was now only a few miles from its shore.
"Juno, for reasons of her own, did not want Aeneas to reach the land. Knowing something must be done in the shortest possible time she went to King Aeolus and asked his help. She promised him all manner of beautiful gifts if he would only send his winds against the ships of Aeneas.
"King Aeolus knew he was doing wrong, but he would not refuse Juno. He went to the mountain cave where he kept the storm winds, and, taking his heavy war spear, burst open the massive door of the cavern and let all the mad crew out at once.
"The storm they made was terrible. Great waves like mountains came sweeping over the land, carrying trees and everything away.
"The ships of Aeneas were only playthings in such a hurricane, and the winds seemed to know for what they had been let loose.
"The great cables that fastened heavy anchors to the ships were snapped like stalks of corn. The winds roared like wild animals. The sky was as black as night, and great waterspouts went whirling by like huge tops set spinning by the blasts.
"One fierce wind blew against the ship of Aeneas and overturned it.
"A whirlwind caught three other ships and tossed them lightly on the great rocks, on the shore. Another whirlwind sent three more ships into the terrible quicksands and they were swallowed up.
"Aeneas, swimming in the water, saw around him his trusty sailors clinging, like himself, to broken planks and pieces of timber. All about them floated concave shields, outspread mantles, and overturned helmets. Treasures, too, in the shape of precious home gifts, and robes covered with jewels, drifted past them.
"But the only thing anyone wanted then was life, and it seemed as if the winds and waters were ready and able to destroy every man of them.
"Aeneas called to Neptune, king of the seas, and Neptune heard him and came riding up out of the bottom of the ocean.
"He held his golden-maned horses firmly in check, while his voice roared over the waters, asking:
"'What is this, you winds, that you dare to trouble earth and sky without leave from me? Who let you free from your rock prison?'
"The waves were afraid and quieted down. The clouds scattered like naughty children caught in mischief. The winds flew home and, hurrying back into their cave, blew the door tight-shut with a bang. Then everybody waited to see what King Neptune would do.
"He ordered some of his ocean train to pry the three ships off the rocks, but they could not, and he had to help them with his trident, or three-pointed spear. Then King Neptune opened the quicksands and the other three ships sailed out on the water again.
"Neptune knew Aeneas was a brave man and always quick to answer a call for help, so the boat of Aeneas had been taken care of first, and he and his men were put back safely into it.
A GREEK COIN. Made about 510 B.C. representing Neptune, or Poseidon, as the Greeks called him
"King Neptune, seeing everything was quiet again, showed Aeneas a beautiful harbor where he and his sailors could rest. The brazen-hoofed steeds that drew Neptune's chariot were tossing their heads and growing restive. So Neptune called his followers, and in a flash they all disappeared into the depths of the sea.
"Jupiter, ruler of the sky, praised Neptune for his skill in checking the furious winds and maddened waves, and Pluto, ruler of the center of the earth, said he was proud to call him brother."
"Well, that must have made King Aeolus ashamed of himself. Don't you think so, mother?"
Once a poor peasant named Gordius thought he would give himself and his family a holiday in the city. He had no horses, but his yoke of oxen could draw the heavy wagon very well. He fastened them to his cart and, putting in his wife and boy, climbed in himself.
When near the city, the capital of Phrygia, he thought it would look better for him to walk and drive his oxen. This he did. As he approached the city he heard a great noise in the marketplace. He hurried his oxen to find out what it was all about. He had to jump into his wagon to avoid the crowd that was following him, and so drove to a great oak in the public square.
Such a welcome as this poor countryman had!
"Here comes our king!" was the cry from everyone. "We were told he should come this day in a wagon drawn by oxen, and here he is!"
Gordius could not believe what he heard. But the chief men brought the crown and put it on his head and declared him king, and he agreed to do his best to deserve the honor.
The oak near which he had stopped was in front of a temple. Gordius gave away his oxen and, taking a heavy rope, tied his wagon with a tremendous knot to the oak. The priest came out and declared that whoever in times to come should be able to untie that knot would be king of all Asia. No one ever did untie it. But Alexander the Great came to Phrygia many years after and, failing to untie it, he took his sword and dealt the rope such a blow that one stroke cut through the magic knot.
A short time after he left Phrygia all Asia owned Alexander the Great as king, and maybe that was the way the knot was to be undone. Anyway, he did not give it up, and that is a good thing for us to remember. Cut the Gordian knots if they will not be untied.
The little boy who rode in the wagon with Gordius was Midas. After his father Gordius died, Midas was chosen King of Phrygia. He was kind and just to the people, as Gordius must have been, or they would not have chosen his son Midas to be their king.
Silenus Holding Bacchus. From a statue in Rome
One day while Midas was king some peasants found an old man wandering about in the woods. The forest was strange to him and he had lost his way. Midas knew him as soon as the peasants had brought him to the king's palace. It was Silenus, a teacher whose fame had gone through all the world. Midas treated Silenus with the greatest respect. For ten days there was feasting and games in the palace in honor of Silenus. On the eleventh day Midas took him back to the house of his greatest pupil. This pupil was more than mortal, so the story goes. His name was Bacchus. Midas told him all about the finding of Silenus, and Silenus told all about the pleasant time he had at the king's palace. Then the wonderful Bacchus told Midas he might have anything he should wish for as a reward.
Now Gordius, his father, had always wished for more money, though he had been made king and there was more gold for him and his good queen to spend than you would think he could manage. Midas, too, had wished for money. Yet all his life, since that lucky wagon ride, Midas had seen riches and jewels enough to make him grow tired of such things. But, no; when Bacchus asked him what he would have, Midas said, "Let everything I touch turn into gold."
If you had been there and could have had your choice, what would you have wished for? Can you tell? Never wish for anything quite so foolish as King Midas did, for see what trouble it made him.
After making the wish, King Midas leaped into his chariot to return home. As soon as his feet touched the chariot floor, it turned into solid gold. The reins in his hands became gold. He returned to his palace and the people thought it must be Apollo come to earth, everything was so glorious. His wife met him in the palace halls. One touch and she was turned into a golden statue. No help, no rescue! Midas went out into his garden and reached for the fruit that hung on the trees. Nothing but gold after he had touched it. Gold, gold, gold! How he hated the sight of it! His food and drink were gold. His friends, his home, even his pillow was cold hard gold.
In a few hours he raised his arms, glittering with cloth of gold, in prayer, beseeching Bacchus to take his gift away. Bacchus was kind and said: "Go to the river Pactolus, find its fountain head, plunge in, and when your body is covered your fault will be washed away."
Poor King Midas did just as he was told. When he touched the water the strange power went into the river. The river sands changed into gold, and to this day grains of gold are found by the river Pactolus.
After that, Midas lived in the country and dressed as plainly as the poorest peasant. He was so thankful to be free from his terrible gift that he never wanted anyone to remind him of the time when everything he touched turned to gold. But even in the country, the yellow plums, pears, and apples reminded Midas of the fruit he had touched in his own garden.
In autumn, when golden leaves are falling everywhere and the grain is waving in the field, one may fancy King Midas is in our own land.
"O, grasshopper, grasshopper gray,Give me molasses and then hop away."
That is what Bessie Allen said to the little creature she held between her thumb and fingers. Did you ever say that rhyme? I should not wonder if you had said it an hundred times.
The grasshopper in Bessie's fingers seemed very ready to give her brown molasses from his little mouth and then she let him hop away while she went to catch another. She did not want that molasses; all she wanted was the fun of catching the little "hoppity-hops," as she sometimes called them.
"Come, catch me! I'm a hopper," called her five-year-old brother Willie. And she saw the little fellow hopping through the grass.
Bessie had so much fun trying to catch this new "grasshopper gray," that she forgot all about the little creatures she had been pinching.
At last she had her arms around her brother Willie.
"Now you are caught," she said. "Give me some molasses."
And then they both laughed so hard that their mother heard as she came to the door to look for them.
That night their mother said to their father:
"I have a new name for Willie."
"What is it?" asked their father.
"Tithonus," said their mother.
AURORA, THE GODDESS OF THE DAWN. From a painting on an old vase.
"When I was in school one of my lessons was about the beautiful goddess Aurora. She was said to open the rosy gates of dawn with her own fingers, so that the wonderful horses of Apollo might pass through to follow their shining track through the sky. She was so beautiful that Tithonus, who lived on the earth, always watched for the sunrise, that he might see Aurora. After a while she began to watch for him, too. She looked down every morning on the wakening world and found that he was almost the only one among mortals who enjoyed the glorious colors Apollo painted in the sky with his arrows of light. One morning she dared to sing to him, and then he answered that it was Aurora, and not Apollo, for whom he was watching each morning at sunrise. She loved him for this and became his wife.
"Being a goddess, she could live for ever, and she wanted Tithonus to live forever, too. The gods and goddesses never drink wine or water, but ambrosia from golden goblets. She brought a golden goblet of ambrosia to Tithonus on the earth, and, after he had taken a drink, told him the happy news that now he should live forever. But she had forgotten to ask of the gods for him the gift of eternal youth.
"For many years they loved each other dearly. Then Aurora saw that Tithonus was growing into a little old man.
"When he was one hundred years old he was shrunken to the size of a boy of ten.
"When he was two hundred years old he was no larger than a baby, only he was very lively, and could run as fast as a man.
"When he was three hundred years old Aurora could scarcely find him, save as his song told her where he was. With his head bent down to the ground he did not look like a man, and he made his home by the dusty roadside. But every sunrise he sat upon the tallest spear of grass he could find and chirped to Aurora as she opened the gates of dawn for Apollo. After years and years Aurora forgot all about the little gray grasshopper, but I don't think Tithonus has forgotten her, for he and all his grasshopper friends chirp the same song as when he first came to live among them."
"Poor old Tithonus!" said Bessie.
"Why, no," said her father; "mother said he could never die. Maybe it was Tithonus who gave you molasses to-day. Yes, perhaps that was ambrosia instead of molasses that the gray grasshopper dropped from his lips."
"Oh, don't tell any more!" laughed both Willie and Bessie. "We won't catch another grasshopper."
You see the sun every bright day, don't you?
And you see the moon every moonshiny night.
Now, listen, and I'll tell you a story about their mother. No, not about their mother, but about the mother of the god of the sun, and of the goddess of the moon, whose names were Apollo and Diana.
It is about Apollo's and Diana's mother this story is to be.
Once when they were little twin babies their mother was in great trouble. She had to wander around and around, and get food and drink wherever she could find them.
One day she went to a pond for water, for the people in the houses were cross and would not give her any.
And just think of it! These people, careless about soiling their green coats and white vests, ran down to the pond ahead of her, jumped in and stirred the water so that it was black with mud.
And they called out, "Come and drink, Latona! Come and drink water, pure and sweet, Latona!"
LATONA. Fleeing with her children
This the cruel people did until Latona and her babies were so tired and thirsty they could wait no longer.
"Why do you abuse us?" she said; "you have plenty of water in your wells. Can you not see how these poor babies reach out their hands to you?"
But the rude people were jealous of the beautiful woman and her lovely twins, and only stirred the water till it was blacker, and cried the more, until they were fairly hoarse:
"Come and drink! Come and drink!"
Latona put her two babies down on the warm grass. Then she looked straight into the blue sky, and raising her hands said:
"May you never quit that pond in all your lives, neither you nor your children!"
The story is that Jupiter heard her, and that these cruel people never came out of the water again. They grew very small; their green coats and white vests turned into skin, and their children wear to-day the same kind of suits their parents wore that day they waded into the pool. Though they have the whole pond to themselves, they croak away until their mouths have grown wide and ugly, as mockingly as did their forefathers at Latona.
"Come and drink!" But who wants to drink out of a frog pond?
Little heathen boys, who believed this story, used to pelt frogs with stones, and there are some boys now who act just like those foolish little heathen.
There is an old story that tells how a man named Jason went on a long journey in search of a golden fleece.
He fitted up a great boat, and the bravest and strongest men of his country offered to go with him.
JASON. Putting on his sandals. From a Greek statue.
They had no ships like ours, in those days, and when the sails were not filled with wind, every man took an oar, and, with twenty oars or more on each side, the boat was made to move through the waves very swiftly.
The heroes in Jason's boat had all won fame before they started out on this voyage, and many were already warm friends. There was the great Hercules, and Orpheus, the sweet singer; Castor, who could tame the wildest horses, and his twin brother Pollux, who was the greatest boxer the world has ever seen, or perhaps ever will see.
CASTOR, THE HORSE-TAMER; POLLUX, THE MASTER OF THE ART OF BOXING. From a Greek coin.
These and many others sat side by side in this boat, which Jason called the Argo. Many strange things happened to them on their voyage after the golden fleece. One was when they were attacked by birds. They saw many new countries also, and one day the Argo sailed by a very strange island where nearly all the people lived underground. These people never plowed their land with the strong oxen, nor planted seed, nor reaped harvests. They had no flocks of woolly sheep, nor herds of cattle.
All day long they worked away under the surface of the earth, digging and digging at great black stones they found there. Then they sold these stones or rocks to people in other countries, and so bought bread for themselves.
These people, with their black faces and grimy hands, left their work for a little while when someone told them of the beautiful boat that was in sight. They looked very strange to those in the ship, for no one in the land from which the Argo came worked under the ground. In that happy realm everyone lived in the sunshine and worked in the open fields. But after a while the Argo sailed away from this home of the underground people and on beyond. Suddenly the sky was darkened and great flocks of giant birds flew thick and fast above them. Then the wind changed and the frightened rowers had to take the oars.
The sky grew black as night. Down shot a feather from one of the birds. It struck one of the rowers on the left shoulder and he dropped his oar, for the pain was like a spear-thrust. Down sped another arrow feather, so pointed and sharp that another rower who was hit had to drop his oar. Thicker and faster came these arrow feathers upon the bare heads and naked shoulders of the men at the oars.
The best archers shot back at the birds with their sharpest-pointed arrows, but not a bird was harmed.
"What shall we do?" shouted the men still at the oars.
"You will never kill those birds," said one who had seen their feather arrows before. "All that you can do is to cover your heads and let us, who are too badly hurt for rowing, help cover your shoulders with our shields."
Then those at the oars put on their shining helmets; those who did not row held up the great war shields over them. The boat looked as if it had a roof. Down on the helmets came the feathers, so sharp that many of them made holes in the shining metal. Down on the shields they pelted, till it seemed as if the sky was raining drops of lead. The birds themselves came no nearer. But oh, their feather arrows were enough to frighten even these bravest of men.
The rowers worked as hard and as steadily as they could, and after a while they were out of reach of the terrible feathers.
The strange part of it all was that they never could find one of those sharp-pointed arrows with which the birds had shot them.
When the sun came out they were in a safe harbor. They looked and looked, but not a feather was to be found. One man declared that he knew the feathers were white.
"But the birds were black," said all the rest. "How could the arrows be white when even the sun was darkened by the black-winged creatures?"
How the dispute was settled I do not know, for the sharp-pointed feathers had melted all away, like hailstones from dark storm-clouds. It is certain, however, that the men never found any of the arrows with which they had been shot.