will have it done, lest their bad example should corrupt the
other hogs. Let them take their original shapes, therefore,

Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It will require
greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them."

So Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words,
at the sound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their

pendulous ears. It was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew
shorter and shorter, and their mouths (which they seemed to be

sorry for, because they could not gobble so expeditiously)
smaller and smaller, and how one and another began to stand

upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore
trotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call

them hogs or men, but by and by came to the conclusion that
they rather resembled the latter. Finally, there stood the

twenty-two comrades of Ulysses, looking pretty much the same as
when they left the vessel.

You must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had
entirely gone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a

person's character, it is very difficult getting rid of it.
This was proved by the hamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond

of mischief, threw another handful of acorns before the twenty-
two newly-restored people; whereupon down they wallowed in a

moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful way. Then,
recollecting themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and

looked more than commonly foolish.
"Thanks, noble Ulysses!" they cried. "From brute beasts you

have restored us to the condition of men again."
"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me," said the

wise king. "I fear I have done but little for you."
To say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in

their voices, and, for a long time afterwards, they spoke
gruffly, and were apt to set up a squeal.

"It must depend on your own future behavior," added Ulysses,
"whether you do not find your way back to the sty."

At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a
neighboring tree.

"Peep, peep, pe--wee--e!"
It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting

over their heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping
that Ulysses would remember how he had done his utmost to keep

him and his followers out of harm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe
instantly to make a king of this good little fowl, and leave

him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the words spoken, and
before the bird had time to utter another "pe--weep," King

Picus leaped down from the bough of a tree, as majestic a
sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe

and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidlywrought collar
about his neck, and a golden crown upon his head. He and King

Ulysses exchanged with one another the courtesies which belong
to their elevated rank. But from that time forth, King Picus

was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of royalty,
nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the

upper servant of his people, and that it must be his life-long
labor to make them better and happier.

As for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have
restored them to their former shapes at his slightest word),

Ulysses thought it advisable that they should remain as they
now were, and thus give warning of their cruel dispositions,

instead of going about under the guise of men, and pretending
to human sympathies, while their hearts had the blood-

thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as they
liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when

everything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to
summon the remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the

sea-shore. These being arrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at
their head, they all made themselves comfortable in Circe's

enchanted palace, until quite rested and refreshed from the
toils and hardships of their voyage.

THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS.
Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina,

and seldom let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the
time when my story begins, the good lady was very busy, because

she had the care of the wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye
and barley and, in short, of the crops of every kind, all over

the earth; and as the season had thus far been uncommonly
backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more

speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies
(a kind of flower which she was always noted for wearing), and

got into her car drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was
just ready to set off.

"Dear mother," said Proserpina, "I shall be very lonely while
you are away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of

the sea nymphs to come up out of the waves and play with me?"
"Yes, child," answered Mother Ceres. "The sea nymphs are good

creatures, and will never lead you into any harm. But you must
take care not to stray away from them, nor go wandering about

the fields by yourself. Young girls, without their mothers to
take care of them, are very apt to get into mischief."

The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up
woman; and, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car

out of sight, she was already on the shore, calling to the sea
nymphs to come and play with her. They knew Proserpina's voice,

and were not long in showing their glistening faces and
sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of which was

their home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful
shells; and sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave

broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace,
which they hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her

gratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way
into the fields, so that they might gather abundance of

flowers, with which she would make each of her kind playmates a
wreath.

"O no, dear Proserpina," cried the sea nymphs; "we dare not go
with you upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at

every breath we can snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And
don't you see how careful we are to let the surf wave break

over us every moment or two, so as to keep ourselves
comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should look like

bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun.
"It is a great pity," said Proserpina. "But do you wait for me

here, and I will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and
be back again before the surf wave has broken ten times over

you. I long to make you some wreaths that shall be as lovely as
this necklace of many colored shells."

"We will wait, then," answered the sea nymphs. "But while you
are gone, we may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge

under the water. The air to-day is a little too dry for our
comfort. But we will pop up our heads every few minutes to see

if you are coming."
The young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day

before, she had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were
now a little past their bloom; and wishing to give her friends

the freshest and loveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into
the fields, and found some that made her scream with delight.

Never had she met with such exquisite flowers before--violets
so large and fragrant--roses with so rich and delicate a