we'll try which is the better man at a wrestling match."

"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if
there was one thing on which he prided himself more than

another, it was his skill in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling
you where you can never pick yourself up again."

On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat
of his rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his

passion, every time he hopped.
But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull

of a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him--huge,
earth-born monster that he was--and to conquer him too, in

spite of all that his Mother Earth could do for him. Watching
his opportunity, as the mad Giant made a rush at him, Hercules

caught him round the middle with both hands, lifted him high
into the air, and held him aloft overhead.

Just imagine it, my dear little friends. What a spectacle it
must have been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the

air, face downwards, kicking out his long legs and wriggling
his whole vast body, like a baby when its father holds it at

arm's length towards the ceiling.
But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was

fairly off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had
gained by touching it. Hercules very soon perceived that his

troublesome enemy was growing weaker, both because he struggled
and kicked with less violence, and because the thunder of his

big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth was that unless
the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in five

minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath
of his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this

secret; and it may be well for us all to remember it, in case
we should ever have to fight a battle with a fellow like

Antaeus. For these earth-born creatures are only difficult to
conquer on their own ground, but may easily be managed if we

can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region. So
it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really a little sorry

for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who
came to visit him.

When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his
huge body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell

heavily, and lay with no more motion than a sand hill. It was
too late for the Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I

should not wonder if his ponderous bones were lying on the same
spot to this very day, and were mistaken for those of an

uncommonly large elephant.
But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up

when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible
manner! If Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no

notice, and perhaps fancied them only the shrill, plaintive
twittering of small birds that had been frightened from their

nests by the uproar of the battle between himself and Antaeus.
Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with the Giant,

that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew
that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And

now, as he had traveled a good way, and was also rather weary
with his exertions in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin

on the ground, and, reclining himself upon it, fell fast
asleep.

As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they
nodded their little heads at one another, and winked with their

little eyes. And when his deep, regular breathing gave them
notice that he was asleep, they assembled together in an

immense crowd, spreading over a space of about twenty-seven
feet square. One of their most eloquentorators (and a valiant

warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at any other
weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,

and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His
sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events,

something like this was probably the upshot of his speech:
"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have

seen what a public calamity has been brought to pass, and what
an insult has here been offered to the majesty of our nation.

Yonder lies Antaeus, our great friend and brother, slain,
within our territory, by a miscreant who took him at

disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in
a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of

fighting, until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to
the wrong already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep

as quietly as if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It
behooves you, fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we

shall stand before the world, and what will be the verdict of
impartial history, should we suffer these accumulated outrages

to go unavenged.
"Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to

whom we owe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous
hearts, which made him proud of our relationship. He was our

faithful ally, and fell fighting as much for our national
rights and immunities as for his own personal ones. We and our

forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held
affectionate intercourse as man to man, through immemorial

generations. You remember how often our entire people have
reposed in his great shadow, and how our little ones have

played at hide-and-seek in the tangles of his hair, and how his
mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro among us, and

never trodden upon any of our toes. And there lies this dear
brother-- this sweet and amiable friend--this brave and

faithful ally---this virtuous Giant--this blameless and
excellent Antaeus--dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere

mountain of clay! Forgive my tears! Nay, I behold your own.
Were we to drown the world with them, could the world blame us?

"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked
stranger to depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous

victory, among distant communities of the earth? Shall we not
rather compel him to leave his bones here on our soil, by the

side of our slain brother's bones? so that, while one skeleton
shall remain as the everlastingmonument of our sorrow, the

other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human race
a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance! Such is the question. I

put it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be
worthy of our national character, and calculated to increase,

rather than diminish, the glory which our ancestors have
transmitted to us, and which we ourselves have proudly

vindicated in our warfare with the cranes."
The orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible

enthusiasm; every individual Pygmy crying out that the national
honor must be preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and, making a

gesture for silence, wound up his harangue in the following
admirable manner:

"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry
on the war in our national capacity--one united people against

a common enemy--or whether some champion, famous in former
fights, shall be selected to defy the slayer of our brother

Antaeus to single combat. In the latter case, though not
unconscious that there may be taller men among you, I hereby

offer myself for that enviable duty. And believe me, dear
countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great

country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors,
shall suffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can

wield this sword, of which I now fling away the
scabbard--never, never, never, even if the crimson hand that