grandiloquently began the king "great, indeed,
shall be your reward — "

"I don't want any reward," replied the
inhabitant of the hut, somewhat peevishly.
"I only want you to go home, and leave me
to get through this job as well as I can."

On this hint, the king departed with a
bow, which the sage— as we shall henceforth
call him— did not return, being re-absorbed
in his big book, from which he did not raise
his eyes till nightfall.

At day-break on the morrow he set out,
with his single attendant, and rode straight
through six successive kingdoms. At the
royal palace in the seventh kingdom he
stopped, greatly to the joy of the attendant,
and said:

"There lives the present owner of the Sun-
horse; you'll have the kindness just to wait
here while I turn myself into a green bird,
and fly up to yonder balcony."

"Very good," said the attendant.

Accordingly the sage effected the proposed
transformation, flew up to the designated
balcony, and tapped against the window with
his beak. It was opened by a young, hard-
featured woman, royally attired.

"O, what a pretty bird! " exclaimed the
hard-featured fair one; " and what a pity my
husband is not at home to see it! But no
matter, he will be back in the evening, when
he has finished his survey of a third part of
the kingdom."

Never was pet animal honoured with so
circumstantial an ejaculation.

"Out upon the nasty thing! " yelled a
hideous old woman, "strangle it at once, or
let me do it for you." And, without further
ado, she made a sudden rush at the green
bird, who, resuming his human shape, quietly
walked out of the room.

And here, critical reader, you experience a
difficulty. Granted that you were a green
bird in a room with the window open, and
that somebody wanted to catch you, you
would rather fly out of the aforesaid window
with the aid of your good wings, than go
blundering down stairs on your two clumsy
feet, and you cannot conceive why this
method was not adopted by the sage. We
think we can find a solution in the name of
the old lady, which was Striga,— obviously
related to the Greek word ??????, signifying a
screech-owl, — since, certainly, a man would
have a better chance of escape than a little
bird, if a screech-owl was the pursuing
foe. Hence, if you please, you may in
the above narrative substitute screech-owl
for hideous old woman, provided that you
can satisfy yourself that a screech-owl was
the probable mother of three hard-featured
young ladies.

Of Three hard-featured young ladies?
Yes; because precisely the same adventure
occurred with two other princesses, resident
in the same castle. We do not follow the
Homeric precision of the Bohemian chronicler
in repeating the same story of peril and
escape; especially as the reader, if his views
in this respect differ from ours, may easily
supply the deficiency, by reading the
paragraph about the green bird three times: so
far modifying it, as to make the second princess
declare that she expected her husband
(who had gone out to survey two-thirds of
the kingdom) on the morrow evening; and
the third princess, that she expected hers
(who had gone out to survey the whole
kingdom) on the evening after the morrow.
By way of elucidating our story, it is,
however, as well to state that the kingdom was
under the joint rule of three muscular
brothers, and that the hard-featured young
ladies, who were sisters, and daughters
of the old woman, or screech-owl, were so
many queen-consorts.

The adventures of the sage with the first
two kings are miserable enough. He simply
waylaid them and killed them, as they came
on successive evenings, across a certain
bridge. But, with the arrival of the third
king, who rode on the Sun-horse, our story
revives again.

As soon as the third king reached the
bridge, which was stained with the blood of
his unfortunate brothers, his first feeling was
one of envy, and he exclaimed: " What
rascal has snatched a victim from my royal
vengeance?"

Rushing forward with his sword, the sage
showed that he was the rascal in question.
A fierce combat ensued, and lasted until both
combatants were fairly tired out.

"This will never do," observed the sage,
as they both rested, panting; " we may go
on for ever, this way. Suppose we turn
ourselves into two wheels, and roll ourselves
down a steep hill, on the understanding that
the one who is smashed to pieces, is to be
considered the loser."

"Nothing can be easier or more
equitable," replied the muscular king, and
accordingly they walked not unsociably
together, to the top of a steep hill, whence,
having accomplished the transformation
agreed upon, they rolled down, dashing
against each other by the way, until the kingly
wheel was fairly demolished.

"Ha! ha! there's an end of you," said
the sage, resuming his original shape.

"Not at all," replied the king, going
through a similar process; "you have only
broken my little finger. However, I have a
better plan to propose. Let us change
ourselves into two flames— I'll be red and you
shall be white— and see which can first put
out the other."

"Agreed! " replied the sage; " only you
shall be white, and I'll be red."

"Very well," granted the muscular king;
"so long as we are agreed upon broad
principles, we need not quarrel about details."

So they changed themselves into two
flames ; and began raging at each other in a