he emperor. He rose on his tiptoes.

"What is all this?" said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed
the princess's ear with his slipper, just as the swineherd was taking
the eighty-sixth kiss.

"Be off with you! March out!" cried the emperor, for he was very angry.
Both princess and swineherd were thrust out of the city, and the
princess stood and wept, while the swineherd scolded, and the rain
poured down.

"Alas, unhappy creature that I am!" said the princess. "If I had but
married the handsome young prince! Ah, how unfortunate I am!"

The swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown from his
face, threw off his dirty clothing, and stepped forth in his princely
robes. He looked so noble that the princess could not help bowing before
him.

"I have come to despise thee," said he. "Thou wouldst not have an
honorable prince! Thou couldst not prize the rose and the nightingale,
but thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery
plaything. Thou art rightly served."

He then went back to his own little kingdom, where he shut the door of
his palace before her very eyes. Now she might well sing,

"Ah! thou dearest Augustine,
All is gone, gone, gone."

[Illustration]

THE METAL PIG

IN THE city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, runs a
little cross street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just in front of
the market place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig, made of brass
and curiously formed. The color has been changed by age to dark green,
but clear, fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had
been polished--and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor people and
children seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close to the
mouth of the animal to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked
boy clasping the well-formed creature by the head as he presses his rosy
lips against its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very quickly
find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for the
Metal Pig, and he will be told where it is.

It was late on a winter evening. The mountains were covered with snow,
but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in Italy is as good as the
light of gray winter's day in the north. Indeed, it is better, for the
clear air seems to raise us above the earth; while in the north a cold,
gray, leaden sky appears to press us down to earth, even as the cold,