the water. Hercules, I suppose, had not grown
to his full strength, else he might have set her
afloat as easily as a little boy launches his boat
upon a puddle. But here were these fifty heroes,
pushing, and straining, and growing red in the
face, without making the Argo start an inch.
At last, quite wearied out, they sat themselves
down on the shore, exceedingly disconsolate, and
thinking that the vessel must be left to rot and
fall in pieces, and that they must either swim
across the sea or lose the Golden Fleece.

All at once, Jason bethought himself of the
galley's miraculous figure head.

"O, daughter of the Talking Oak," cried he,
"how shall we set to work to get our vessel into
the water?"

"Seat yourselves," answered the image, (for it
had known what had ought to be done from the
very first, and was only waiting for the question
to be put,) "seat yourselves, and handle youi
oars, and let Orpheus play upon his harp."

Immediately the fifty heroes got on board, and
seizing their oars, held them perpendicularly in
the air, while Orpheus (who liked such a task
far better than rowing) swept his fingers across

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