y
jewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up too, which was worse than
all.

The birds in their flight towards the east, carried the tidings,
and the news reached the castle in the Tree of the Sun.

"I will try now," said the third brother; "I have a keen nose."
Now that was not a very elegant expression, but it was his way, and we
must take him as he was. He had a cheerful temper, and was, besides, a
real poet; he could make many things appear poetical, by the way in
which he spoke of them, and ideas struck him long before they occurred
to the minds of others. "I can smell," he would say; and he attributed
to the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a great
power in the region of the beautiful. "I can smell," he would say,
"and many places are fragrant or beautiful according to the taste of
the frequenters. One man feels at home in the atmosphere of the
tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, and when the smell of
spirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. Another prefers sitting
amidst the overpowering scent of jasmine, or perfuming himself with
scented olive oil. This man seeks the fresh sea breeze, while that one
climbs the lofty mountain-top, to look down upon the busy life in
miniature beneath him."

As he spoke in this way, it seemed as if he had already been out
in the world, as if he had already known and associated with man.
But this experience was intuitive--it was the poetry within him, a
gift from Heaven bestowed on him in his cradle. He bade farewell to
his parental roof in the Tree of the Sun, and departed on foot, from
the pleasant scenes that surrounded his home. Arrived at its confines,
he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than a
horse, and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swung
himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change, and away he
flew over the sea to distant lands, where there were great forests,
deep lakes, lofty mountains, and proud cities. Wherever he came it
seemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for
every flower, every bush, exhaled a renewed fragrance, as if conscious
that a friend and protector was near; one who understood them, and
knew their value. The stunted rose-bush shot forth twigs, unfolded its
leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, and
even the black, slimy wood-snail noticed its beauty. "I will give my
seal to the flower," said the snail, "I have trailed my