“Well, well, children,” said he, after these preliminaries, “since you insist, and Primrose has set her heart upon it, I will see what can be done for you. And, that you may know what happy days there were before snowstorms came into fashion, I will tell you a story of the oldest of all old times, when the world was as new as Sweet Fern’s bran-new humming-top. There was then but one season in the year, and that was the delightful summer; and but one age for mortals, and that was childhood.” “I never heard of that before,” said Primrose. “Of course, you never did,” answered Eustace. “It shall be a story of what nobody but myself ever dreamed of,--a Paradise of children,--and how, by the naughtiness of just such a little imp as Primrose here, it all came to nothing.” So Eustace Bright sat down in the chair which he had just been skipping over, took Cowslip upon his knee, ordered silence throughout the auditory, and began a story about a sad naughty child, whose name was Pandora, and about her playfellow Epimetheus. You may read it, word for word, in the pages that come next. THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. Long, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was a child, named Epimetheus, who never had either father or mother; and, that he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and motherless like himself, was sent from a far country, to live with him, and be his playfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora. The first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where Epimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which she put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this,-- “Epimetheus, what have you in that box?” “My dear little Pandora,” answered Epimetheus, “that is a secret, and you must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was left here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it contains.” “But, who gave it to you?” asked Pandora. “And where did it come from?” “That is a secret, too,” replied Epimetheus. “How provoking!” exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. “I wish the great ugly box were out of the way!” “O come, don’t think of it, any more,” cried Epimetheus. “Let us run out of doors, and have some nice play with the other children.”