on the war in our national capacity--one united people against
a common enemy--or whether some champion, famous in former
fights, shall be selected to defy the slayer of our brother
Antaeus to single combat. In the latter case, though not
unconscious that there may be taller men among you, I hereby
offer myself for that enviable duty. And believe me, dear
countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great
country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors,
shall suffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can
wield this sword, of which I now fling away the
scabbard--never, never, never, even if the crimson hand that
slew the great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like him, on the
soil which I give my life to defend."

So saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was
terrible to behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife),
and sent the scabbard whirling over the heads of the multitude.
His speech was followed by an uproar of applause, as its
patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably deserved; and the
shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly prolonged,
had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep
respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping
Hercules.

It was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should
set to work to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from
any doubt that a single champion would be capable of putting
him to the sword, but because he was a public enemy, and all
were desirous of sharing in the glory of his defeat. There was
a debate whether the national honor did not demand that a