8. What led her to open the box? 9. Do you thing Epimetheus was at fault? Why? 10. What happened when Pandora raised the lid of the box?

11. How did this affect the Paradise of Children? The flowers? The children? 12. What happened when Pandora opened the box a second time?

13. Why was Hope put into the box with the Troubles? 14. Why are the wings of Hope like the rainbows? 15. What does Hope do for us? 16.

What qualities in Epimetheus do you like? 17. What did Hope mean by saying she was partly made of tears? 18. How does Hope "spiritualize"

the earth, i.e., make it purer? 19. Tell what you can about the author. 20. On page 291 you were asked to notice the way in which these authors tell their stories; you have no doubt noticed that Hawthorne uses humor and fancy to add interest. 21. Point out examples of his humor. 22. What quaint fancy has he about the way food was provided when the world was young? 23. By what fancy does he increase our interest in the mystery of the box? 24. Cla.s.s readings: Select pa.s.sages to be read aloud in cla.s.s. 25. Outline for testing silent reading. Tell the story briefly in your own words, using the topic headings given in the story. 26. You will enjoy seeing the pictures in the edition of The Wonder-Book that is ill.u.s.trated by the well known artist, Maxfield Parrish. 27. Find in the Glossary the meaning of: caroling; mysterious; whence; pettishly; intelligent; babble; combine; pried; restore; constant; intent; pestered; witchery; personage; glimmer; lightsome. 28 p.r.o.nounce: Epimetheus; either; Pandora; threshold; livelong; disquietude; merry; forbear; accompany; perseveringly; vexations; profusion; mischievous; contrivance; ingenious; merest; lamentable; gigantic; molested; calamity; grievously; intolerable; hovered; destined; venomous; spiritualizes; aspect; infinite.

Phrases for Study

greatest disquietude, afflicted the souls, faint shadow of a Trouble, obtained a foothold, more enterprise, immortal in their childhood, unaccustomed to vexations, wrought together in such harmony, indulge in to the utmost, with one consent, high relief, performing these good offices, utter itself in words, roguishly defied, much amiss, toil is the real play, make amends, bewitchingly persuasive, brightest aspect, humor better suited, shadow of an infinite bliss. THE GOLDEN TOUCH

KING MIDAS AND HIS LOVE FOR GOLD

Once upon a time there lived a very rich man, and a King besides, whose name was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom n.o.body but myself ever heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have entirely forgotten. So, because I love odd name for little girls, I choose to call her Marygold.

This King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world.

He valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that precious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the one little maiden who played so merrily around her father's footstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolish man, that the best thing he could possibly do for his dear child would be to give her the immensest pile of yellow, glistening coin that had ever been heaped together since the world was make. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one Purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box.

When little Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of b.u.t.tercups and dandelions, he used to say, "Pooh, pooh, child! If these flowers were a golden as they look, they would be worth the plucking!"

And yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed of this insane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for flowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and beautifulest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelled.

These roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and as fragrant as when Midas used to pa.s.s whole hours in gazing at the and inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it was only to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of the many rose-petals were a thin plate of gold.

At length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take care to grow wiser and wiser) Midas had got to be so exceedingly unreasonable that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object that was not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pa.s.s a large portion of every day in a dark and dreary apartment, underground, at the bas.e.m.e.nt of the palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal hole "for it was little better than a dungeon" Midas betook himself whenever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, after carefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of the room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window. He valued the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treasure would not shine without its help. And then would he reckon over the coins in the bag; toss up the bar, and catch it as it came down; sift the gold-dust through his fingers; look at the funny image of his own face, as reflected in the polished surface of the cup; and whisper to himself, "O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man art thou!"

Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room one Day as usual, when he saw a shadow fall over the heaps of Gold; and, looking suddenly up, what should he behold but The figure of a strange, standing in the bright and narrow Sunbeam! It was a young man with a cheerful and ruddy face. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help fancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind of golden radiance in it.

As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in The lock, and that no mortal strength could possibly break Into his treasure-room, he of course concluded that his Visitor must be something more than mortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when the earth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the resort of beings who had extraordinary powers, and who used to interest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children, half playfully and half seriously, Midas had met such beings before now, and was not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger's manner, indeed, was so good-humored and kindly that it would have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief.

It was far more probable that he came to do Midas a favor. And what could that favor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?

The stranger gazed about the room; and when his bright smile had glistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again to Midas.

"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!" he observed. "I doubt whether any other four walls on earth contain so much gold as you have piled up in this room."

"I have done pretty well pretty well," answered Midas, in a discontented tone. "But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you consider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one could live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!"

"What!" exclaimed the stranger. "Then you are not satisfied?" Midas shook his head.

"And pray what would satisfy you?" asked the stranger. "Merely for the curiosity of the thing I should be glad to know."

Midas paused and meditated. He had a feeling that his stranger, with such a golden l.u.s.ter in his good-humored smile, had come hither with both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment when he had but to speak and obtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossible, thing it might come into his head to ask. So he thought and thought and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain upon another in this imagination, without being able to imagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred to King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which he loved so much.

Raising his head, he looked the l.u.s.trous stranger in the face.

"Well, Midas," observed his visitor. "I see that you have at length hit upon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish."

"It is only this," Replied Midas. "I am weary of collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and beholding the heap so small after I have done my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold!"

The stranger's smile grew so very broad that it seemed to fill the room like an outburst of the sun gleaming into a shadowy dell where the yellow autumnal leaves--for so looked the lumps and particles of gold--lie strewn in the glow of light.

"The Golden Touch!" exclaimed he. "You certainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out so brilliant an idea. But are you quite sure that this will satisfy you?"

"How could it fail?" said Midas.

"And will you never regret the possession of it?"

"What could induce me?" asked Midas. "I ask nothing else to render me perfectly happy."

"Be it as you wish, then," replied the stranger, waving his hand in token of farewell. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted with the Golden touch."

The figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas was forced to close his eyes. On opening them again he beheld only one yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the precious metal which he had spent his life in h.o.a.rding up.

Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say.

Asleep or awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child's to whom a beautiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any rate, day had hardly peeped over the hills when King Midas was broad awake, and stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects that were within reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch had really come, according to the stranger's promise. So he laid his finger on a chair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was grievously disappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the same substance as before.

THE GIFT OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH

All this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak of brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it.

He lay in a very unhappy mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through the window and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular way on the white covering of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his astonishment and delight, when he found that this linen fabric wad been changed to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!

Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room grasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one of the bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing; and the ta.s.sel grew heavy in his hand--a ma.s.s of gold. He took up a book from the table. At this first touch, it a.s.sumed the appearance of such a splendidly-bound and gilt-edged volume as one often meets with nowadays; but, on running his fingers through the leaves, behold! It was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown in distinct.

He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was delighted to ace himself in magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness, although it burdened him a little with its weight.

Wise King Midas was so excited by his good fortune that the palace seemed not sufficiently s.p.a.cious to contain him. He therefore went downstairs and smiled on observing that the bal.u.s.trade of the staircase became a bar of burnished gold as his hand pa.s.sed over it in the descent. He lifted the door latch (it was bra.s.s only a moment ago, but golden when his fingers quitted it) and went into the garden.

Here, as it happened, he found a great number of beautiful roses in full bloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom.

Very delicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate blush was one of the fairest sights in the world--so gentle, so modest, and so full of erect composure did these roses seem to be.

But Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his way of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most freely; until every individual flower and bud, and even the worms at the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time this good work was completed, King Midas was called to breakfast; and, as the morning air had given him an excellent appet.i.te, he made haste back to the palace.

What was usually a king's breakfast, in the days of Midas, I really do not know, and cannot stop now to find out. To the best of my belief, however, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot cakes, some nice little brook-trout, roasted potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to be set before a king; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas could not have had a better.

Little Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered her to be called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child's coming, in order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really loved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning on account of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great while before he heard her coming along the pa.s.sage crying bitterly. This circ.u.mstance surprised him, because Marygold was one of the cheerfulest little people whom you would see in a summer day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Marygold into better spirits by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he touched his daughter's bowl (which was a china one, with pretty figures all around it) and turned it to gleaming gold.

Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and sadly opened the door, and showed herself with her ap.r.o.n at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would break.

"How now, my little lady!" cried Midas. "Pray what is the matter with you this bright morning?"

Marygold, without taking the ap.r.o.n from her eyes, held out her hand, in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently changed.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed her father. "And what is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you cry?"

"Ah, dear father!" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let her, "it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as I was dressed, I ran into the garden to gather some roses for you, because I know you like them, and like them the better when gathered by your little daughter. But, O dear, dear me! What do you think has happened? Such a misfortune! All the beautiful roses, that smelled so sweet and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and spoiled! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no longer any fragrance! What can have been the matter?"

"Pooh, my dear little girl, pray don't cry about it!" said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so greatly afflicted her. "Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will find it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds of years) for an ordinary one, which would wither in a day."

"I don't care for such roses as this!" cried Marygold. "It has no smell, and hard petals p.r.i.c.k my nose!"

THE KING'S BREAKFAST OF GOLD

The child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief for the blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful change of her china bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for Marygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer figures and strange trees and houses that were painted on the outside of the bowl; and those ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow hue of the metal.