Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 November 1874 — TOO MUCH GOLD. [ARTICLE]

TOO MUCH GOLD.

Now, papa, you must tell me an ambitious story to-night.” Minnie Percy had seated herself without . help in her papa’s lap. He was sitting in a large arm-chair pretending to be asleep. He haft his hand over his eyes, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair. Minnie knew well enough he was playing “possum,” so she had climbed up and curled herself down for a goodnight story. Her father laughed. “An ambitious story—l don’t understand,” he pinched her pink cheek and pulled a curl one side, then the other, and after two or three ““creepy mouses” Minnie recovered from her glee enough to say—- “ Why, you know, papa, "what that means; it’s a story that isn’t true—it’s all ’splained in one of the Kallo Books you read me.” “ Oh, you mean fictitious; you must be careful when you use long words, or you will trip, my puss.” “Yes, that’s it— fictitious. I mean something that didn’t happen, you .know.” , ——^ The little girl smoothed her little white apron, picked at the ruffles, put her hands in the cunning pockets, sat about five seconds, then asked, “Are you thinking, papa?” “ Yes r yes, let me see,” he replied, rubbing his forehead. The fact was, he had to tell stories so often that it kept him busy, though some stories Minnie liked to hear over and over. “ Didn’t I hear my little daughter, a while ago, at her play, saying, ‘ I wish I had a gold dress and gold doll, gold dishes, gold bed, gold room, and everything I had was gold. ” “I guess ” Minnie smiled and dropped her head so her papa couldn’t see her dimples. “ I guess 1 was telling Nellie Weeks that when we were playing visit.” Then her papa snatched a dozen kisses from her soft cheek and red lips before he proceeded. “ Does my little girl think she would be any happier if everything she had was gold?” “N—no; but it would be nice,” she faltered. “ Well, I think I will tell you not only an ambitious ” “ Fictitious, papa. I remember now,” said Minnie. “ Well, not only a fictitious story, but a classical one; you are so fond of long names.” V What’s classical?” “ I supposed you would ask, so I have my answer ready. It means the best writers. It used to apply only to the Greeks and Romans, who are considered the best models of fine writing; now it includes modern authors of the first rank, those well versed in ancient languages, those who write the most pure, correct and refined. Your brother’s Virgil and Sallust are Latin classical books and papa’s Plato and Demosthenes are Greek. Now, I am going to tell you a very old story, written by one of these classical authors. “There was once a great King in Phrygia named Midas. We know there was such a country, and ;t is described as being high table-land, abounding in corn and wine, and celebrated for its fine sheep and cattle. It is mentioned in the Bible, for St. Paul traveled over it twice, preaching the Gospel. But this King—we are not so sure about him, but the story has been handed down from generation to generation about him. He was very fond of show and power. To have these he must have gold. One time Bacchus, who was god of wine, was having a great jubilee with his followers, when they missed Silenus; he was Bacchus’ tutor, and was very old now, and feeble with dissipation. While under the influence of wine he lost his way and went into the Kingdom of Phrygia, and was taken to the King. He made a great feast and kept him ten days, then he took him back to Bacchus, who was so grateful for the return of his foster-father that.he told Midas he would grant him any wish he might request. Then what did the foolish King reply? “ ' Give me,’ sayts he—nor thought he asked too ° much, ' That with my body whatsoe'er I touch. Changed from the nature which it held of old, May be converted into yellow gold.’ “ He had his wish and started home. He broke a branch from a tree as he walked along; behold, it turned to gold; then he touched £ stone; it turned to gold. He grew more excited as well as delighted; he had only to lay a finger on any object and Returned to gold. When he went into his palace the pillars were shining gold where he carelessly touched. Then in his transport he ordered his slaves to prepare a feast of the daintiest dishes ; so they did, and set before their happy lord; but alas! now see him; he takes apiece of bread—it is gold; a "piece of meat—it is gold; lie begins to get alarmed and- snatches his wine-cup. “ ‘ Ah! no change,’ he said, ‘ tlfe charm is broken;’ he looked relieved. “ 4 The King’s cup was gold,’ said one of his guests. “ The King put it to his lips. Ah, the wine was fluid gold as it ran from his mouth. Now he grows sick of his wish, of his power. He is afraid of starving, so he confesses his folly to Bacchus, and begs him to take back his gift. Bacchus bade him wash in the river Paetolas; when he did, all the sand turned to gold; he hated the sight of it, so much so that he would not let his people gather it, so it was washed away. The gold had not made him happy but a very short time.” “Oh, papa,” exclaimed Minnie, “I’ll never, never wish for everything to be gold again; then I couldn’t eat grandma’s doughnuts, or mamma's orange cake, or Bridget’s cookies.” / “One would think you lived upon

cake. lam not sure but cake may be as fatal as gold, though it would take some longer to die from the effects of it than starvation.” . ■. —- “ Oh, 1 have to be stinted; I can have only just so much; but I have wished everything we ate was cakk, I like it so. I see I must not, that would be wrong.” “ Yes, my daughter; but to return to our story. I wish you to remember it was what you asked for, a fictitious story, though, like many of those old stories and legends, it contains a good moral. Be satisfied with what you have, and do not spend valuable time in vain wishes, for many times, if gratified, we should find them as hateful to us as the King Midas did his gold.”— lnterior.