m. But this was the most natural
thing in the world; for, on taking them off, the transparent crystals
turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of course, were worthless
as spectacles, though valuable as gold. It struck Midas, as rather
inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich
enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.

"It is no great matter, nevertheless," said he to himself, very
philosophically. "We cannot expect any great good, without its being
accompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth
the sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one's very
eyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little
Marygold will soon be old enough to read to me."

Wise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune, that the palace
seemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went
downstairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the
staircase became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it, in
his descent. He lifted the doorlatch (it was brass only a moment ago,
but golden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged 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 sweet tranquillity, 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
indefatigably; 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 summoned to breakfast; and as
the morning air had given him an excellent appetite, 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 investigate. 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 set
before a king; and, wheth