golden dishes, as they did in the palace, he wondered how he would find something to eat.

Then, because he was a crow, it seemed to him that nothing in the world could be as delicious as a few kernels of raw corn. Raising his wings, he flew across the tree-tops to a

corn-field, and was just about to alight and eat from the ripe ears, when he saw a farmer standing below pointing a gun straight at him. He dashed aside just as the gun went "bang!" and flew quickly back to the deep woods.

Prince Scarlet was now frightened as well as hungry, two feelings that he had never experienced before; and as he cowered down upon the ground, he suddenly thought, "How many times in my father's kingdom have I seen hungry folks whom I laughed at! Did they feel as wretched

as I did when that gun was pointed at me? How sorry I am I did not help them!"

At that moment, although Prince Scarlet did not know it, one of the feathers beneath his wings turned to a brilliant red.

A very miserable life the prince led for the next months. Sometimes he found a bite to eat, often he was driven away by the fear of a gun or a scarecrow; and at last the cold weather came. He did not have sense enough to fly south with the other birds; perhaps the fairies did not mean that he should, for the first snow-storm taught him another lesson. As he ruffled his black feathers and shivered with the cold, it flashed across his mind, "How often have I scoffed at people shivering in rags. Oh, how sorry I am!"

Then another feather turned scarlet, and the fairies smiled, and rustled their wings with delight.

As the poor crow flew across the snow-covered fields in search of food, he passed a little girl crying bitterly. Perching on a tree near by, he cried, "Caw! Caw!" which sounded so dismal, that the child cried harder than ever.

"If only I could sing one sweet note to comfort the poor little girl!" thought Prince Scarlet, and at once, all his feathers turned to a gorgeous scarlet! He had become the most splendid bird you have ever seen, a cardinal-bird, and out of his little throat poured a beautiful, clear song.

The child stopped crying at the sound, and when she looked up and saw the cheerful red bird beside her, she smiled with pleasure.

After that, Prince Scarlet's life was a very happy one. He sang his ringing song in storm and sunshine, comforting many who were tired and sad and sick. And never in his life as a prince had he been so contented.

The fairies watched him closely, and at the end of a year, they circled around him as he perched on the bough of a forest tree, already covered again with green leaves. "We have come," they cried, "to give you a wish as a reward for the useful life you are leading."

Do you suppose the scarlet bird wished to be a prince again? Not at all; he had grown to think first of others.

"I wish," he answered, in his lovely bird voice, "that in all the dark places beside the road and on banks of streams, there could be something as bright and cheerful as my red feathers."

The fairies waved their wands, and among ferns, bending over brooks and streams, along bare roadsides, and in dark nooks of the forest, appeared,-not a red feather, but a red flower as brilliant and cheerful as the cardinal-bird.

"The cardinal-flower will remind many people of your sweet song," sang the fairies. "And your wish was such a beautiful one, you may have another."

"Oh," sighed Prince Scarlet, "there are so many homes I cannot fly to, so many people who need my song, can you not send other cheerful birds to them?"

Again the fairies waved their wands, and in response a great flock of scarlet birds filled the air, and flew, singing, across the forest to gladden the hearts of many, many people.

"Now for a third wish," cried the fairies, "and we must tell you, first, that the king, your father, is too old and feeble to reign any more; the people are looking for a new king, and there is strife and discontent within the kingdom."

"I have but one desire for them," answered Prince Scarlet. "May they find a king as brave and faithful as my father!"

Once more the fairies waved their wands, and in an instant the cardinal-bird was flying straight to the palace. As he reached its long flight of marble steps, he alighted, and then,-the bird had gone!

In its place stood a young prince in gorgeous red robes. Could he be Prince Scarlet? His eyes were so kind, his mouth so smiling, and his voice so sweet and ringing, that a crowd of people gathered around him, crying, "Our King! Our King!"

And so Prince Scarlet was crowned king; and

"WHAT 's this, Grandfather?" asked Robert, rising from his seat on the floor, and bringing to his grandfather a folded paper, yellow with age, with a picture of a balloon on the outside. "It looks as if it had a story."

Robert and his mother had come to tea, and, according to an old custom, Robert was rummaging in Grandfather's drawer of keepsakes, with the understanding that if he found anything that "had a story," Grandfather would know it and would tell him about it.

"That?"-Grandfather adjusted his spectacles and looked at the closely printed page-"I have n't seen that for years! You have found something this time!

"Helen," he continued, calling to the boy's mother, who was just then passing in the hall, "did John ever tell you that his grandfather saw the first successful attempt at flying in America, and that George Washington was there?"

"Never," said Robert's mother.

"It's a story! Come, Mother! Let's hear it!" cried Robert, excitedly. She came gladly, and sat down by Grandfather, who was poring over the old paper.

"Yes," said Grandfather, "this is a clipping from a Philadelphia newspaper giving an account of the flight. Here is the date, January, 1793, -that was just before the close of Washington's first administration, Robert. Congress met in Philadelphia, then, you know, and all the distinguished people of the capital went to see this Monsieur Blanchard make his exhibition of flying. How often I have heard Father tell all about it!"

"But I thought they did n't know how to fly till just lately," interrupted Robert.

"Not in aëroplanes; but ballooning had been invented a few years before by another Frenchman, named Montgolfier, and every one was greatly excited over it. The shops of the city were closed the day the ascent was to be made, and people came in from all the country round. Father used to tell how he was awakened at daybreak by the booming of cannon, which was repeated every half-hour until ten o'clock, when the ascent was to be made from the prison courtyard. That was the only inclosed space in the city big enough for balloon and spectators."

"And Washington was there?" said Robert's mother. "It must have been a great occasion."

sembly of men and women it had been. He then cared for nothing but the balloon and its operator. He thought Mr. Blanchard the handsomest man he had ever seen. He used to tell us just how he was dressed. He had on a bright blue suit, with a white, fluted ruffle, and a three-cornered cocked hat with a huge white plume. He must have had a Frenchman's fondness for effect, for the bag of his balloon was of bright yellow silk with green stripes, and the car which hung below it was painted light blue with silver spangles. The bag was about half full of gas when Father got there, and he watched it fill gradually till it tugged at its cords like a huge creature trying to get away. Meanwhile the band played gay music, and Mr. Blanchard moved about, looking after his arrangements and greeting distinguished persons. Some one brought a little black dog and asked him to take it on the trip to see how it stood the upper air. Father said he would have given anything in the world to be in that little dog's place, as Mr. Blanchard took it and lifted it into the car.

"At last the bag was full. The band began a slow march, and Mr. Blanchard turned to bid farewell to the audience. Then President Washington stepped forward and shook hands with him, presenting him with an official-looking document. It was a passport. I see there is a copy of it here. Do you want to read it, Helen? The print is too fine for me."

Robert's mother took the paper and read:

"George Washington, President of the United States of America, To All to Whom these Presents shall come. "The bearer hereof, Mr. Blanchard, a citizen of France, proposing to ascend in a balloon from the city of Philadelphia, at 10 o'clock A. M. this day, to pass in such direction and to descend in such place as circumstances may render most convenient

"THESE ARE therefore to recommend to all citizens of the United States, and others, that in his passage, descent, return, or journeying elsewhere, they oppose no hindrance or molestation to the said Mr. Blanchard; And that on the contrary, they receive and aid him with that humanity and good will which may render honor to their country, and justice to an individual so distinguished by his efforts to establish and advance an art, in order to make it useful to mankind in general.

[SEAL]

66

Given under my hand and seal, at the city of Philadelphia, this ninth day of January, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, and of the independence of America the seventeenth. "Signed, "GEORGE WASHINGTON."

"Does n't that sound grand!" said Robert, with a sigh, when his mother had finished the reading. "Mr. Blanchard must have been pleased."

"He had reason to be very grateful for that paper later," replied Grandfather. "He put it away carefully in his breast pocket, then stepped

VOL. XXXIX.-101.

From the painting by Trumbull, in the City Hall, New York. roofs of the city as the balloon came into view and then sailed off over their heads. Father always said that was the most thrilling moment of his boyhood."

"What happened?" asked Robert. "Did Mr. Blanchard come back?"

"No," replied Grandfather. "Some gentlemen galloped off along the road in the direction he had taken, but they soon lost sight of him. They did not have steam-cars then, you must remember, much less telegraphs and telephones. That was one reason why every one was so excited over flying. Until balloons were invented, no one had traveled across country faster than a horse could take him. No; that was the last the people of Philadelphia saw or heard of Mr. Blanchard until seven o'clock that night, when news spread among the waiting crowds that he had returned and was at the President's house telling his story.

"When he had been in the air about an hour, the gas in his balloon had given out. He had to come down in the first open space he could see. He had made the descent safely and found him