The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Happy Prince, by Oscar Wilde

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The Happy Prince
And Other Tales

BY
OSCAR WILDE

ILLUSTRATEDBY
WALTER CRANE AND JACOMB HOOD

SEVENTHIMPRESSION

LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57–59 LONG ACRE
1910

TO
CARLOS BLACKER

Contents.

The Happy Prince.

High above the city, on a tallcolumn, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gildedall over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had twobright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on hissword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. “He is asbeautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the TownCouncillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistictastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearinglest people should think him unpractical, which he really wasnot.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?”asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for themoon. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying foranything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quitehappy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at thewonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the CharityChildren as they came out of the cathedral in their brightscarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master,“you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered thechildren; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked verysevere, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. Hisfriends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he hadstayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautifulReed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flyingdown the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attractedby her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked tocome to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow.So he flew round and round her, touching the water with hiswings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship,and it lasted all through the summer.

“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered theother Swallows; “she has no money, and far too manyrelations”; and indeed the river was quite full ofReeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of hislady-love. “She has no conversation,” he said,“and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is alwaysflirting with the wind.” And certainly, whenever thewind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.“I admit that she is domestic,” he continued,“but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, shouldlove travelling also.”

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally toher; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to herhome.

“You have been trifling with me,” he cried.“I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!” and heflew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at thecity. “Where shall I put up?” he said; “Ihope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is afine position, with plenty of fresh air.” So healighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly tohimself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; butjust as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop ofwater fell on him. “What a curious thing!” hecried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the starsare quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. Theclimate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reedused to like the rain, but that was merely herselfishness.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rainoff?” he said; “I must look for a goodchimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and helooked up, and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tearswere running down his golden cheeks. His face was sobeautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filledwith pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow;“you have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answeredthe statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived inthe Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed toenter. In the daytime I played with my companions in thegarden, and in the evening I led the dance in the GreatHall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I nevercared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was sobeautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, andhappy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived,and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me uphere so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the miseryof my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannotchose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow tohimself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks outloud.

“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musicalvoice, “far away in a little street there is a poorhouse. One of the windows is open, and through it I can seea woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, andshe has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she isa seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on asatin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honourto wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner ofthe room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, andis asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give himbut river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, littleSwallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of mysword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and Icannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said theSwallow. “My friends are flying up and down the Nile,and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will goto sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is therehimself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellowlinen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chainof pale green jade, and his hands are like witheredleaves.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be mymessenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother sosad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered theSwallow. “Last summer, when I was staying on theriver, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, whowere always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, ofcourse; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, Icome of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a markof disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow wassorry. “It is very cold here,” he said;“but I will stay with you for one night, and be yourmessenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from thePrince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over theroofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marbleangels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heardthe sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on thebalcony with her lover. “How wonderful the starsare,” he said to her, “and how wonderful is the powerof love!”

“I hope my dress will be ready in time for theState-ball,” she answered; “I have orderedpassion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses areso lazy.”

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to themasts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw theold Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money incopper scales. At last he came to the poor house and lookedin. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and themother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped,and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’sthimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning theboy’s forehead with his wings. “How cool Ifeel,” said the boy, “I must be gettingbetter”; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told himwhat he had done. “It is curious,” he remarked,“but I feel quite warm now, although it is socold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,”said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, andthen he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.“What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Professor ofOrnithology as he was passing over the bridge. “Aswallow in winter!” And he wrote a long letter aboutit to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was fullof so many words that they could not understand.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and hewas in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all thepublic monuments, and sat a long time on top of the churchsteeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and saidto each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so heenjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.“Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried;“I am just starting.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “will you not stay with me one nightlonger?”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered theSwallow. “To-morrow my friends will fly up to theSecond Cataract. The river-horse couches there among thebulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the GodMemnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when themorning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he issilent. At noon the yellow lions come down to thewater’s edge to drink. They have eyes like greenberyls, and their roar is louder than the roar of thecataract.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “far away across the city I see a young man in agarret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, andin a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of witheredviolets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are redas a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He istrying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but heis too cold to write any more. There is no fire in thegrate, and hunger has made him faint.”

“I will wait with you one night longer,” said theSwallow, who really had a good heart. “Shall I takehim another ruby?”

“Alas! I have no ruby now,” said the Prince;“my eyes are all that I have left. They are made ofrare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand yearsago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. Hewill sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, andfinish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannotdo that”; and he began to weep.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “do as I command you.”

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flewaway to the student’s garret. It was easy enough toget in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this hedarted, and came into the room. The young man had his headburied in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of thebird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautifulsapphire lying on the withered violets.

“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he cried;“this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish myplay,” and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. Hesat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors haulingbig chests out of the hold with ropes. “Heavea-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up. “Iam going to Egypt”! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded,and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “will you not stay with me one nightlonger?”

“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “andthe chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warmon the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud andlook lazily about them. My companions are building a nestin the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves arewatching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, Imust leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring Iwill bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those youhave given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose,and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.”

“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince,“there stands a little match-girl. She has let hermatches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Herfather will beat her if she does not bring home some money, andshe is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and herlittle head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it toher, and her father will not beat her.”

“I will stay with you one night longer,” said theSwallow, “but I cannot pluck out your eye. You wouldbe quite blind then.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said thePrince, “do as I command you.”

So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darteddown with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slippedthe jewel into the palm of her hand. “What a lovelybit of glass,” cried the little girl; and she ran home,laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. “You areblind now,” he said, “so I will stay with youalways.”

“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince,“you must go away to Egypt.”

“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow,and he slept at the Prince’s feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, andtold him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. Hetold him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banksof the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx,who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, andknows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the sideof their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of theKing of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, andworships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps ina palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes;and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves,and are always at war with the butterflies.

“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “youtell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anythingis the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mysteryso great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, andtell me what you see there.”

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the richmaking merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars weresitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw thewhite faces of starving children looking out listlessly at theblack streets. Under the archway of a bridge two littleboys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keepthemselves warm. “How hungry we are!” theysaid. “You must not lie here,” shouted theWatchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince,“you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to mypoor; the living always think that gold can make themhappy.”

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, tillthe Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf afterleaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and thechildren’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and playedgames in the street. “We have bread now!” theycried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost.The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were sobright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hungdown from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs,and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he wouldnot leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked upcrumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was notlooking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He hadjust strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder oncemore. “Good-bye, dear Prince!” he murmured,“will you let me kiss your hand?”

“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, littleSwallow,” said the Prince, “you have stayed too longhere; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I loveyou.”

“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said theSwallow. “I am going to the House of Death.Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?”

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down deadat his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, asif something had broken. The fact is that the leaden hearthad snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfullyhard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the squarebelow in company with the Town Councillors. As they passedthe column he looked up at the statue: “Dear me! how shabbythe Happy Prince looks!” he said.

“How shabby indeed!” cried the Town Councillors,who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look atit.

“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes aregone, and he is golden no longer,” said the Mayor in fact,“he is little better than a beggar!”

“Little better than a beggar,” said the TownCouncillors.

“And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!”continued the Mayor. “We must really issue aproclamation that birds are not to be allowed to diehere.” And the Town Clerk made a note of thesuggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince.“As he is no longer beautiful he is no longeruseful,” said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held ameeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with themetal. “We must have another statue, ofcourse,” he said, “and it shall be a statue ofmyself.”

“Of myself,” said each of the Town Councillors,and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they werequarrelling still.

“What a strange thing!” said the overseer of theworkmen at the foundry. “This broken lead heart willnot melt in the furnace. We must throw itaway.” So they threw it on a dust-heap where the deadSwallow was also lying.

“Bring me the two most precious things in thecity,” said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel broughtHim the leaden heart and the dead bird.

“You have rightly chosen,” said God, “for inmy garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore,and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praiseme.”

The Nightingale and the Rose.

“She said that she woulddance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the youngStudent; “but in all my garden there is no redrose.”

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him,and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and hisbeautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what littlethings does happiness depend! I have read all that the wisemen have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yetfor want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”

“Here at last is a true lover,” said theNightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him,though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story tothe stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as thehyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire;but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has sether seal upon his brow.”

“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,”murmured the young Student, “and my love will be of thecompany. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with metill dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her inmy arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and herhand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose inmy garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by.She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”

“Here indeed is the true lover,” said theNightingale. “What I sing of, he suffers—whatis joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderfulthing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer thanfine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor isit set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased ofthe merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance forgold.”

“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” saidthe young Student, “and play upon their stringedinstruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp andthe violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet willnot touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses willthrong round her. But with me she will not dance, for Ihave no red rose to give her”; and he flung himself down onthe grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard,as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who wasfluttering about after a sunbeam.

“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour,in a soft, low voice.

“He is weeping for a red rose,” said theNightingale.

“For a red rose?” they cried; “how veryridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of acynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of theStudent’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, andthought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soaredinto the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow,and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautifulRose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upona spray.

“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I willsing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are white,” it answered; “as whiteas the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon themountain. But go to my brother who grows round the oldsun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growinground the old sun-dial.

“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I willsing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “asyellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amberthrone, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadowbefore the mower comes with his scythe. But go to mybrother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhapshe will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growingbeneath the Student’s window.

“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I willsing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red asthe feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coralthat wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter haschilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the stormhas broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all thisyear.”

“One red rose is all I want,” cried theNightingale, “only one red rose! Is there no way bywhich I can get it?”

“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but itis so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.”

“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I amnot afraid.”

“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree,“you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain itwith your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me withyour breast against a thorn. All night long you must singto me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-bloodmust flow into my veins, and become mine.”

“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,”cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all.It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun inhis chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebellsthat hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on thehill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heartof a bird compared to the heart of a man?”

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into theair. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like ashadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she hadleft him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautifuleyes.

“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “behappy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out ofmusic by moonlight, and stain it with my ownheart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return isthat you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy,though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he ismighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured likeflame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and hisbreath is like frankincense.”

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but hecould not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, forhe only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was veryfond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in hisbranches.

“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “Ishall feel very lonely when you are gone.”

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice waslike water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulleda note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walkedaway through the grove—“that cannot be denied to her;but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact,she is like most artists; she is all style, without anysincerity. She would not sacrifice herself forothers. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knowsthat the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted thatshe has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity itis that they do not mean anything, or do any practicalgood.” And he went into his room, and lay down on hislittle pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after atime, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew tothe Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. Allnight long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and thecold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night longshe sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast,and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy anda girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree thereblossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as songfollowed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist thathangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning, andsilver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose ina mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, sowas the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer againstthe thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,”cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose isfinished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, andlouder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth ofpassion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose,like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses thelips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached herheart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only aNightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart ofa rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer againstthe thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,”cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose isfinished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and thethorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot throughher. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wildergrew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected byDeath, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of theeastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimsonas a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her littlewings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainterand fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her inher throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moonheard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in thesky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over withecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air.Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke thesleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated throughthe reeds of the river, and they carried its message to thesea.

“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose isfinished now”; but the Nightingale made no answer, for shewas lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in herheart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried;“here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose likeit in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it hasa long Latin name”; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’shouse with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorwaywinding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at herfeet.

“You said that you would dance with me if I brought youa red rose,” cried the Student. “Here is thereddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-nightnext your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how Ilove you.”

But the girl frowned.

“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” sheanswered; “and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew hassent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels costfar more than flowers.”

“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,”said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street,where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tellyou what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you?Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you have evengot silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’snephew has”; and she got up from her chair and went intothe house.

“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Studentas he walked away. “It is not half as useful asLogic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always tellingone of things that are not going to happen, and making onebelieve things that are not true. In fact, it is quiteunpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, Ishall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book,and began to read.

The Selfish Giant.

Every afternoon, as they werecoming from school, the children used to go and play in theGiant’s garden.

It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass.Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars,and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time brokeout into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumnbore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang sosweetly that the children used to stop their games in order tolisten to them. “How happy we are here!” theycried to each other.

One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit hisfriend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for sevenyears. After the seven years were over he had said all thathe had to say, for his conversation was limited, and hedetermined to return to his own castle. When he arrived hesaw the children playing in the garden.

“What are you doing here?” he cried in a verygruff voice, and the children ran away.

“My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant;“any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody toplay in it but myself.” So he built a high wall allround it, and put up a notice-board.

He was a very selfish Giant.

The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried toplay on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hardstones, and they did not like it. They used to wander roundthe high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about thebeautiful garden inside. “How happy we werethere,” they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there werelittle blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of theSelfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not careto sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot toblossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from thegrass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for thechildren that it slipped back into the ground again, and went offto sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snowand the Frost. “Spring has forgotten thisgarden,” they cried, “so we will live here all theyear round.” The Snow covered up the grass with hergreat white cloak, and the Frost painted all the treessilver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them,and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all dayabout the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.“This is a delightful spot,” he said, “we mustask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came.Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castletill he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and roundthe garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey,and his breath was like ice.

“I cannot understand why the Spring is so late incoming,” said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the windowand looked out at his cold white garden; “I hope there willbe a change in the weather.”

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumngave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant’sgarden she gave none. “He is too selfish,” shesaid. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about throughthe trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heardsome lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that hethought it must be the King’s musicians passing by.It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window,but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his gardenthat it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in theworld. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and theNorth Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to himthrough the open casement. “I believe the Spring hascome at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed andlooked out.

What did he see?

He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole inthe wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in thebranches of the trees. In every tree that he could seethere was a little child. And the trees were so glad tohave the children back again that they had covered themselveswith blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above thechildren’s heads. The birds were flying about andtwittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up throughthe green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, onlyin one corner it was still winter. It was the farthestcorner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy.He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of thetree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly.The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, andthe North Wind was blowing and roaring above it.“Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and it bentits branches down as low as it could; but the boy was tootiny.

And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out.“How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I knowwhy the Spring would not come here. I will put that poorlittle boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down thewall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground forever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what hehad done.

So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly,and went out into the garden. But when the children saw himthey were so frightened that they all ran away, and the gardenbecame winter again. Only the little boy did not run, forhis eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giantcoming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took himgently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And thetree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang onit, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung themround the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the otherchildren, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer,came running back, and with them came the Spring. “Itis your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, andhe took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when thepeople were going to market at twelve o’clock they foundthe Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful gardenthey had ever seen.

All day long they played, and in the evening they came to theGiant to bid him good-bye.

“But where is your little companion?” he said:“the boy I put into the tree.” The Giant lovedhim the best because he had kissed him.

“We don’t know,” answered the children;“he has gone away.”

“You must tell him to be sure and come hereto-morrow,” said the Giant. But the children saidthat they did not know where he lived, and had never seen himbefore; and the Giant felt very sad.

Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came andplayed with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giantloved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to allthe children, yet he longed for his first little friend, andoften spoke of him. “How I would like to seehim!” he used to say.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble.He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair,and watched the children at their games, and admired hisgarden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” hesaid; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers ofall.”

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he wasdressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew thatit was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers wereresting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked andlooked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In thefarthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered withlovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, andsilver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood thelittle boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into thegarden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to thechild. And when he came quite close his face grew red withanger, and he said, “Who hath dared to woundthee?” For on the palms of the child’s handswere the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were onthe little feet.

“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant;“tell me, that I may take my big sword and slayhim.”

“Nay!” answered the child; “but these arethe wounds of Love.”

“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awefell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “Youlet me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me tomy garden, which is Paradise.”

And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found theGiant lying dead under the tree, all covered with whiteblossoms.

The Devoted Friend.

One morning the old Water-rat puthis head out of his hole. He had bright beady eyes andstiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long bit of blackindia-rubber. The little ducks were swimming about in thepond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and theirmother, who was pure white with real red legs, was trying toteach them how to stand on their heads in the water.

“You will never be in the best society unless you canstand on your heads,” she kept saying to them; and everynow and then she showed them how it was done. But thelittle ducks paid no attention to her. They were so youngthat they did not know what an advantage it is to be in societyat all.

“What disobedient children!” cried the oldWater-rat; “they really deserve to be drowned.”

“Nothing of the kind,” answered the Duck,“every one must make a beginning, and parents cannot be toopatient.”

“Ah! I know nothing about the feelings ofparents,” said the Water-rat; “I am not a familyman. In fact, I have never been married, and I never intendto be. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship ismuch higher. Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that iseither nobler or rarer than a devoted friendship.”

“And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devotedfriend?” asked a Green Linnet, who was sitting in awillow-tree hard by, and had overheard the conversation.

“Yes, that is just what I want to know,” said theDuck; and she swam away to the end of the pond, and stood uponher head, in order to give her children a good example.

“What a silly question!” cried theWater-rat. “I should expect my devoted friend to bedevoted to me, of course.”

“And what would you do in return?” said the littlebird, swinging upon a silver spray, and flapping his tinywings.

“I don’t understand you,” answered theWater-rat.

“Let me tell you a story on the subject,” said theLinnet.

“Is the story about me?” asked theWater-rat. “If so, I will listen to it, for I amextremely fond of fiction.”

“It is applicable to you,” answered the Linnet;and he flew down, and alighting upon the bank, he told the storyof The Devoted Friend.

“Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “therewas an honest little fellow named Hans.”

“Was he very distinguished?” asked theWater-rat.

“No,” answered the Linnet, “I don’tthink he was distinguished at all, except for his kind heart, andhis funny round good-humoured face. He lived in a tinycottage all by himself, and every day he worked in hisgarden. In all the country-side there was no garden solovely as his. Sweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers,and Shepherds’-purses, and Fair-maids of France.There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac Crocuses, andgold, purple Violets and white. Columbine and Ladysmock,Marjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, theDaffodil and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their properorder as the months went by, one flower taking anotherflower’s place, so that there were always beautiful thingsto look at, and pleasant odours to smell.

“Little Hans had a great many friends, but the mostdevoted friend of all was big Hugh the Miller. Indeed, sodevoted was the rich Miller to little Hans, that he would nevergo by his garden without leaning over the wall and plucking alarge nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or filling hispockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.

“‘Real friends should have everything incommon,’ the Miller used to say, and little Hans nodded andsmiled, and felt very proud of having a friend with such nobleideas.

“Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strangethat the rich Miller never gave little Hans anything in return,though he had a hundred sacks of flour stored away in his mill,and six milch cows, and a large flock of woolly sheep; but Hansnever troubled his head about these things, and nothing gave himgreater pleasure than to listen to all the wonderful things theMiller used to say about the unselfishness of truefriendship.

“So little Hans worked away in his garden. Duringthe spring, the summer, and the autumn he was very happy, butwhen the winter came, and he had no fruit or flowers to bring tothe market, he suffered a good deal from cold and hunger, andoften had to go to bed without any supper but a few dried pearsor some hard nuts. In the winter, also, he was extremelylonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.

“‘There is no good in my going to see little Hansas long as the snow lasts,’ the Miller used to say to hiswife, ‘for when people are in trouble they should be leftalone, and not be bothered by visitors. That at least is myidea about friendship, and I am sure I am right. So I shallwait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, andhe will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and thatwill make him so happy.’

“‘You are certainly very thoughtful aboutothers,’ answered the Wife, as she sat in her comfortablearmchair by the big pinewood fire; ‘very thoughtfulindeed. It is quite a treat to hear you talk aboutfriendship. I am sure the clergyman himself could not saysuch beautiful things as you do, though he does live in athree-storied house, and wear a gold ring on his littlefinger.’

“‘But could we not ask little Hans up here?’said the Miller’s youngest son. ‘If poor Hansis in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and show him mywhite rabbits.’

“‘What a silly boy you are!’ cried theMiller; ‘I really don’t know what is the use ofsending you to school. You seem not to learnanything. Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw ourwarm fire, and our good supper, and our great cask of red wine,he might get envious, and envy is a most terrible thing, andwould spoil anybody’s nature. I certainly will notallow Hans’ nature to be spoiled. I am his bestfriend, and I will always watch over him, and see that he is notled into any temptations. Besides, if Hans came here, hemight ask me to let him have some flour on credit, and that Icould not do. Flour is one thing, and friendship isanother, and they should not be confused. Why, the wordsare spelt differently, and mean quite different things.Everybody can see that.’

“‘How well you talk!’ said theMiller’s Wife, pouring herself out a large glass of warmale; ‘really I feel quite drowsy. It is just likebeing in church.’

“‘Lots of people act well,’ answered theMiller; ‘but very few people talk well, which shows thattalking is much the more difficult thing of the two, and much thefiner thing also’; and he looked sternly across the tableat his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hunghis head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into histea. However, he was so young that you must excusehim.”

“Is that the end of the story?” asked theWater-rat.

“Certainly not,” answered the Linnet, “thatis the beginning.”

“Then you are quite behind the age,” said theWater-rat. “Every good story-teller nowadays startswith the end, and then goes on to the beginning, and concludeswith the middle. That is the new method. I heard allabout it the other day from a critic who was walking round thepond with a young man. He spoke of the matter at greatlength, and I am sure he must have been right, for he had bluespectacles and a bald head, and whenever the young man made anyremark, he always answered ‘Pooh!’ But pray goon with your story. I like the Miller immensely. Ihave all kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is agreat sympathy between us.”

“Well,” said the Linnet, hopping now on one legand now on the other, “as soon as the winter was over, andthe primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the Millersaid to his wife that he would go down and see little Hans.

“‘Why, what a good heart you have!’ criedhis Wife; ‘you are always thinking of others. Andmind you take the big basket with you for the flowers.’

“So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill togetherwith a strong iron chain, and went down the hill with the basketon his arm.

“‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said theMiller.

“‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on hisspade, and smiling from ear to ear.

“‘And how have you been all the winter?’said the Miller.

“‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it isvery good of you to ask, very good indeed. I am afraid Ihad rather a hard time of it, but now the spring has come, and Iam quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.’

“‘We often talked of you during the winter,Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘and wondered how you weregetting on.’

“‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘Iwas half afraid you had forgotten me.’

“‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said theMiller; ‘friendship never forgets. That is thewonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don’tunderstand the poetry of life. How lovely your primrosesare looking, by-the-bye!”

“‘They are certainly very lovely,’ saidHans, ‘and it is a most lucky thing for me that I have somany. I am going to bring them into the market and sellthem to the Burgomaster’s daughter, and buy back mywheelbarrow with the money.’

“‘Buy back your wheelbarrow? You don’tmean to say you have sold it? What a very stupid thing todo!’

“‘Well, the fact is,’ said Hans, ‘thatI was obliged to. You see the winter was a very bad timefor me, and I really had no money at all to buy bread with.So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat, and then Isold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at last Isold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them all backagain now.’

“‘Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘I will giveyou my wheelbarrow. It is not in very good repair; indeed,one side is gone, and there is something wrong with thewheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to you. Iknow it is very generous of me, and a great many people wouldthink me extremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not likethe rest of the world. I think that generosity is theessence of friendship, and, besides, I have got a new wheelbarrowfor myself. Yes, you may set your mind at ease, I will giveyou my wheelbarrow.’

“‘Well, really, that is generous of you,’said little Hans, and his funny round face glowed all over withpleasure. ‘I can easily put it in repair, as I have aplank of wood in the house.’

“‘A plank of wood!’ said the Miller;‘why, that is just what I want for the roof of mybarn. There is a very large hole in it, and the corn willall get damp if I don’t stop it up. How lucky youmentioned it! It is quite remarkable how one good actionalways breeds another. I have given you my wheelbarrow, andnow you are going to give me your plank. Of course, thewheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true,friendship never notices things like that. Pray get it atonce, and I will set to work at my barn this very day.’

“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, and he raninto the shed and dragged the plank out.

“‘It is not a very big plank,’ said theMiller, looking at it, ‘and I am afraid that after I havemended my barn-roof there won’t be any left for you to mendthe wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault.And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure you wouldlike to give me some flowers in return. Here is the basket,and mind you fill it quite full.’

“‘Quite full?’ said little Hans, rathersorrowfully, for it was really a very big basket, and he knewthat if he filled it he would have no flowers left for the marketand he was very anxious to get his silver buttons back.

“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller,‘as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I don’t thinkthat it is much to ask you for a few flowers. I may bewrong, but I should have thought that friendship, truefriendship, was quite free from selfishness of anykind.’

“‘My dear friend, my best friend,’ criedlittle Hans, ‘you are welcome to all the flowers in mygarden. I would much sooner have your good opinion than mysilver buttons, any day’; and he ran and plucked all hispretty primroses, and filled the Miller’s basket.

“‘Good-bye, little Hans,’ said the Miller,as he went up the hill with the plank on his shoulder, and thebig basket in his hand.

“‘Good-bye,’ said little Hans, and he beganto dig away quite merrily, he was so pleased about thewheelbarrow.

“The next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle againstthe porch, when he heard the Miller’s voice calling to himfrom the road. So he jumped off the ladder, and ran downthe garden, and looked over the wall.

“There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on hisback.

“‘Dear little Hans,’ said the Miller,‘would you mind carrying this sack of flour for me tomarket?’

“‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ said Hans, ‘butI am really very busy to-day. I have got all my creepers tonail up, and all my flowers to water, and all my grass toroll.’

“‘Well, really,’ said the Miller, ‘Ithink that, considering that I am going to give you mywheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to refuse.’

“‘Oh, don’t say that,’ cried littleHans, ‘I wouldn’t be unfriendly for the wholeworld’; and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with thebig sack on his shoulders.

“It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty,and before Hans had reached the sixth milestone he was so tiredthat he had to sit down and rest. However, he went onbravely, and as last he reached the market. After he hadwaited there some time, he sold the sack of flour for a very goodprice, and then he returned home at once, for he was afraid thatif he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way.

“‘It has certainly been a hard day,’ saidlittle Hans to himself as he was going to bed, ‘but I amglad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is my best friend, and,besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.’

“Early the next morning the Miller came down to get themoney for his sack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that hewas still in bed.

“‘Upon my word,’ said the Miller, ‘youare very lazy. Really, considering that I am going to giveyou my wheelbarrow, I think you might work harder. Idlenessis a great sin, and I certainly don’t like any of myfriends to be idle or sluggish. You must not mind myspeaking quite plainly to you. Of course I should not dreamof doing so if I were not your friend. But what is the goodof friendship if one cannot say exactly what one means?Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter,but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does notmind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend heprefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.’

“‘I am very sorry,’ said little Hans,rubbing his eyes and pulling off his night-cap, ‘but I wasso tired that I thought I would lie in bed for a little time, andlisten to the birds singing. Do you know that I always workbetter after hearing the birds sing?’

“‘Well, I am glad of that,’ said the Miller,clapping little Hans on the back, ‘for I want you to comeup to the mill as soon as you are dressed, and mend my barn-rooffor me.’

“Poor little Hans was very anxious to go and work in hisgarden, for his flowers had not been watered for two days, but hedid not like to refuse the Miller, as he was such a good friendto him.

“‘Do you think it would be unfriendly of me if Isaid I was busy?’ he inquired in a shy and timid voice.

“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller,‘I do not think it is much to ask of you, considering thatI am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of course if yourefuse I will go and do it myself.’

“‘Oh! on no account,’ cried little Hans andhe jumped out of bed, and dressed himself, and went up to thebarn.

“He worked there all day long, till sunset, and atsunset the Miller came to see how he was getting on.

“‘Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, littleHans?’ cried the Miller in a cheery voice.

“‘It is quite mended,’ answered little Hans,coming down the ladder.

“‘Ah!’ said the Miller, ‘there is nowork so delightful as the work one does for others.’

“‘It is certainly a great privilege to hear youtalk,’ answered little Hans, sitting down, and wiping hisforehead, ‘a very great privilege. But I am afraid Ishall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.’

“‘Oh! they will come to you,’ said theMiller, ‘but you must take more pains. At present youhave only the practice of friendship; some day you will have thetheory also.’

“‘Do you really think I shall?’ asked littleHans.

“‘I have no doubt of it,’ answered theMiller, ‘but now that you have mended the roof, you hadbetter go home and rest, for I want you to drive my sheep to themountain to-morrow.’

“Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this,and early the next morning the Miller brought his sheep round tothe cottage, and Hans started off with them to themountain. It took him the whole day to get there and back;and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to sleep inhis chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.

“‘What a delightful time I shall have in mygarden,’ he said, and he went to work at once.

“But somehow he was never able to look after his flowersat all, for his friend the Miller was always coming round andsending him off on long errands, or getting him to help at themill. Little Hans was very much distressed at times, as hewas afraid his flowers would think he had forgotten them, but heconsoled himself by the reflection that the Miller was his bestfriend. ‘Besides,’ he used to say, ‘he isgoing to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of puregenerosity.’

“So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and theMiller said all kinds of beautiful things about friendship, whichHans took down in a note-book, and used to read over at night,for he was a very good scholar.

“Now it happened that one evening little Hans wassitting by his fireside when a loud rap came at the door.It was a very wild night, and the wind was blowing and roaringround the house so terribly that at first he thought it wasmerely the storm. But a second rap came, and then a third,louder than any of the others.

“‘It is some poor traveller,’ said littleHans to himself, and he ran to the door.

“There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and abig stick in the other.

“‘Dear little Hans,’ cried the Miller,‘I am in great trouble. My little boy has fallen offa ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the Doctor.But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it hasjust occurred to me that it would be much better if you wentinstead of me. You know I am going to give you mywheelbarrow, and so, it is only fair that you should do somethingfor me in return.’

“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, ‘Itake it quite as a compliment your coming to me, and I will startoff at once. But you must lend me your lantern, as thenight is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into theditch.’

“‘I am very sorry,’ answered the Miller,‘but it is my new lantern, and it would be a great loss tome if anything happened to it.’

“‘Well, never mind, I will do without it,’cried little Hans, and he took down his great fur coat, and hiswarm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler round his throat, andstarted off.

“What a dreadful storm it was! The night was soblack that little Hans could hardly see, and the wind was sostrong that he could scarcely stand. However, he was verycourageous, and after he had been walking about three hours, hearrived at the Doctor’s house, and knocked at the door.

“‘Who is there?’ cried the Doctor, puttinghis head out of his bedroom window.

“‘Little Hans, Doctor.’

“’What do you want, little Hans?’

“‘The Miller’s son has fallen from a ladder,and has hurt himself, and the Miller wants you to come atonce.’

“‘All right!’ said the Doctor; and heordered his horse, and his big boots, and his lantern, and camedownstairs, and rode off in the direction of the Miller’shouse, little Hans trudging behind him.

“But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fellin torrents, and little Hans could not see where he was going, orkeep up with the horse. At last he lost his way, andwandered off on the moor, which was a very dangerous place, as itwas full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans wasdrowned. His body was found the next day by some goatherds,floating in a great pool of water, and was brought back by themto the cottage.

“Everybody went to little Hans’ funeral, as he wasso popular, and the Miller was the chief mourner.

“‘As I was his best friend,’ said theMiller, ‘it is only fair that I should have the bestplace’; so he walked at the head of the procession in along black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with abig pocket-handkerchief.

“‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to everyone,’ said the Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, andthey were all seated comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wineand eating sweet cakes.

“‘A great loss to me at any rate,’ answeredthe Miller; ‘why, I had as good as given him mywheelbarrow, and now I really don’t know what to do withit. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in suchbad repair that I could not get anything for it if I soldit. I will certainly take care not to give away anythingagain. One always suffers for beinggenerous.’”

“Well?” said the Water-rat, after a longpause.

“Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet.

“But what became of the Miller?” asked theWater-rat.

“Oh! I really don’t know,” replied theLinnet; “and I am sure that I don’t care.”

“It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy inyour nature,” said the Water-rat.

“I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of thestory,” remarked the Linnet.

“The what?” screamed the Water-rat.

“The moral.”

“Do you mean to say that the story has amoral?”

“Certainly,” said the Linnet.

“Well, really,” said the Water-rat, in a veryangry manner, “I think you should have told me that beforeyou began. If you had done so, I certainly would not havelistened to you; in fact, I should have said ‘Pooh,’like the critic. However, I can say it now”; so heshouted out “Pooh” at the top of his voice, gave awhisk with his tail, and went back into his hole.

“And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked theDuck, who came paddling up some minutes afterwards.“He has a great many good points, but for my own part Ihave a mother’s feelings, and I can never look at aconfirmed bachelor without the tears coming into myeyes.”

“I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,”answered the Linnet. “The fact is, that I told him astory with a moral.”

“Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do,”said the Duck.

And I quite agree with her.

The Remarkable Rocket.

The King’s son was going tobe married, so there were general rejoicings. He had waiteda whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived.She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way fromFinland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge wasshaped like a great golden swan, and between the swan’swings lay the little Princess herself. Her longermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was atiny cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palacein which she had always lived. So pale was she that as shedrove through the streets all the people wondered.“She is like a white rose!” they cried, and theythrew down flowers on her from the balconies.

At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receiveher. He had dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like finegold. When he saw her he sank upon one knee, and kissed herhand.

“Your picture was beautiful,” he murmured,“but you are more beautiful than your picture”; andthe little Princess blushed.

“She was like a white rose before,” said a youngPage to his neighbour, “but she is like a red rosenow”; and the whole Court was delighted.

For the next three days everybody went about saying,“White rose, Red rose, Red rose, White rose”; and theKing gave orders that the Page’s salary was to bedoubled. As he received no salary at all this was not ofmuch use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and wasduly published in the Court Gazette.

When the three days were over the marriage wascelebrated. It was a magnificent ceremony, and the brideand bridegroom walked hand in hand under a canopy of purplevelvet embroidered with little pearls. Then there was aState Banquet, which lasted for five hours. The Prince andPrincess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cupof clear crystal. Only true lovers could drink out of thiscup, for if false lips touched it, it grew grey and dull andcloudy.

“It’s quite clear that they love eachother,” said the little Page, “as clear ascrystal!” and the King doubled his salary a secondtime. “What an honour!” cried all thecourtiers.

After the banquet there was to be a Ball. The bride andbridegroom were to dance the Rose-dance together, and the Kinghad promised to play the flute. He played very badly, butno one had ever dared to tell him so, because he was theKing. Indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never quitecertain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for,whatever he did, everybody cried out, “Charming!charming!”

The last item on the programme was a grand display offireworks, to be let off exactly at midnight. The littlePrincess had never seen a firework in her life, so the King hadgiven orders that the Royal Pyrotechnist should be in attendanceon the day of her marriage.

“What are fireworks like?” she had asked thePrince, one morning, as she was walking on the terrace.

“They are like the Aurora Borealis,” said theKing, who always answered questions that were addressed to otherpeople, “only much more natural. I prefer them tostars myself, as you always know when they are going to appear,and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing. Youmust certainly see them.”

So at the end of the King’s garden a great stand hadbeen set up, and as soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had puteverything in its proper place, the fireworks began to talk toeach other.

“The world is certainly very beautiful,” cried alittle Squib. “Just look at those yellowtulips. Why! if they were real crackers they could not belovelier. I am very glad I have travelled. Travelimproves the mind wonderfully, and does away with all one’sprejudices.”

“The King’s garden is not the world, you foolishsquib,” said a big Roman Candle; “the world is anenormous place, and it would take you three days to see itthoroughly.”

“Any place you love is the world to you,”exclaimed a pensive Catherine Wheel, who had been attached to anold deal box in early life, and prided herself on her brokenheart; “but love is not fashionable any more, the poetshave killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobodybelieved them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers,and is silent. I remember myself once—But it is nomatter now. Romance is a thing of the past.”

“Nonsense!” said the Roman Candle, “Romancenever dies. It is like the moon, and lives for ever.The bride and bridegroom, for instance, love each other verydearly. I heard all about them this morning from abrown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the samedrawer as myself, and knew the latest Court news.”

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romanceis dead, Romance is dead, Romance is dead,” shemurmured. She was one of those people who think that, ifyou say the same thing over and over a great many times, itbecomes true in the end.

Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all lookedround.

It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tiedto the end of a long stick. He always coughed before hemade any observation, so as to attract attention.

“Ahem! ahem!” he said, and everybody listenedexcept the poor Catherine Wheel, who was still shaking her head,and murmuring, “Romance is dead.”

“Order! order!” cried out a Cracker. He wassomething of a politician, and had always taken a prominent partin the local elections, so he knew the proper Parliamentaryexpressions to use.

“Quite dead,” whispered the Catherine Wheel, andshe went off to sleep.

As soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed athird time and began. He spoke with a very slow, distinctvoice, as if he was dictating his memoirs, and always looked overthe shoulder of the person to whom he was talking. In fact,he had a most distinguished manner.

“How fortunate it is for the King’s son,” heremarked, “that he is to be married on the very day onwhich I am to be let off. Really, if it had been arrangedbeforehand, it could not have turned out better for him; but,Princes are always lucky.”

“Dear me!” said the little Squib, “I thoughtit was quite the other way, and that we were to be let off in thePrince’s honour.”

“It may be so with you,” he answered;“indeed, I have no doubt that it is, but with me it isdifferent. I am a very remarkable Rocket, and come ofremarkable parents. My mother was the most celebratedCatherine Wheel of her day, and was renowned for her gracefuldancing. When she made her great public appearance she spunround nineteen times before she went out, and each time that shedid so she threw into the air seven pink stars. She wasthree feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very bestgunpowder. My father was a Rocket like myself, and ofFrench extraction. He flew so high that the people wereafraid that he would never come down again. He did, though,for he was of a kindly disposition, and he made a most brilliantdescent in a shower of golden rain. The newspapers wroteabout his performance in very flattering terms. Indeed, theCourt Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic art.”

“Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,” said aBengal Light; “I know it is Pyrotechnic, for I saw itwritten on my own canister.”

“Well, I said Pylotechnic,” answered the Rocket,in a severe tone of voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushedthat he began at once to bully the little squibs, in order toshow that he was still a person of some importance.

“I was saying,” continued the Rocket, “I wassaying—What was I saying?”

“You were talking about yourself,” replied theRoman Candle.

“Of course; I knew I was discussing some interestingsubject when I was so rudely interrupted. I hate rudenessand bad manners of every kind, for I am extremelysensitive. No one in the whole world is so sensitive as Iam, I am quite sure of that.”

“What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker tothe Roman Candle.

“A person who, because he has corns himself, alwaystreads on other people’s toes,” answered the RomanCandle in a low whisper; and the Cracker nearly exploded withlaughter.

“Pray, what are you laughing at?” inquired theRocket; “I am not laughing.”

“I am laughing because I am happy,” replied theCracker.

“That is a very selfish reason,” said the Rocketangrily. “What right have you to be happy? Youshould be thinking about others. In fact, you should bethinking about me. I am always thinking about myself, and Iexpect everybody else to do the same. That is what iscalled sympathy. It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess itin a high degree. Suppose, for instance, anything happenedto me to-night, what a misfortune that would be for everyone! The Prince and Princess would never be happy again,their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King, Iknow he would not get over it. Really, when I begin toreflect on the importance of my position, I am almost moved totears.”

“If you want to give pleasure to others,” criedthe Roman Candle, “you had better keep yourselfdry.”

“Certainly,” exclaimed the Bengal Light, who wasnow in better spirits; “that is only commonsense.”

“Common sense, indeed!” said the Rocketindignantly; “you forget that I am very uncommon, and veryremarkable. Why, anybody can have common sense, providedthat they have no imagination. But I have imagination, forI never think of things as they really are; I always think ofthem as being quite different. As for keeping myself dry,there is evidently no one here who can at all appreciate anemotional nature. Fortunately for myself, I don’tcare. The only thing that sustains one through life is theconsciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, andthis is a feeling that I have always cultivated. But noneof you have any hearts. Here you are laughing and makingmerry just as if the Prince and Princess had not just beenmarried.”

“Well, really,” exclaimed a small Fire-balloon,“why not? It is a most joyful occasion, and when Isoar up into the air I intend to tell the stars all aboutit. You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about thepretty bride.”

“Ah! what a trivial view of life!” said theRocket; “but it is only what I expected. There isnothing in you; you are hollow and empty. Why, perhaps thePrince and Princess may go to live in a country where there is adeep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a littlefair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; andperhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; andperhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; andperhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and bedrowned. What a terrible misfortune! Poor people, tolose their only son! It is really too dreadful! Ishall never get over it.”

“But they have not lost their only son,” said theRoman Candle; “no misfortune has happened to them atall.”

“I never said that they had,” replied the Rocket;“I said that they might. If they had lost their onlyson there would be no use in saying anything more about thematter. I hate people who cry over spilt milk. Butwhen I think that they might lose their only son, I certainly amvery much affected.”

“You certainly are!” cried the Bengal Light.“In fact, you are the most affected person I evermet.”

“You are the rudest person I ever met,” said theRocket, “and you cannot understand my friendship for thePrince.”

“Why, you don’t even know him,” growled theRoman Candle.

“I never said I knew him,” answered theRocket. “I dare say that if I knew him I should notbe his friend at all. It is a very dangerous thing to knowone’s friends.”

“You had really better keep yourself dry,” saidthe Fire-balloon. “That is the importantthing.”

“Very important for you, I have no doubt,”answered the Rocket, “but I shall weep if I choose”;and he actually burst into real tears, which flowed down hisstick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little beetles, whowere just thinking of setting up house together, and were lookingfor a nice dry spot to live in.

“He must have a truly romantic nature,” said theCatherine Wheel, “for he weeps when there is nothing at allto weep about”; and she heaved a deep sigh, and thoughtabout the deal box.

But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quiteindignant, and kept saying, “Humbug! humbug!” at thetop of their voices. They were extremely practical, andwhenever they objected to anything they called it humbug.

Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and thestars began to shine, and a sound of music came from thepalace.

The Prince and Princess were leading the dance. Theydanced so beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at thewindow and watched them, and the great red poppies nodded theirheads and beat time.

Then ten o’clock struck, and then eleven, and thentwelve, and at the last stroke of midnight every one came out onthe terrace, and the King sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.

“Let the fireworks begin,” said the King; and theRoyal Pyrotechnist made a low bow, and marched down to the end ofthe garden. He had six attendants with him, each of whomcarried a lighted torch at the end of a long pole.

It was certainly a magnificent display.

Whizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round andround. Boom! Boom! went the Roman Candle. Thenthe Squibs danced all over the place, and the Bengal Lights madeeverything look scarlet. “Good-bye,” cried theFire-balloon, as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.Bang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who were enjoying themselvesimmensely. Every one was a great success except theRemarkable Rocket. He was so damp with crying that he couldnot go off at all. The best thing in him was the gunpowder,and that was so wet with tears that it was of no use. Allhis poor relations, to whom he would never speak, except with asneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers withblossoms of fire. Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and thelittle Princess laughed with pleasure.

“I suppose they are reserving me for some grandoccasion,” said the Rocket; “no doubt that is what itmeans,” and he looked more supercilious than ever.

The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy.“This is evidently a deputation,” said the Rocket;“I will receive them with becoming dignity” so he puthis nose in the air, and began to frown severely as if he werethinking about some very important subject. But they tookno notice of him at all till they were just going away.Then one of them caught sight of him. “Hallo!”he cried, “what a bad rocket!” and he threw him overthe wall into the ditch.

“Bad Rocket? Bad Rocket?” he said, as he whirledthrough the air; “impossible! Grand Rocket, that is what the mansaid. Bad and Grand sound very much the same, indeed theyoften are the same”; and he fell into the mud.

“It is not comfortable here,” he remarked,“but no doubt it is some fashionable watering-place, andthey have sent me away to recruit my health. My nerves arecertainly very much shattered, and I require rest.”

Then a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a greenmottled coat, swam up to him.

“A new arrival, I see!” said the Frog.“Well, after all there is nothing like mud. Give merainy weather and a ditch, and I am quite happy. Do youthink it will be a wet afternoon? I am sure I hope so, butthe sky is quite blue and cloudless. What apity!”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket, and he began tocough.

“What a delightful voice you have!” cried theFrog. “Really it is quite like a croak, and croakingis of course the most musical sound in the world. You willhear our glee-club this evening. We sit in the old duckpond close by the farmer’s house, and as soon as the moonrises we begin. It is so entrancing that everybody liesawake to listen to us. In fact, it was only yesterday thatI heard the farmer’s wife say to her mother that she couldnot get a wink of sleep at night on account of us. It ismost gratifying to find oneself so popular.”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket angrily. Hewas very much annoyed that he could not get a word in.

“A delightful voice, certainly,” continued theFrog; “I hope you will come over to the duck-pond. Iam off to look for my daughters. I have six beautifuldaughters, and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them. He isa perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfastingoff them. Well, good-bye: I have enjoyed our conversationvery much, I assure you.”

“Conversation, indeed!” said the Rocket.“You have talked the whole time yourself. That is notconversation.”

“Somebody must listen,” answered the Frog,“and I like to do all the talking myself. It savestime, and prevents arguments.”

“But I like arguments,” said the Rocket.

“I hope not,” said the Frog complacently.“Arguments are extremely vulgar, for everybody in goodsociety holds exactly the same opinions. Good-bye a secondtime; I see my daughters in the distance;” and the little Frog swamaway.

“You are a very irritating person,” said theRocket, “and very ill-bred. I hate people who talkabout themselves, as you do, when one wants to talk aboutoneself, as I do. It is what I call selfishness, andselfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one ofmy temperament, for I am well known for my sympatheticnature. In fact, you should take example by me; you couldnot possibly have a better model. Now that you have thechance you had better avail yourself of it, for I am going backto Court almost immediately. I am a great favourite atCourt; in fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday inmy honour. Of course you know nothing of these matters, foryou are a provincial.”

“There is no good talking to him,” said aDragon-fly, who was sitting on the top of a large brown bulrush;“no good at all, for he has gone away.”

“Well, that is his loss, not mine,” answered theRocket. “I am not going to stop talking to him merelybecause he pays no attention. I like hearing myselftalk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I oftenhave long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever thatsometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I amsaying.”

“Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,”said the Dragon-fly; and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wingsand soared away into the sky.

“How very silly of him not to stay here!” said theRocket. “I am sure that he has not often got such achance of improving his mind. However, I don’t care abit. Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated someday”; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.

After some time a large White Duck swam up to him. Shehad yellow legs, and webbed feet, and was considered a greatbeauty on account of her waddle.

“Quack, quack, quack,” she said. “Whata curious shape you are! May I ask were you born like that,or is it the result of an accident?”

“It is quite evident that you have always lived in thecountry,” answered the Rocket, “otherwise you wouldknow who I am. However, I excuse your ignorance. Itwould be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable asoneself. You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I canfly up into the sky, and come down in a shower of goldenrain.”

“I don’t think much of that,” said the Duck,“as I cannot see what use it is to any one. Now, ifyou could plough the fields like the ox, or draw a cart like thehorse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that would besomething.”

“My good creature,” cried the Rocket in a veryhaughty tone of voice, “I see that you belong to the lowerorders. A person of my position is never useful. Wehave certain accomplishments, and that is more thansufficient. I have no sympathy myself with industry of anykind, least of all with such industries as you seem torecommend. Indeed, I have always been of opinion that hardwork is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever todo.”

“Well, well,” said the Duck, who was of a verypeaceable disposition, and never quarrelled with any one,“everybody has different tastes. I hope, at any rate,that you are going to take up your residence here.”

“Oh! dear no,” cried the Rocket. “I ammerely a visitor, a distinguished visitor. The fact is thatI find this place rather tedious. There is neither societyhere, nor solitude. In fact, it is essentiallysuburban. I shall probably go back to Court, for I knowthat I am destined to make a sensation in the world.”

“I had thoughts of entering public life oncemyself,” remarked the Duck; “there are so many thingsthat need reforming. Indeed, I took the chair at a meetingsome time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning everythingthat we did not like. However, they did not seem to havemuch effect. Now I go in for domesticity, and look after myfamily.”

“I am made for public life,” said the Rocket,“and so are all my relations, even the humblest ofthem. Whenever we appear we excite great attention. Ihave not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will be amagnificent sight. As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly,and distracts one’s mind from higher things.”

“Ah! the higher things of life, how fine theyare!” said the Duck; “and that reminds me how hungryI feel”: and she swam away down the stream, saying,“Quack, quack, quack.”

“Come back! come back!” screamed the Rocket,“I have a great deal to say to you”; but the Duckpaid no attention to him. “I am glad that she hasgone,” he said to himself, “she has a decidedlymiddle-class mind”; and he sank a little deeper still intothe mud, and began to think about the loneliness of genius, whensuddenly two little boys in white smocks came running down thebank, with a kettle and some faggots.

“This must be the deputation,” said the Rocket,and he tried to look very dignified.

“Hallo!” cried one of the boys, “look atthis old stick! I wonder how it came here”; and hepicked the rocket out of the ditch.

“Old Stick!” said theRocket, “impossible! GoldStick, that is what he said. Gold Stick is verycomplimentary. In fact, he mistakes me for one of the Courtdignitaries!”

“Let us put it into the fire!” said the other boy,“it will help to boil the kettle.”

So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top,and lit the fire.

“This is magnificent,” cried the Rocket,“they are going to let me off in broad day-light, so thatevery one can see me.”

“We will go to sleep now,” they said, “andwhen we wake up the kettle will be boiled”; and they laydown on the grass, and shut their eyes.

The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time toburn. At last, however, the fire caught him.

“Now I am going off!” he cried, and he madehimself very stiff and straight. “I know I shall gomuch higher than the stars, much higher than the moon, muchhigher than the sun. In fact, I shall go so highthat—”

Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.

“Delightful!” he cried, “I shall go on likethis for ever. What a success I am!”

But nobody saw him.

Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all overhim.

“Now I am going to explode,” he cried.“I shall set the whole world on fire, and make such a noisethat nobody will talk about anything else for a wholeyear.” And he certainly did explode. Bang!Bang! Bang! went the gunpowder. There was no doubt aboutit.

But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for theywere sound asleep.

Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this felldown on the back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side ofthe ditch.

“Good heavens!” cried the Goose. “Itis going to rain sticks”; and she rushed into thewater.

“I knew I should create a great sensation,” gaspedthe Rocket, and he went out.

Printed by Ballantyne & Co.Limited
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London

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