{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30120/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30120","id":"gutenberg_30120","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30120","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Short Stories","Children's stories, English","Fairy tales","Short stories, English"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations\n      including twelve full-color plates.\n      See 30120-h.htm or 30120-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/30120/pg30120-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30120/30120-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/happyprinceother00wild3\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      In addition to the twelve full-color Plates, most pages have a line\n      drawing either in the margin or surrounding the text. These have not\n      been individually noted.\n\n      The cover reads \"... and Other Stories\"; all interior pages read\n      \"... and Other Tales\".\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAPPY PRINCE\n\nAnd Other Tales\n\n\n  [Illustration: THE KING OF THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON]\n\n\nTHE HAPPY PRINCE\n\nAnd Other Tales\n\nby\n\nOSCAR WILDE\n\nIllustrated by Charles Robinson\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK: BRENTANO'S\n\nFirst published by David Nutt, May, 1888\n\nReprinted January, 1889; February, 1902; September, 1905; February,\n1907; March, 1908; March, 1910\n\nReset and published by arrangement with David Nutt by Duckworth & Co.,\n1920\n\nSpecial Edition, reset. With illustrations by Charles Robinson,\npublished by arrangement with David Nutt by Duckworth & Co., 1913.\nReprinted 1920\n\nPrinted in Great Britain\nBy Hazell, Watson and Viney, Ld.,\nLondon and Aylesbury.\n\n\n\n\n  _To_\n\n  _CARLOS BLACKER_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                   _Page_\n  The Happy Prince                                    15\n\n  The Nightingale and the Rose                        41\n\n  The Selfish Giant                                   59\n\n  The Devoted Friend                                  73\n\n  The Remarkable Rocket                              105\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF COLOUR PLATES\n\n  The King of the Mountains of the Moon        _Frontis._\n\n                                            _Facing page_\n  The Palace of Sans-Souci                            20\n\n  The Loveliest of the Queen's Maids of Honour        26\n\n  The Rich Making Merry in Their Beautiful Houses\n      while the Beggars were Sitting at the Gates     32\n\n  She will Pass me by                                 42\n\n  His Lips are Sweet as Honey                         48\n\n  In every Tree he could see there was a\n      Little Child   64\n\n  The Little Boy he had Loved                         68\n\n  The Green Linnet                                    76\n\n  Hans in his Garden                                  92\n\n  The Russian Princess                               106\n\n  \"Let the Fireworks Begin,\" said the King           122\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAPPY PRINCE\n\n\nHigh above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy\nPrince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes\nhe had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his\nsword-hilt.\n\nHe was very much admired indeed. \"He is as beautiful as a weathercock,\"\nremarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for\nhaving artistic tastes; \"only not quite so useful,\" he added, fearing\nlest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.\n\n\"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?\" asked a sensible mother of her\nlittle boy who was crying for the moon. \"The Happy Prince never dreams\nof crying for anything.\"\n\n\"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,\" muttered\na disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.\n\n\"He looks just like an angel,\" said the Charity Children as they came\nout of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean\nwhite pinafores.\n\n\"How do you know?\" said the Mathematical Master, \"you have never seen\none.\"\n\n\"Ah! but we have, in our dreams,\" answered the children; and the\nMathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not\napprove of children dreaming.\n\nOne night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had\ngone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he\nwas in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the\nspring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had\nbeen so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to\nher.\n\n\"Shall I love you?\" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at\nonce, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her,\ntouching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was\nhis courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.\n\n\"It is a ridiculous attachment,\" twittered the other Swallows; \"she has\nno money, and far too many relations;\" and indeed the river was quite\nfull of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.\n\nAfter they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.\n\"She has no conversation,\" he said, \"and I am afraid that she is a\ncoquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.\" And certainly,\nwhenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.\n\"I admit that she is domestic,\" he continued, \"but I love travelling,\nand my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.\"\n\n\"Will you come away with me?\" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook\nher head, she was so attached to her home.\n\n\"You have been trifling with me,\" he cried. \"I am off to the Pyramids.\nGood-bye!\" and he flew away.\n\nAll day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. \"Where\nshall I put up?\" he said; \"I hope the town has made preparations.\"\n\nThen he saw the statue on the tall column.\n\n\"I will put up there,\" he cried; \"it is a fine position, with plenty of\nfresh air.\" So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.\n\n\"I have a golden bedroom,\" he said softly to himself as he looked round,\nand he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head\nunder his wing a large drop of water fell on him. \"What a curious\nthing!\" he cried; \"there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are\nquite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north\nof Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that\nwas merely her selfishness.\"\n\nThen another drop fell.\n\n\"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?\" he said;\n\"I must look for a good chimney-pot,\" and he determined to fly away.\n\nBut before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up,\nand saw-- Ah! what did he see?\n\nThe eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were\nrunning down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the\nmoonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said.\n\n\"I am the Happy Prince.\"\n\n\"Why are you weeping then?\" asked the Swallow; \"you have quite\ndrenched me.\"\n\n  [Illustration: THE PALACE OF SANS-SOUCI]\n\n\"When I was alive and had a human heart,\" answered the statue, \"I did\nnot know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where\nsorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my\ncompanions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the\nGreat Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared\nto ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.\nMy courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if\npleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead\nthey have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all\nthe misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot\nchoose but weep.\"\n\n\"What! is he not solid gold?\" said the Swallow to himself. He was too\npolite to make any personal remarks out loud.\n\n\"Far away,\" continued the statue in a low musical voice, \"far away in a\nlittle street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and\nthrough it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and\nworn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she\nis a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for\nthe loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the next\nCourt-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying\nill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing\nto give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little\nSwallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet\nare fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.\"\n\n\"I am waited for in Egypt,\" said the Swallow. \"My friends are flying up\nand down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they\nwill go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there\nhimself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and\nembalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade,\nand his hands are like withered leaves.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not stay\nwith me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and\nthe mother so sad.\"\n\n\"I don't think I like boys,\" answered the Swallow. \"Last summer, when I\nwas staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons,\nwho were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course;\nwe swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family\nfamous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.\"\n\nBut the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.\n\"It is very cold here,\" he said; \"but I will stay with you for one\nnight, and be your messenger.\"\n\n\"Thank you, little Swallow,\" said the Prince.\n\nSo the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword,\nand flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.\n\nHe passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were\nsculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.\nA beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. \"How wonderful\nthe stars are,\" he said to her, \"and how wonderful is the power of\nlove!\"\n\n\"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,\" she\nanswered; \"I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it;\nbut the seamstresses are so lazy.\"\n\nHe passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of\nthe ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining\nwith each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he\ncame to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on\nhis bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he\nhopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble.\nThen he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his\nwings. \"How cool I feel!\" said the boy, \"I must be getting better;\"\nand he sank into a delicious slumber.\n\nThen the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had\ndone. \"It is curious,\" he remarked, \"but I feel quite warm now, although\nit is so cold.\"\n\n\"That is because you have done a good action,\" said the Prince. And the\nlittle Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always\nmade him sleepy.\n\nWhen day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. \"What a\nremarkable phenomenon,\" said the Professor of Ornithology as he was\npassing over the bridge. \"A swallow in winter!\" And he wrote a long\nletter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full\nof so many words that they could not understand.\n\n\"To-night I go to Egypt,\" said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits\nat the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long\ntime on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows\nchirruped, and said to each other, \"What a distinguished stranger!\"\nso he enjoyed himself very much.\n\nWhen the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. \"Have you any\ncommissions for Egypt?\" he cried; \"I am just starting.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not stay\nwith me one night longer?\"\n\n  [Illustration: THE LOVELIEST OF THE QUEEN'S MAIDS OF HONOUR]\n\n\"I am waited for in Egypt,\" answered the Swallow. \"To-morrow my friends\nwill fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among\nthe bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All\nnight long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he\nutters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions\ncome down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green\nberyls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"far away across\nthe city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk\ncovered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of\nwithered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a\npomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a\nplay for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any\nmore. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.\"\n\n\"I will wait with you one night longer,\" said the Swallow, who really\nhad a good heart. \"Shall I take him another ruby?\"\n\n\"Alas! I have no ruby now,\" said the Prince; \"my eyes are all that I\nhave left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of\nIndia a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He\nwill sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his\nplay.\"\n\n\"Dear Prince,\" said the Swallow, \"I cannot do that\"; and he began to\nweep.\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"do as I command\nyou.\"\n\nSo the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the\nstudent's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in\nthe roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man\nhad his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the\nbird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire\nlying on the withered violets.\n\n\"I am beginning to be appreciated,\" he cried; \"this is from some great\nadmirer. Now I can finish my play,\" and he looked quite happy.\n\nThe next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of\na large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the\nhold with ropes. \"Heave a-hoy!\" they shouted as each chest came up.\n\"I am going to Egypt!\" cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when\nthe moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.\n\n\"I am come to bid you good-bye,\" he cried.\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not stay\nwith me one night longer?\"\n\n\"It is winter,\" answered the Swallow, \"and the chill snow will soon be\nhere. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the\ncrocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are\nbuilding a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves\nare watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave\nyou, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back\ntwo beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby\nshall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as\nthe great sea.\"\n\n\"In the square below,\" said the Happy Prince, \"there stands a little\nmatch-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all\nspoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money,\nand she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is\nbare. Pluck out my other eye and give it to her, and her father will not\nbeat her.\"\n\n\"I will stay with you one night longer,\" said the Swallow, \"but I cannot\npluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"do as I command\nyou.\"\n\nSo he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He\nswooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her\nhand. \"What a lovely bit of glass!\" cried the little girl; and she ran\nhome, laughing.\n\nThen the Swallow came back to the Prince. \"You are blind now,\" he said,\n\"so I will stay with you always.\"\n\n\"No, little Swallow,\" said the poor Prince, \"you must go away to Egypt.\"\n\n\"I will stay with you always,\" said the Swallow, and he slept at the\nPrince's feet.\n\nAll the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories\nof what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises,\nwho stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in\ntheir beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives\nin the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly\nby the side of their camels and carry amber beads in their hands; of the\nKing of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and\nworships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm\ntree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the\npygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at\nwar with the butterflies.\n\n\"Dear little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"you tell me of marvellous\nthings, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of\nwomen. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little\nSwallow, and tell me what you see there.\"\n\n  [Illustration: THE RICH MAKING MERRY IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL HOUSES,\n  WHILE THE BEGGARS WERE SITTING AT THE GATES]\n\nSo the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry\nin their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates.\nHe flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children\nlooking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a\nbridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep\nthemselves warm. \"How hungry we are!\" they said. \"You must not lie\nhere,\" shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.\n\nThen he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.\n\n\"I am covered with fine gold,\" said the Prince, \"you must take it off,\nleaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold\ncan make them happy.\"\n\nLeaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy\nPrince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he\nbrought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they\nlaughed and played games in the street. \"We have bread now!\" they cried.\n\nThen the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets\nlooked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and\nglistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves\nof the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore\nscarlet caps and skated on the ice.\n\nThe poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave\nthe Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the\nbaker's door when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself\nwarm by flapping his wings.\n\nBut at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to\nfly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. \"Good-bye, dear Prince!\"\nhe murmured, \"will you let me kiss your hand?\"\n\n\"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,\" said\nthe Prince, \"you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the\nlips, for I love you.\"\n\n\"It is not to Egypt that I am going,\" said the Swallow. \"I am going to\nthe House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?\"\n\nAnd he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his\nfeet.\n\nAt that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if\nsomething had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped\nright in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.\n\nEarly the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in\ncompany with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked\nup at the statue: \"Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!\" he said.\n\n\"How shabby, indeed!\" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with\nthe Mayor; and they went up to look at it.\n\n\"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is\ngolden no longer,\" said the Mayor; \"in fact, he is little better than a\nbeggar!\"\n\n\"Little better than a beggar,\" said the Town Councillors.\n\n\"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!\" continued the Mayor. \"We\nmust really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die\nhere.\" And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.\n\nSo they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. \"As he is no longer\nbeautiful he is no longer useful,\" said the Art Professor at the\nUniversity.\n\nThen they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting\nof the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. \"We\nmust have another statue, of course,\" he said, \"and it shall be a statue\nof myself.\"\n\n\"Of myself,\" said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled.\nWhen I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.\n\n\"What a strange thing!\" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.\n\"This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it\naway.\" So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also\nlying.\n\n\"Bring me the two most precious things in the city,\" said God to one of\nHis Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead\nbird.\n\n\"You have rightly chosen,\" said God, \"for in my garden of Paradise this\nlittle bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy\nPrince shall praise me.\"\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE\n\n\n\"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,\"\ncried the young Student; \"but in all my garden there is no red rose.\"\n\nFrom her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she\nlooked out through the leaves, and wondered.\n\n\"No red rose in all my garden!\" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled\nwith tears. \"Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have\nread all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of\nphilosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made\nwretched.\"\n\n\"Here at last is a true lover,\" said the Nightingale. \"Night after night\nhave I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told\nhis story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the\nhyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but\npassion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal\nupon his brow.\"\n\n\"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,\" murmured the young Student,\n\"and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will\ndance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in\nmy arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will\nbe clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall\nsit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my\nheart will break.\"\n\n  [Illustration: SHE WILL PASS ME BY]\n\n\"Here indeed is the true lover,\" said the Nightingale. \"What I sing of,\nhe suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a\nwonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine\nopals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the\nmarket-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be\nweighed out in the balance for gold.\"\n\n\"The musicians will sit in their gallery,\" said the young Student,\n\"and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the\nsound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her\nfeet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses\nwill throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red\nrose to give her;\" and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried\nhis face in his hands, and wept.\n\n\"Why is he weeping?\" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him\nwith his tail in the air.\n\n\"Why, indeed?\" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a\nsunbeam.\n\n\"Why, indeed?\" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.\n\n\"He is weeping for a red rose,\" said the Nightingale.\n\n\"For a red rose?\" they cried; \"how very ridiculous!\" and the little\nLizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.\n\nBut the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and\nshe sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.\n\nSuddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.\nShe passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed\nacross the garden.\n\nIn the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree,\nand when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.\n\n\"Give me a red rose,\" she cried, \"and I will sing you my sweetest song.\"\n\nBut the Tree shook its head.\n\n\"My roses are white,\" it answered; \"as white as the foam of the sea, and\nwhiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows\nround the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.\"\n\nSo the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the\nold sun-dial.\n\n\"Give me a red rose,\" she cried, \"and I will sing you my sweetest song.\"\n\nBut the Tree shook its head.\n\n\"My roses are yellow,\" it answered; \"as yellow as the hair of the\nmermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil\nthat blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go\nto my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he\nwill give you what you want.\"\n\nSo the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath\nthe Student's window.\n\n\"Give me a red rose,\" she cried, \"and I will sing you my sweetest song.\"\n\nBut the Tree shook its head.\n\n\"My roses are red,\" it answered, \"as red as the feet of the dove,\nand redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the\nocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has\nnipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have\nno roses at all this year.\"\n\n\"One red rose is all I want,\" cried the Nightingale, \"only one red rose!\nIs there no way by which I can get it?\"\n\n\"There is a way,\" answered the Tree; \"but it is so terrible that I dare\nnot tell it to you.\"\n\n\"Tell it to me,\" said the Nightingale, \"I am not afraid.\"\n\n\"If you want a red rose,\" said the Tree, \"you must build it out of music\nby moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to\nme with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me,\nand the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into\nmy veins, and become mine.\"\n\n\"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,\" cried the Nightingale,\n\"and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,\nand to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot\nof pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the\nbluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the\nhill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird\ncompared to the heart of a man?\"\n\nSo she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.\nShe swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed\nthrough the grove.\n\nThe young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him,\nand the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.\n\n\"Be happy,\" cried the Nightingale, \"be happy; you shall have your red\nrose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my\nown heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a\ntrue lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though he is wise, and\nmightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings,\nand coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and\nhis breath is like frankincense.\"\n\n  [Illustration: HIS LIPS ARE SWEET AS HONEY]\n\nThe Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not\nunderstand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the\nthings that are written down in books.\n\nBut the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the\nlittle Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.\n\n\"Sing me one last song,\" he whispered; \"I shall feel very lonely when\nyou are gone.\"\n\nSo the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water\nbubbling from a silver jar.\n\nWhen she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a\nnote-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.\n\n\"She has form,\" he said to himself, as he walked away through the\ngrove--\"that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling?\nI am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style\nwithout any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She\nthinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish.\nStill, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her\nvoice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any\npractical good!\" And he went into his room, and lay down on his little\npallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell\nasleep.\n\nAnd when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the\nRose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang\nwith her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down\nand listened. All night long she sang and the thorn went deeper and\ndeeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.\n\nShe sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.\nAnd on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous\nrose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at\nfirst, as the mist that hangs over the river--pale as the feet of the\nmorning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in\na mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the\nrose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.\n\nBut the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.\n\"Press closer, little Nightingale,\" cried the Tree, \"or the Day will\ncome before the rose is finished.\"\n\nSo the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and\nlouder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul\nof a man and a maid.\n\nAnd a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the\nflush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the\nbride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart\nremained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the\nheart of a rose.\n\nAnd the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.\n\"Press closer, little Nightingale,\" cried the Tree, \"or the Day will\ncome before the rose is finished.\"\n\nSo the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn\ntouched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter,\nbitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang\nof the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the\ntomb.\n\nAnd the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern\nsky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the\nheart.\n\nBut the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to\nbeat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song,\nand she felt something choking her in her throat.\n\nThen she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she\nforgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and\nit trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold\nmorning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke\nthe sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds\nof the river, and they carried its message to the sea.\n\n\"Look, look!\" cried the Tree, \"the rose is finished now;\" but the\nNightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass,\nwith the thorn in her heart.\n\nAnd at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.\n\n\"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!\" he cried; \"here is a red rose!\nI have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful\nthat I am sure it has a long Latin name;\" and he leaned down and\nplucked it.\n\nThen he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the\nrose in his hand.\n\nThe daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue\nsilk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.\n\n\"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,\"\ncried the Student. \"Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will\nwear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell\nyou how I love you.\"\n\nBut the girl frowned. \"I am afraid it will not go with my dress,\" she\nanswered; \"and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real\njewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.\"\n\n\"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,\" said the Student angrily;\nand he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter,\nand a cart-wheel went over it.\n\n\"Ungrateful!\" said the girl. \"I tell you what, you are very rude; and,\nafter all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have\neven got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;\"\nand she got up from her chair and went into the house.\n\n\"What a silly thing Love is!\" said the Student as he walked away. \"It is\nnot half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is\nalways telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making\none believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical,\nand, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to\nPhilosophy and study Metaphysics.\"\n\nSo he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began\nto read.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE SELFISH GIANT\n\n\nEvery afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to\ngo and play in the Giant's garden.\n\nIt was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over\nthe grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve\npeach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of\npink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the\ntrees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in\norder to listen to them. \"How happy we are here!\" they cried to each\nother.\n\nOne day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish\nogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years\nwere over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was\nlimited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived\nhe saw the children playing in the garden.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" he cried in a very gruff voice, and the\nchildren ran away.\n\n\"My own garden is my own garden,\" said the Giant; \"any one can\nunderstand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.\"\nSo he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.\n\n  TRESPASSERS\n  WILL BE\n  PROSECUTED\n\nHe was a very selfish Giant.\n\nThe poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the\nroad, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did\nnot like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons\nwere over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. \"How happy we\nwere there!\" they said to each other.\n\nThen the Spring came, and all over the country there were little\nblossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it\nwas still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no\nchildren, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put\nits head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so\nsorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and\nwent off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and\nthe Frost. \"Spring has forgotten this garden,\" they cried, \"so we will\nlive here all the year round.\" The Snow covered up the grass with her\ngreat white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they\ninvited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in\nfurs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots\ndown. \"This is a delightful spot,\" he said, \"we must ask the Hail on a\nvisit.\" So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the\nroof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran\nround and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in\ngrey, and his breath was like ice.\n\n\"I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,\" said the\nSelfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white\ngarden; \"I hope there will be a change in the weather.\"\n\nBut the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit\nto every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. \"He is too\nselfish,\" she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind\nand the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the\ntrees.\n\nOne morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely\nmusic. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the\nKing's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing\noutside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in\nhis garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the\nworld. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind\nceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open\ncasement. \"I believe the Spring has come at last,\" said the Giant;\nand he jumped out of bed and looked out.\n\nWhat did he see?\n\nHe saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the\nchildren had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the\ntrees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the\ntrees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered\nthemselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the\nchildren's heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with\ndelight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and\nlaughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.\nIt was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a\nlittle boy.\n\n  [Illustration: IN EVERY TREE HE COULD SEE THERE WAS A LITTLE CHILD]\n\nHe was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree,\nand he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was\nstill quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing\nand roaring above it. \"Climb up! little boy,\" said the Tree, and it bent\nits branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.\n\nAnd the Giant's heart melted as he looked out. \"How selfish I have\nbeen!\" he said; \"now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will\nput that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock\ndown the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever\nand ever.\" He was really very sorry for what he had done.\n\nSo he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went\nout into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so\nfrightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.\nOnly the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that\nhe did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and\ntook him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree\nbroke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the\nlittle boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's\nneck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the\nGiant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came\nthe Spring. \"It is your garden now, little children,\" said the Giant,\nand he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people\nwere going to market at twelve o'clock they found the Giant playing with\nthe children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.\n\nAll day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to\nbid him good-bye.\n\n\"But where is your little companion?\" he said: \"the boy I put into the\ntree.\" The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.\n\n\"We don't know,\" answered the children; \"he has gone away.\"\n\n\"You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,\" said the Giant.\nBut the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had\nnever seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.\n\nEvery afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with\nthe Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.\nThe Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first\nlittle friend, and often spoke of him. \"How I would like to see him!\"\nhe used to say.\n\nYears went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not\nplay about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the\nchildren at their games, and admired his garden. \"I have many beautiful\nflowers,\" he said; \"but the children are the most beautiful flowers of\nall.\"\n\nOne winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He\ndid not hate the winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring\nasleep, and that the flowers were resting.\n\nSuddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder and looked and looked. It\ncertainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden\nwas a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were\nall golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it\nstood the little boy he had loved.\n\n  [Illustration: THE LITTLE BOY HE HAD LOVED]\n\nDownstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He\nhastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came\nquite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, \"Who hath dared\nto wound thee?\" For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of\ntwo nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.\n\n\"Who hath dared to wound thee?\" cried the Giant; \"tell me, that I might\ntake my big sword and slay him.\"\n\n\"Nay!\" answered the child; \"but these are the wounds of Love.\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\" said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he\nknelt before the little child.\n\nAnd the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, \"You let me play\nonce in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which\nis Paradise.\"\n\nAnd when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying\ndead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE DEVOTED FRIEND\n\n\nOne morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole. He had\nbright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long\nbit of black india-rubber. The little ducks were swimming about in the\npond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who\nwas pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand\non their heads in the water.\n\n\"You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your\nheads,\" she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them\nhow it was done. But the little ducks paid no attention to her. They\nwere so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in\nsociety at all.\n\n\"What disobedient children!\" cried the old Water-rat; \"they really\ndeserve to be drowned.\"\n\n\"Nothing of the kind,\" answered the Duck, \"every one must make a\nbeginning, and parents cannot be too patient.\"\n\n\"Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents,\" said the Water-rat;\n\"I am not a family man. In fact, I have never been married, and I never\nintend to be. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much\nhigher. Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or\nrarer than a devoted friendship.\"\n\n\"And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?\" asked\na green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had\noverheard the conversation.\n\n\"Yes, that is just what I want to know,\" said the Duck; and she swam\naway to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give\nher children a good example.\n\n\"What a silly question!\" cried the Water-rat. \"I should expect my\ndevoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.\"\n\n\"And what would you do in return?\" said the little bird, swinging upon a\nsilver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.\n\n\"I don't understand you,\" answered the Water-rat.\n\n\"Let me tell you a story on the subject,\" said the Linnet.\n\n\"Is the story about me?\" asked the Water-rat. \"If so, I will listen to\nit, for I am extremely fond of fiction.\"\n\n\"It is applicable to you,\" answered the Linnet; and he flew down, and\nalighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.\n\n\"Once upon a time,\" said the Linnet, \"there was an honest little fellow\nnamed Hans.\"\n\n\"Was he very distinguished?\" asked the Water-rat.\n\n\"No,\" answered the Linnet, \"I don't think he was distinguished at all,\nexcept for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face. He\nlived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his\ngarden. In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his.\nSweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds'-purses, and\nFair-maids of France. There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac\nCrocuses and gold, purple Violets and white. Columbine and Ladysmock,\nMarjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the\nDaffodil and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order\nas the months went by, one flower taking another flower's place, so that\nthere were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to\nsmell.\n\n  [Illustration: THE GREEN LINNET]\n\n\"Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of\nall was big Hugh the Miller. Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to\nlittle Hans, that he would never go by his garden without leaning over\nthe wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or\nfilling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.\n\n\"'Real friends should have everything in common,' the Miller used to\nsay, and little Hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a\nfriend with such noble ideas.\n\n\"Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich\nMiller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a\nhundred sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and\na large flock of woolly sheep; but Hans never troubled his head about\nthese things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to\nall the wonderful things the Miller used to say about the unselfishness\nof true friendship.\n\n\"So little Hans worked away in his garden. During the spring, the\nsummer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and\nhe had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good\ndeal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper\nbut a few dried pears or some hard nuts. In the winter, also, he was\nextremely lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.\n\n\"'There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow\nlasts,' the Miller used to say to his wife, 'for when people are in\ntrouble they should be left alone and not be bothered by visitors. That\nat least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right. So I\nshall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, and\nhe will be able to give me a large basket of primroses, and that will\nmake him so happy.'\n\n\"'You are certainly very thoughtful about others,' answered the Wife,\nas she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire;\n'very thoughtful indeed. It is quite a treat to hear you talk about\nfriendship. I am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful\nthings as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear\na gold ring on his little finger.'\n\n\"'But could we not ask little Hans up here?' said the Miller's youngest\nson. 'If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and\nshow him my white rabbits.'\n\n\"'What a silly boy you are!' cried the Miller; 'I really don't know what\nis the use of sending you to school. You seem not to learn anything.\nWhy, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good\nsupper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy\nis a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody's nature. I certainly\nwill not allow Hans' nature to be spoiled. I am his best friend, and I\nwill always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any\ntemptations. Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have\nsome flour on credit, and that I could not do. Flour is one thing and\nfriendship is another, and they should not be confused. Why, the words\nare spelt differently, and mean quite different things. Everybody can\nsee that.'\n\n\"'How well you talk!' said the Miller's Wife, pouring herself out a\nlarge glass of warm ale; 'really I feel quite drowsy. It is just like\nbeing in church.'\n\n\"'Lots of people act well,' answered the Miller; 'but very few people\ntalk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of\nthe two, and much the finer thing also'; and he looked sternly across\nthe table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung\nhis head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea.\nHowever, he was so young that you must excuse him.\"\n\n\"Is that the end of the story?\" asked the Water-rat.\n\n\"Certainly not,\" answered the Linnet, \"that is the beginning.\"\n\n\"Then you are quite behind the age,\" said the Water-rat. \"Every good\nstory-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the\nbeginning, and concludes with the middle. That is the new method.\nI heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round\nthe pond with a young man. He spoke of the matter at great length, and I\nam sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald\nhead, and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered\n'Pooh!' But pray go on with your story. I like the Miller immensely.\nI have all kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great\nsympathy between us.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other,\n\"as soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their\npale yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and\nsee little Hans.\n\n\"'Why, what a good heart you have!' cried his Wife; 'you are always\nthinking of others. And mind you take the big basket with you for the\nflowers.'\n\n\"So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong\niron chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.\n\n\"'Good morning, little Hans,' said the Miller.\n\n\"'Good morning,' said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear\nto ear.\n\n\"'And how have you been all the winter?' said the Miller.\n\n\"'Well, really,' cried Hans, 'it is very good of you to ask, very good\nindeed. I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring\nhas come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.'\n\n\"'We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,' said the Miller, 'and\nwondered how you were getting on.'\n\n\"'That was kind of you,' said Hans; 'I was half afraid you had\nforgotten me.'\n\n\"'Hans, I am surprised at you,' said the Miller; 'friendship never\nforgets. That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don't\nunderstand the poetry of life. How lovely your primroses are looking,\nby-the-bye!'\n\n\"'They are certainly very lovely,' said Hans, 'and it is a most lucky\nthing for me that I have so many. I am going to bring them into the\nmarket and sell them to the Burgomaster's daughter, and buy back my\nwheelbarrow with the money.'\n\n\"'Buy back your wheelbarrow? You don't mean to say you have sold it?\nWhat a very stupid thing to do!'\n\n\"'Well, the fact is,' said Hans, 'that I was obliged to. You see the\nwinter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to\nbuy bread with. So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat,\nand then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at\nlast I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them all back again\nnow.'\n\n\"'Hans,' said the Miller, 'I will give you my wheelbarrow. It is not in\nvery good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong\nwith the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to you.\nI know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would think me\nextremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not like the rest of the\nworld. I think that generosity is the essence of friendship, and,\nbesides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself. Yes, you may set your\nmind at ease, I will give you my wheelbarrow.'\n\n\"'Well, really, that is generous of you,' said little Hans, and his\nfunny round face glowed all over with pleasure. 'I can easily put it in\nrepair, as I have a plank of wood in the house.'\n\n\"'A plank of wood!' said the Miller; 'why, that is just what I want for\nthe roof of my barn. There is a very large hole in it, and the corn will\nall get damp if I don't stop it up. How lucky you mentioned it! It is\nquite remarkable how one good action always breeds another. I have given\nyou my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank. Of\ncourse, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true\nfriendship never notices things like that. Pray get it at once, and I\nwill set to work at my barn this very day.'\n\n\"'Certainly,' cried little Hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged\nthe plank out.\n\n\"'It is not a very big plank,' said the Miller, looking at it, 'and I am\nafraid that after I have mended my barn-roof there won't be any left for\nyou to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault.\nAnd now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure you would like to\ngive me some flowers in return. Here is the basket, and mind you fill it\nquite full.'\n\n\"'Quite full?' said little Hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a\nvery big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no\nflowers left for the market, and he was very anxious to get his silver\nbuttons back.\n\n\"'Well, really,' answered the Miller, 'as I have given you my\nwheelbarrow, I don't think that it is much to ask you for a few flowers.\nI may be wrong, but I should have thought that friendship, true\nfriendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind.'\n\n\"'My dear friend, my best friend,' cried little Hans, 'you are welcome\nto all the flowers in my garden. I would much sooner have your good\nopinion than my silver buttons, any day;' and he ran and plucked all his\npretty primroses, and filled the Miller's basket.\n\n\"'Good-bye, little Hans,' said the Miller, as he went up the hill with\nthe plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.\n\n\"'Good-bye,' said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily,\nhe was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.\n\n\"The next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when\nhe heard the Miller's voice calling to him from the road. So he jumped\noff the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.\n\n\"There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.\n\n\"'Dear little Hans,' said the Miller, 'would you mind carrying this sack\nof flour for me to market?'\n\n\"'Oh, I am so sorry,' said Hans, 'but I am really very busy to-day.\nI have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to water,\nand all my grass to roll.'\n\n\"'Well, really,' said the Miller, 'I think that, considering that I am\ngoing to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to\nrefuse.'\n\n\"'Oh, don't say that,' cried little Hans, 'I wouldn't be unfriendly for\nthe whole world;' and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with the\nbig sack on his shoulders.\n\n\"It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before Hans\nhad reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit down\nand rest. However, he went on bravely, and at last he reached the\nmarket. After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour\nfor a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for he was\nafraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the\nway.\n\n\"'It has certainly been a hard day,' said little Hans to himself as he\nwas going to bed, 'but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is\nmy best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.'\n\n\"Early the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his\nsack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.\n\n\"'Upon my word,' said the Miller, 'you are very lazy. Really,\nconsidering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you\nmight work harder. Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don't like\nany of my friends to be idle or sluggish. You must not mind my speaking\nquite plainly to you. Of course I should not dream of doing so if I were\nnot your friend. But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say\nexactly what one means? Anybody can say charming things and try to\nplease and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things,\nand does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he\nprefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.'\n\n\"'I am very sorry,' said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off\nhis night-cap, 'but I was so tired that I thought I would lie in bed for\na little time, and listen to the birds singing. Do you know that I\nalways work better after hearing the birds sing?'\n\n\"'Well, I am glad of that,' said the Miller, clapping little Hans on the\nback, 'for I want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed\nand mend my barn-roof for me.'\n\n\"Poor little Hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his\nflowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to refuse\nthe Miller as he was such a good friend to him.\n\n\"'Do you think it would be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?' he\ninquired in a shy and timid voice.\n\n\"'Well, really,' answered the Miller, 'I do not think it is much to ask\nof you, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of\ncourse if you refuse I will go and do it myself.'\n\n\"'Oh! on no account,' cried little Hans; and he jumped out of bed,\nand dressed himself, and went up to the barn.\n\n\"He worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller\ncame to see how he was getting on.\n\n  [Illustration: HANS IN HIS GARDEN]\n\n\"'Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?' cried the\nMiller in a cheery voice.\n\n\"'It is quite mended,' answered little Hans, coming down the ladder.\n\n\"'Ah!' said the Miller, 'there is no work so delightful as the work one\ndoes for others.'\n\n\"'It is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk,' answered little\nHans, sitting down and wiping his forehead, 'a very great privilege.\nBut I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.'\n\n\"'Oh! they will come to you,' said the Miller, 'but you must take more\npains. At present you have only the practice of friendship; some day you\nwill have the theory also.'\n\n\"'Do you really think I shall?' asked little Hans.\n\n\"'I have no doubt of it,' answered the Miller, 'but now that you have\nmended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for I want you to\ndrive my sheep to the mountain to-morrow.'\n\n\"Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next\nmorning the Miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and Hans\nstarted off with them to the mountain. It took him the whole day to get\nthere and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to\nsleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.\n\n\"'What a delightful time I shall have in my garden!' he said, and he\nwent to work at once.\n\n\"But somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his\nfriend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off on long\nerrands, or getting him to help at the mill. Little Hans was very much\ndistressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he had\nforgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that the\nMiller was his best friend. 'Besides,' he used to say, 'he is going to\ngive me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity.'\n\n\"So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all\nkinds of beautiful things about friendship, which Hans took down in a\nnotebook, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good\nscholar.\n\n\"Now it happened that one evening little Hans was sitting by his\nfireside when a loud rap came at the door. It was a very wild night,\nand the wind was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at\nfirst he thought it was merely the storm. But a second rap came, and\nthen a third, louder than any of the others.\n\n\"'It is some poor traveller,' said little Hans to himself, and he ran to\nthe door.\n\n\"There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in\nthe other.\n\n\"'Dear little Hans,' cried the Miller, 'I am in great trouble. My little\nboy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the\nDoctor. But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it\nhas just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead\nof me. You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so it is only\nfair that you should do something for me in return.'\n\n\"'Certainly,' cried little Hans, 'I take it quite as a compliment your\ncoming to me, and I will start off at once. But you must lend me your\nlantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into the\nditch.'\n\n\"'I am very sorry,' answered the Miller, 'but it is my new lantern and\nit would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.'\n\n\"'Well, never mind, I will do without it,' cried little Hans, and he\ntook down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a\nmuffler round his throat, and started off.\n\n\"What a dreadful storm it was! The night was so black that little Hans\ncould hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely\nstand. However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking\nabout three hours, he arrived at the Doctor's house, and knocked at the\ndoor.\n\n\"'Who is there?' cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom\nwindow.\n\n\"'Little Hans, Doctor.'\n\n\"'What do you want, little Hans?'\n\n\"'The Miller's son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself,\nand the Miller wants you to come at once.'\n\n\"'All right!' said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big\nboots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the\ndirection of the Miller's house, little Hans trudging behind him.\n\n\"But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and\nlittle Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse.\nAt last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very\ndangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little\nHans was drowned. His body was found the next day by some goatherds,\nfloating in a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the\ncottage.\n\n\"Everybody went to little Hans' funeral, as he was so popular, and the\nMiller was the chief mourner.\n\n\"'As I was his best friend,' said the Miller, 'it is only fair that I\nshould have the best place;' so he walked at the head of the procession\nin a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a\nbig pocket-handkerchief.\n\n\"'Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,' said the\nBlacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated\ncomfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.\n\n\"'A great loss to me at any rate,' answered the Miller, 'why, I had as\ngood as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don't know what to do\nwith it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair\nthat I could not get anything for it if I sold it. I will certainly take\ncare not to give away anything again. One always suffers for being\ngenerous.'\"\n\n\"Well?\" said the Water-rat, after a long pause.\n\n\"Well, that is the end,\" said the Linnet.\n\n\"But what became of the Miller?\" asked the Water-rat.\n\n\"Oh! I really don't know,\" replied the Linnet; \"and I am sure that I\ndon't care.\"\n\n\"It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature,\"\nsaid the Water-rat.\n\n\"I am afraid you don't quite see the moral of the story,\" remarked the\nLinnet.\n\n\"The what?\" screamed the Water-rat.\n\n\"The moral.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the Linnet.\n\n\"Well, really,\" said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, \"I think you\nshould have told me that before you began. If you had done so,\nI certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said\n'Pooh,' like the critic. However, I can say it now;\" so he shouted out\n\"Pooh\" at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went\nback into his hole.\n\n\"And how do you like the Water-rat?\" asked the Duck, who came paddling\nup some minutes afterwards. \"He has a great many good points, but for my\nown part I have a mother's feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed\nbachelor without the tears coming into my eyes.\"\n\n\"I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,\" answered the Linnet.\n\"The fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do,\" said the Duck.\n\nAnd I quite agree with her.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE REMARKABLE ROCKET\n\n\nThe King's son was going to be married, so there were general\nrejoicings. He had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last she\nhad arrived. She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way from\nFinland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge was shaped like a\ngreat golden swan, and between the swan's wings lay the little Princess\nherself. Her long ermine cloak reached right down to her feet, on her\nhead was a tiny cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow\nPalace in which she had always lived. So pale was she that as she drove\nthrough the streets all the people wondered. \"She is like a white rose!\"\nthey cried, and they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.\n\nAt the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive her. He had\ndreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine gold. When he saw her he\nsank upon one knee, and kissed her hand.\n\n\"Your picture was beautiful,\" he murmured, \"but you are more beautiful\nthan your picture;\" and the little Princess blushed.\n\n\"She was like a white rose before,\" said a young page to his neighbour,\n\"but she is like a red rose now;\" and the whole Court was delighted.\n\n  [Illustration: THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS]\n\nFor the next three days everybody went about saying, \"White rose, Red\nrose, Red rose, White rose;\" and the King gave orders that the Page's\nsalary was to be doubled. As he received no salary at all this was not\nof much use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and was duly\npublished in the Court Gazette.\n\nWhen the three days were over the marriage was celebrated. It was a\nmagnificent ceremony, and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in hand\nunder a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little pearls. Then\nthere was a State Banquet, which lasted for five hours. The Prince and\nPrincess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cup of\nclear crystal. Only true lovers could drink out of this cup, for if\nfalse lips touched it, it grew grey and dull and cloudy.\n\n\"It is quite clear that they love each other,\" said the little Page,\n\"as clear as crystal!\" and the King doubled his salary a second time.\n\n\"What an honour!\" cried all the courtiers.\n\nAfter the banquet there was to be a Ball. The bride and bridegroom were\nto dance the Rose-dance together, and the King had promised to play the\nflute. He played very badly, but no one had ever dared to tell him so,\nbecause he was the King. Indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never\nquite certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for,\nwhatever he did, everybody cried out, \"Charming! charming!\"\n\nThe last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks, to be\nlet off exactly at midnight. The little Princess had never seen a\nfirework in her life, so the King had given orders that the Royal\nPyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.\n\n\"What are fireworks like?\" she had asked the Prince, one morning, as she\nwas walking on the terrace.\n\n\"They are like the Aurora Borealis,\" said the King, who always answered\nquestions that were addressed to other people, \"only much more natural.\nI prefer them to stars myself, as you always know when they are going to\nappear, and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing. You must\ncertainly see them.\"\n\nSo at the end of the King's garden a great stand had been set up, and as\nsoon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put everything in its proper place,\nthe fireworks began to talk to each other.\n\n\"The world is certainly very beautiful,\" cried a little Squib. \"Just\nlook at those yellow tulips. Why! if they were real Crackers they could\nnot be lovelier. I am very glad I have travelled. Travel improves the\nmind wonderfully, and does away with all one's prejudices.\"\n\n\"The King's garden is not the world, you foolish Squib,\" said a big\nRoman Candle; \"the world is an enormous place, and it would take you\nthree days to see it thoroughly.\"\n\n\"Any place you love is the world to you,\" exclaimed the pensive\nCatherine Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life,\nand prided herself on her broken heart; \"but love is not fashionable any\nmore, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody\nbelieved them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers, and is silent.\nI remember myself once---- But it is no matter now. Romance is a thing\nof the past.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said the Roman Candle, \"Romance never dies. It is like the\nmoon, and lives for ever. The bride and bridegroom, for instance, love\neach other very dearly. I heard all about them this morning from a\nbrown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the same drawer as\nmyself, and he knew the latest Court news.\"\n\nBut the Catherine Wheel shook her head. \"Romance is dead, Romance is\ndead, Romance is dead,\" she murmured. She was one of those people who\nthink that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times,\nit becomes true in the end.\n\nSuddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.\n\nIt came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied to the\nend of a long stick. He always coughed before he made any observation,\nso as to attract attention.\n\n\"Ahem! ahem!\" he said, and everybody listened except the poor Catherine\nWheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring, \"Romance is dead.\"\n\n\"Order! order!\" cried out a Cracker. He was something of a politician,\nand had always taken a prominent part in the local elections, so he knew\nthe proper Parliamentary expressions to use.\n\n\"Quite dead,\" whispered the Catherine Wheel, and she went off to sleep.\n\nAs soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed a third time\nand began. He spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if he was\ndictating his memoirs, and always looked over the shoulder of the person\nto whom he was talking. In fact, he had a most distinguished manner.\n\n\"How fortunate it is for the King's son,\" he remarked, \"that he is to be\nmarried on the very day on which I am to be let off! Really, if it had\nbeen arranged beforehand, it could not have turned out better for him;\nbut Princes are always lucky.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said the little Squib, \"I thought it was quite the other way,\nand that we were to be let off in the Prince's honour.\"\n\n\"It may be so with you,\" he answered; \"indeed, I have no doubt that it\nis, but with me it is different. I am a very remarkable Rocket, and come\nof remarkable parents. My mother was the most celebrated Catherine Wheel\nof her day, and was renowned for her graceful dancing. When she made her\ngreat public appearance she spun round nineteen times before she went\nout, and each time that she did so she threw into the air seven pink\nstars. She was three feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very\nbest gunpowder. My father was a Rocket like myself, and of French\nextraction. He flew so high that the people were afraid that he would\nnever come down again. He did, though, for he was of a kindly\ndisposition, and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden\nrain. The newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering\nterms. Indeed, the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic\nart.\"\n\n\"Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,\" said a Bengal Light; \"I know it is\nPyrotechnic, for I saw it written on my own canister.\"\n\n\"Well, I said Pylotechnic,\" answered the Rocket, in a severe tone of\nvoice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at once to\nbully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still a person of\nsome importance.\n\n\"I was saying,\" continued the Rocket, \"I was saying---- What was I\nsaying?\"\n\n\"You were talking about yourself,\" replied the Roman Candle.\n\n\"Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I was\nso rudely interrupted. I hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind,\nfor I am extremely sensitive. No one in the whole world is so sensitive\nas I am, I am quite sure of that.\"\n\n\"What is a sensitive person?\" said the Cracker to the Roman Candle.\n\n\"A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other\npeople's toes,\" answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper; and the\nCracker nearly exploded with laughter.\n\n\"Pray, what are you laughing at?\" inquired the Rocket; \"I am not\nlaughing.\"\n\n\"I am laughing because I am happy,\" replied the Cracker.\n\n\"That is a very selfish reason,\" said the Rocket angrily. \"What right\nhave you to be happy? You should be thinking about others. In fact, you\nshould be thinking about me. I am always thinking about myself, and I\nexpect everybody else to do the same. That is what is called sympathy.\nIt is a beautiful virtue, and I possess it in a high degree. Suppose,\nfor instance, anything happened to me to-night, what a misfortune that\nwould be for every one! The Prince and Princess would never be happy\nagain, their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King,\nI know he would not get over it. Really, when I begin to reflect on the\nimportance of my position, I am almost moved to tears.\"\n\n\"If you want to give pleasure to others,\" cried the Roman Candle,\n\"you had better keep yourself dry.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was now in better spirits;\n\"that is only common sense.\"\n\n\"Common sense, indeed!\" said the Rocket indignantly; \"you forget that I\nam very uncommon, and very remarkable. Why, anybody can have common\nsense, provided that they have no imagination. But I have imagination,\nfor I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them\nas being quite different. As for keeping myself dry, there is evidently\nno one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature. Fortunately\nfor myself, I don't care. The only thing that sustains one through life\nis the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and\nthis is a feeling I have always cultivated. But none of you have any\nhearts. Here you are laughing and making merry just as if the Prince and\nPrincess had not just been married.\"\n\n\"Well, really,\" exclaimed a small Fire-balloon, \"why not? It is a most\njoyful occasion, and when I soar up into the air I intend to tell the\nstars all about it. You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about\nthe pretty bride.\"\n\n\"Ah! what a trivial view of life!\" said the Rocket; \"but it is only what\nI expected. There is nothing in you; you are hollow and empty. Why,\nperhaps the Prince and Princess may go to live in a country where there\nis a deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little\nfair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; and perhaps\nsome day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may\ngo to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may\nfall into the deep river and be drowned. What a terrible misfortune!\nPoor people, to lose their only son! It is really too dreadful! I shall\nnever get over it.\"\n\n\"But they have not lost their only son,\" said the Roman Candle;\n\"no misfortune has happened to them at all.\"\n\n\"I never said that they had,\" replied the Rocket; \"I said that they\nmight. If they had lost their only son there would be no use in saying\nanything more about the matter. I hate people who cry over spilt milk.\nBut when I think that they might lose their only son, I certainly am\nmuch affected.\"\n\n\"You certainly are!\" cried the Bengal Light. \"In fact, you are the most\naffected person I ever met.\"\n\n\"You are the rudest person I ever met,\" said the Rocket, \"and you cannot\nunderstand my friendship for the Prince.\"\n\n\"Why, you don't even know him,\" growled the Roman Candle.\n\n\"I never said I knew him,\" answered the Rocket. \"I dare say that if I\nknew him I should not be his friend at all. It is a very dangerous thing\nto know one's friends.\"\n\n\"You had really better keep yourself dry,\" said the Fire-balloon. \"That\nis the important thing.\"\n\n\"Very important for you, I have no doubt,\" answered the Rocket, \"but I\nshall weep if I choose;\" and he actually burst into real tears, which\nflowed down his stick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little\nbeetles, who were just thinking of setting up house together, and were\nlooking for a nice dry spot to live in.\n\n\"He must have a truly romantic nature,\" said the Catherine Wheel, \"for\nhe weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about;\" and she heaved a\ndeep sigh and thought about the deal box.\n\nBut the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite indignant, and\nkept saying, \"Humbug! humbug!\" at the top of their voices. They were\nextremely practical, and whenever they objected to anything they called\nit humbug.\n\nThen the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars began\nto shine, and a sound of music came from the palace.\n\nThe Prince and Princess were leading the dance. They danced so\nbeautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and\nwatched them, and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat\ntime.\n\nThen ten o'clock struck, and then eleven, and then twelve, and at the\nlast stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace, and the King\nsent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.\n\n\"Let the fireworks begin,\" said the King; and the Royal Pyrotechnist\nmade a low bow, and marched down to the end of the garden. He had six\nattendants with him, each of whom carried a lighted torch at the end of\na long pole.\n\nIt was certainly a magnificent display.\n\nWhizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round and round.\nBoom! Boom! went the Roman Candle. Then the Squibs danced all over the\nplace, and the Bengal Lights made everything look scarlet. \"Good-bye,\"\ncried the Fire-balloon as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.\nBang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who were enjoying themselves\nimmensely. Every one was a great success except the Remarkable Rocket.\nHe was so damp with crying that he could not go off at all. The best\nthing in him was the gunpowder, and that was so wet with tears that it\nwas of no use. All his poor relations, to whom he would never speak,\nexcept with a sneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers\nwith blossoms of fire. Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and the little\nPrincess laughed with pleasure.\n\n\"I suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion,\" said the\nRocket; \"no doubt that is what it means,\" and he looked more\nsupercilious than ever.\n\n  [Illustration: \"LET THE FIREWORKS BEGIN,\" SAID THE KING]\n\nThe next day the workmen came to put everything tidy. \"This is evidently\na deputation,\" said the Rocket; \"I will receive them with becoming\ndignity\": so he put his nose in the air, and began to frown severely as\nif he were thinking about some very important subject. But they took no\nnotice of him at all till they were just going away. Then one of them\ncaught sight of him. \"Hallo!\" he cried, \"what a bad rocket!\" and he\nthrew him over the wall into the ditch.\n\n\"BAD Rocket? BAD Rocket?\" he said, as he whirled through the air;\n\"impossible! GRAND Rocket, that is what the man said. BAD and GRAND\nsound very much the same, indeed they often are the same;\" and he fell\ninto the mud.\n\n\"It is not comfortable here,\" he remarked, \"but no doubt it is some\nfashionable watering-place, and they have sent me away to recruit my\nhealth. My nerves are certainly very much shattered, and I require\nrest.\"\n\nThen a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green mottled coat,\nswam up to him.\n\n\"A new arrival, I see!\" said the Frog. \"Well, after all there is nothing\nlike mud. Give me rainy weather and a ditch, and I am quite happy. Do\nyou think it will be a wet afternoon? I am sure I hope so, but the sky\nis quite blue and cloudless. What a pity!\"\n\n\"Ahem! ahem!\" said the Rocket, and he began to cough.\n\n\"What a delightful voice you have!\" cried the Frog. \"Really it is quite\nlike a croak, and croaking is of course the most musical sound in the\nworld. You will hear our glee-club this evening. We sit in the old duck\npond close by the farmer's house, and as soon as the moon rises we\nbegin. It is so entrancing that everybody lies awake to listen to us.\nIn fact, it was only yesterday that I heard the farmer's wife say to her\nmother that she could not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us.\nIt is most gratifying to find oneself so popular.\"\n\n\"Ahem! ahem!\" said the Rocket angrily. He was very much annoyed that he\ncould not get a word in.\n\n\"A delightful voice, certainly,\" continued the Frog; \"I hope you will\ncome over to the duck-pond. I am off to look for my daughters. I have\nsix beautiful daughters, and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them. He\nis a perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfasting off\nthem. Well, good-bye: I have enjoyed our conversation very much,\nI assure you.\"\n\n\"Conversation, indeed!\" said the Rocket. \"You have talked the whole time\nyourself. That is not conversation.\"\n\n\"Somebody must listen,\" answered the Frog, \"and I like to do all the\ntalking myself. It saves time, and prevents arguments.\"\n\n\"But I like arguments,\" said the Rocket.\n\n\"I hope not,\" said the Frog complacently. \"Arguments are extremely\nvulgar, for everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions.\nGood-bye a second time; I see my daughters in the distance;\" and the\nlittle Frog swam away.\n\n\"You are a very irritating person,\" said the Rocket, \"and very ill-bred.\nI hate people who talk about themselves, as you do, when one wants to\ntalk about oneself, as I do. It is what I call selfishness, and\nselfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one of my\ntemperament, for I am well known for my sympathetic nature. In fact, you\nshould take example by me; you could not possibly have a better model.\nNow that you have the chance you had better avail yourself of it, for I\nam going back to Court almost immediately. I am a great favourite at\nCourt; in fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in my\nhonour. Of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a\nprovincial.\"\n\n\"There is no good talking to him,\" said a dragon-fly, who was sitting on\nthe top of a large brown bulrush; \"no good at all, for he has gone\naway.\"\n\n\"Well, that is his loss, not mine,\" answered the Rocket. \"I am not going\nto stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention. I like\nhearing myself talk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I often have\nlong conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I\ndon't understand a single word of what I am saying.\"\n\n\"Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,\" said the Dragon-fly,\nand he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away into the sky.\n\n\"How very silly of him not to stay here!\" said the Rocket. \"I am sure\nthat he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind. However,\nI don't care a bit. Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some\nday;\" and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.\n\nAfter some time a large White Duck swam up to him. She had yellow legs,\nand webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account of her\nwaddle.\n\n\"Quack, quack, quack,\" she said. \"What a curious shape you are! May I\nask were you born like that, or is it the result of an accident?\"\n\n\"It is quite evident that you have always lived in the country,\"\nanswered the Rocket, \"otherwise you would know who I am. However,\nI excuse your ignorance. It would be unfair to expect other people to be\nas remarkable as oneself. You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I\ncan fly up into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden rain.\"\n\n\"I don't think much of that,\" said the Duck, \"as I cannot see what use\nit is to any one. Now, if you could plough the fields like the ox, or\ndraw a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog,\nthat would be something.\"\n\n\"My good creature,\" cried the Rocket in a very haughty tone of voice,\n\"I see that you belong to the lower orders. A person of my position is\nnever useful. We have certain accomplishments, and that is more than\nsufficient. I have no sympathy myself with industry of any kind, least\nof all with such industries as you seem to recommend. Indeed, I have\nalways been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who\nhave nothing whatever to do.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the Duck, who was of a very peaceable disposition,\nand never quarrelled with any one, \"everybody has different tastes.\nI hope, at any rate, that you are going to take up your residence here.\"\n\n\"Oh! dear no,\" cried the Rocket. \"I am merely a visitor, a distinguished\nvisitor. The fact is that I find this place rather tedious. There is\nneither society here, nor solitude. In fact, it is essentially suburban.\nI shall probably go back to Court, for I know that I am destined to make\na sensation in the world.\"\n\n\"I had thoughts of entering public life once myself,\" remarked the Duck;\n\"there are so many things that need reforming. Indeed, I took the chair\nat a meeting some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning\neverything that we did not like. However, they did not seem to have much\neffect. Now I go in for domesticity, and look after my family.\"\n\n\"I am made for public life,\" said the Rocket, \"and so are all my\nrelations, even the humblest of them. Whenever we appear we excite great\nattention. I have not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will\nbe a magnificent sight. As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly, and\ndistracts one's mind from higher things.\"\n\n\"Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they are!\" said the Duck; \"and\nthat reminds me how hungry I feel:\" and she swam away down the stream,\nsaying, \"Quack, quack, quack.\"\n\n\"Come back! come back!\" screamed the Rocket, \"I have a great deal to say\nto you;\" but the Duck paid no attention to him. \"I am glad that she has\ngone,\" he said to himself, \"she has a decidedly middle-class mind;\" and\nhe sank a little deeper still into the mud, and began to think about the\nloneliness of genius, when suddenly two little boys in white smocks came\nrunning down the bank, with a kettle and some faggots.\n\n\"This must be the deputation,\" said the Rocket, and he tried to look\nvery dignified.\n\n\"Hallo!\" cried one of the boys, \"look at this old stick! I wonder how it\ncame here;\" and he picked the Rocket out of the ditch.\n\n\"OLD Stick!\" said the Rocket, \"impossible! GOLD Stick, that is what he\nsaid. Gold Stick is very complimentary. In fact, he mistakes me for one\nof the Court dignitaries!\"\n\n\"Let us put it into the fire!\" said the other boy, \"it will help to boil\nthe kettle.\"\n\nSo they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top, and lit\nthe fire.\n\n\"This is magnificent,\" cried the Rocket, \"they are going to let me off\nin broad daylight, so that everyone can see me.\"\n\n\"We will go to sleep now,\" they said, \"and when we wake up the kettle\nwill be boiled;\" and they lay down on the grass, and shut their eyes.\n\nThe Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn. At last,\nhowever, the fire caught him.\n\n\"Now I am going off!\" he cried, and he made himself very stiff and\nstraight. \"I know I shall go much higher than the stars, much higher\nthan the moon, much higher than the sun. In fact, I shall go so high\nthat----\"\n\nFizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.\n\n\"Delightful,\" he cried, \"I shall go on like this for ever. What a\nsuccess I am!\"\n\nBut nobody saw him.\n\nThen he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.\n\n\"Now I am going to explode,\" he cried. \"I shall set the whole world on\nfire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about anything else\nfor a whole year.\" And he certainly did explode. Bang! Bang! Bang! went\nthe gunpowder. There was no doubt about it.\n\nBut nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were sound\nasleep.\n\nThen all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on the\nback of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried the Goose. \"It is going to rain sticks;\" and she\nrushed into the water.\n\n\"I knew I should create a great sensation,\" gasped the Rocket, and he\nwent out.\n\n\n\nPRINTED BY\nHAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.\nLONDON AND AYLESBURY.\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nErrors Noted by Transcriber:\n\n  \"What a remarkable phenomenon,\" said the Professor of Ornithology\n    [_comma invisible_]\n\n  all my flowers are doing well.\"  [_\" for ' in nested quote_]","title":"The Happy Prince, and Other Tales","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":16620}