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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Happy Prince, by Oscar Wilde
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Happy Prince
+       and Other Tales
+
+Author: Oscar Wilde
+
+Illustrator: Walter Crane
+
+Release Date: May 6, 1997 [eBook #902]
+[Most recently updated: October 25, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: David Price and Paul Redmond
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAPPY PRINCE ***
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+                       [Picture: The Happy Prince]
+
+
+
+
+
+                             The Happy Prince
+                             And Other Tales
+
+
+                                    BY
+                               OSCAR WILDE
+
+                              ILLUSTRATED BY
+                       WALTER CRANE AND JACOMB HOOD
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                            SEVENTH IMPRESSION
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  LONDON
+                       DAVID NUTT, 57–59 LONG ACRE
+                                   1910
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+_First Edition_         _May_ 1888
+_Second Impression_     _January_ 1889
+_Third Impression_      _February_ 1902
+_Fourth Impression_     _September_ 1905
+_Fifth Impression_      _February_ 1907
+_Sixth Impression_      _March_ 1908
+_Seventh Impression_    _March_ 1910
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                   _TO_
+                             _CARLOS BLACKER_
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                [Picture: Decorative graphic of children]
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+                                        Page
+The Happy Prince                           1
+The Nightingale and the Rose              25
+The Selfish Giant                         43
+The Devoted Friend                        57
+The Remarkable Rocket                     87
+
+
+
+
+The Happy Prince.
+
+
+             [Picture: Woman opening window and seeing bird]
+
+HIGH above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy
+Prince.  He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes
+he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his
+sword-hilt.
+
+He was very much admired indeed.  “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,”
+remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for
+having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing
+lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.
+
+“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her
+little boy who was crying for the moon.  “The Happy Prince never dreams
+of crying for anything.”
+
+“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a
+disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.
+
+“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out
+of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white
+pinafores.
+
+“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen
+one.”
+
+“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the
+Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not
+approve of children dreaming.
+
+One night there flew over the city a little Swallow.  His friends had
+gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was
+in love with the most beautiful Reed.  He had met her early in the spring
+as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so
+attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.
+
+“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at
+once, and the Reed made him a low bow.  So he flew round and round her,
+touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.  This was
+his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.
+
+“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has
+no money, and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite
+full of Reeds.  Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.
+
+After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.
+“She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a
+coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.”  And certainly,
+whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.  “I
+admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my
+wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”
+
+“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook
+her head, she was so attached to her home.
+
+“You have been trifling with me,” he cried.  “I am off to the Pyramids.
+Good-bye!” and he flew away.
+
+All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.  “Where
+shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”
+
+Then he saw the statue on the tall column.
+
+“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty of
+fresh air.”  So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.
+
+“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round,
+and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under
+his wing a large drop of water fell on him.  “What a curious thing!” he
+cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear
+and bright, and yet it is raining.  The climate in the north of Europe is
+really dreadful.  The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her
+selfishness.”
+
+Then another drop fell.
+
+“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I
+must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.
+
+But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up,
+and saw—Ah! what did he see?
+
+The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were
+running down his golden cheeks.  His face was so beautiful in the
+moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.
+
+“Who are you?” he said.
+
+“I am the Happy Prince.”
+
+“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you have quite drenched
+me.”
+
+“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not
+know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where
+sorrow is not allowed to enter.  In the daytime I played with my
+companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great
+Hall.  Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask
+what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.  My courtiers
+called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be
+happiness.  So I lived, and so I died.  And now that I am dead they have
+set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery
+of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but
+weep.”
+
+“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself.  He was too
+polite to make any personal remarks out loud.
+
+“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musical voice, “far away in a
+little street there is a poor house.  One of the windows is open, and
+through it I can see a woman seated at a table.  Her face is thin and
+worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she
+is a seamstress.  She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for
+the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next
+Court-ball.  In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying
+ill.  He has a fever, and is asking for oranges.  His mother has nothing
+to give him but river water, so he is crying.  Swallow, Swallow, little
+Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?  My feet
+are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”
+
+“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow.  “My friends are flying up
+and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers.  Soon they
+will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King.  The King is there
+himself in his painted coffin.  He is wrapped in yellow linen, and
+embalmed with spices.  Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and
+his hands are like withered leaves.”
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay
+with me for one night, and be my messenger?  The boy is so thirsty, and
+the mother so sad.”
+
+“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow.  “Last summer, when I
+was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons,
+who were always throwing stones at me.  They never hit me, of course; we
+swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family
+famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.”
+
+But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.
+“It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night,
+and be your messenger.”
+
+“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.
+
+So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and
+flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.
+
+He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were
+sculptured.  He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.  A
+beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover.  “How wonderful
+the stars are,” he said to her, “and how wonderful is the power of love!”
+
+“I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,” she answered;
+“I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the
+seamstresses are so lazy.”
+
+He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of
+the ships.  He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining
+with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales.  At last he
+came to the poor house and looked in.  The boy was tossing feverishly on
+his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired.  In he
+hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble.
+Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his
+wings.  “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better”; and
+he sank into a delicious slumber.
+
+Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had
+done.  “It is curious,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although
+it is so cold.”
+
+“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince.  And the
+little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep.  Thinking always
+made him sleepy.
+
+When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.  “What a
+remarkable phenomenon,” said the Professor of Ornithology as he was
+passing over the bridge.  “A swallow in winter!”  And he wrote a long
+letter about it to the local newspaper.  Every one quoted it, it was full
+of so many words that they could not understand.
+
+“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at
+the prospect.  He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time
+on top of the church steeple.  Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped,
+and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed
+himself very much.
+
+When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.  “Have you any
+commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.”
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay
+with me one night longer?”
+
+“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the Swallow.  “To-morrow my friends
+will fly up to the Second Cataract.  The river-horse couches there among
+the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon.  All
+night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he
+utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent.  At noon the yellow lions
+come down to the water’s edge to drink.  They have eyes like green
+beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.”
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the
+city I see a young man in a garret.  He is leaning over a desk covered
+with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered
+violets.  His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a
+pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes.  He is trying to finish a
+play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any
+more.  There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.”
+
+“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really had
+a good heart.  “Shall I take him another ruby?”
+
+“Alas!  I have no ruby now,” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I
+have left.  They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of
+India a thousand years ago.  Pluck out one of them and take it to him.
+He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish
+his play.”
+
+“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that”; and he began to
+weep.
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command
+you.”
+
+So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the
+student’s garret.  It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in
+the roof.  Through this he darted, and came into the room.  The young man
+had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the
+bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying
+on the withered violets.
+
+“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he cried; “this is from some great
+admirer.  Now I can finish my play,” and he looked quite happy.
+
+The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour.  He sat on the mast of
+a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold
+with ropes.  “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up.  “I am
+going to Egypt”! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon
+rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.
+
+“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay
+with me one night longer?”
+
+“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and the chill snow will soon be
+here.  In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the
+crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them.  My companions are
+building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves
+are watching them, and cooing to each other.  Dear Prince, I must leave
+you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back
+two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away.  The ruby
+shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the
+great sea.”
+
+“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince, “there stands a little
+match-girl.  She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all
+spoiled.  Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money,
+and she is crying.  She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is
+bare.  Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will
+not beat her.”
+
+“I will stay with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, “but I cannot
+pluck out your eye.  You would be quite blind then.”
+
+“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command
+you.”
+
+So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted down with it.  He
+swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her
+hand.  “What a lovely bit of glass,” cried the little girl; and she ran
+home, laughing.
+
+Then the Swallow came back to the Prince.  “You are blind now,” he said,
+“so I will stay with you always.”
+
+“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince, “you must go away to Egypt.”
+
+“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow, and he slept at the
+Prince’s feet.
+
+All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, and told him stories of
+what he had seen in strange lands.  He told him of the red ibises, who
+stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their
+beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the
+desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the
+side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King
+of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a
+large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and
+has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who
+sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the
+butterflies.
+
+“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you tell me of marvellous
+things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of
+women.  There is no Mystery so great as Misery.  Fly over my city, little
+Swallow, and tell me what you see there.”
+
+So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in
+their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates.  He
+flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children
+looking out listlessly at the black streets.  Under the archway of a
+bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep
+themselves warm.  “How hungry we are!” they said.  “You must not lie
+here,” shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.
+
+Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.
+
+“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince, “you must take it off,
+leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold
+can make them happy.”
+
+Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy
+Prince looked quite dull and grey.  Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he
+brought to the poor, and the children’s faces grew rosier, and they
+laughed and played games in the street.  “We have bread now!” they cried.
+
+Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost.  The streets
+looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and
+glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of
+the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore
+scarlet caps and skated on the ice.
+
+The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave
+the Prince, he loved him too well.  He picked up crumbs outside the
+baker’s door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself
+warm by flapping his wings.
+
+But at last he knew that he was going to die.  He had just strength to
+fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more.  “Good-bye, dear Prince!” he
+murmured, “will you let me kiss your hand?”
+
+“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,” said the
+Prince, “you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips,
+for I love you.”
+
+“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said the Swallow.  “I am going to
+the House of Death.  Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?”
+
+And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his
+feet.
+
+At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something
+had broken.  The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.
+It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.
+
+Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in
+company with the Town Councillors.  As they passed the column he looked
+up at the statue: “Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.
+
+“How shabby indeed!” cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with
+the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.
+
+“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is
+golden no longer,” said the Mayor in fact, “he is little better than a
+beggar!”
+
+“Little better than a beggar,” said the Town Councillors.
+
+“And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!” continued the Mayor.  “We
+must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die
+here.”  And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.
+
+So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince.  “As he is no longer
+beautiful he is no longer useful,” said the Art Professor at the
+University.
+
+Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of
+the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal.  “We must
+have another statue, of course,” he said, “and it shall be a statue of
+myself.”
+
+“Of myself,” said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled.
+When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.
+
+“What a strange thing!” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.
+“This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace.  We must throw it
+away.”  So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also
+lying.
+
+“Bring me the two most precious things in the city,” said God to one of
+His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
+
+“You have rightly chosen,” said God, “for in my garden of Paradise this
+little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy
+Prince shall praise me.”
+
+                [Picture: Decorative graphic of two birds]
+
+
+
+
+The Nightingale and the Rose.
+
+
+        [Picture: Decorative graphic of young man lying on grass]
+
+“SHE said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried
+the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”
+
+From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she
+looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
+
+“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled
+with tears.  “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend!  I have
+read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of
+philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made
+wretched.”
+
+“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale.  “Night after night
+have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told
+his story to the stars, and now I see him.  His hair is dark as the
+hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but
+passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal
+upon his brow.”
+
+“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student,
+“and my love will be of the company.  If I bring her a red rose she will
+dance with me till dawn.  If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in
+my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will
+be clasped in mine.  But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall
+sit lonely, and she will pass me by.  She will have no heed of me, and my
+heart will break.”
+
+“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale.  “What I sing of,
+he suffers—what is joy to me, to him is pain.  Surely Love is a wonderful
+thing.  It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals.
+Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the
+marketplace.  It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be
+weighed out in the balance for gold.”
+
+“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and
+play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound
+of the harp and the violin.  She will dance so lightly that her feet will
+not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng
+round her.  But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to
+give her”; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in
+his hands, and wept.
+
+“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with
+his tail in the air.
+
+“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a
+sunbeam.
+
+“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
+
+“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.
+
+“For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the little
+Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
+
+But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and
+she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
+
+Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
+She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed
+across the garden.
+
+In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and
+when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
+
+“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
+
+But the Tree shook its head.
+
+“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea, and
+whiter than the snow upon the mountain.  But go to my brother who grows
+round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”
+
+So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the
+old sun-dial.
+
+“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
+
+But the Tree shook its head.
+
+“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the
+mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil
+that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe.  But go
+to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will
+give you what you want.”
+
+So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath
+the Student’s window.
+
+“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
+
+But the Tree shook its head.
+
+“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and
+redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
+ocean-cavern.  But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has
+nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no
+roses at all this year.”
+
+“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose!
+Is there no way by which I can get it?”
+
+“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I dare
+not tell it to you.”
+
+“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.”
+
+“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music
+by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood.  You must sing to
+me with your breast against a thorn.  All night long you must sing to me,
+and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into
+my veins, and become mine.”
+
+“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale,
+“and Life is very dear to all.  It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,
+and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot
+of pearl.  Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the
+bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the
+hill.  Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird
+compared to the heart of a man?”
+
+So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.  She
+swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through
+the grove.
+
+The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him,
+and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
+
+“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your red
+rose.  I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my
+own heart’s-blood.  All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a
+true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and
+mightier than Power, though he is mighty.  Flame-coloured are his wings,
+and coloured like flame is his body.  His lips are sweet as honey, and
+his breath is like frankincense.”
+
+The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not
+understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the
+things that are written down in books.
+
+But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the
+little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
+
+“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you
+are gone.”
+
+So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water
+bubbling from a silver jar.
+
+When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book
+and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
+
+“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the
+grove—“that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling?  I am
+afraid not.  In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without
+any sincerity.  She would not sacrifice herself for others.  She thinks
+merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish.  Still,
+it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.  What
+a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.”
+And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and
+began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
+
+And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the
+Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn.  All night long she sang
+with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down
+and listened.  All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and
+deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
+
+She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.
+And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous
+rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.  Pale was it, at
+first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the
+morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.  As the shadow of a rose in
+a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the
+rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
+
+But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
+“Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come
+before the rose is finished.”
+
+So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and
+louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of
+a man and a maid.
+
+And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the
+flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.
+But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained
+white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a
+rose.
+
+And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
+“Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come
+before the rose is finished.”
+
+So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn
+touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.  Bitter,
+bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of
+the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the
+tomb.
+
+And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.
+Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
+
+But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to
+beat, and a film came over her eyes.  Fainter and fainter grew her song,
+and she felt something choking her in her throat.
+
+Then she gave one last burst of music.  The white Moon heard it, and she
+forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky.  The red rose heard it, and
+it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold
+morning air.  Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke
+the sleeping shepherds from their dreams.  It floated through the reeds
+of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
+
+“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now”; but the
+Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass,
+with the thorn in her heart.
+
+And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
+
+“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red rose!  I
+have never seen any rose like it in all my life.  It is so beautiful that
+I am sure it has a long Latin name”; and he leaned down and plucked it.
+
+Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose
+in his hand.
+
+The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue
+silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
+
+“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,”
+cried the Student.  “Here is the reddest rose in all the world.  You will
+wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell
+you how I love you.”
+
+But the girl frowned.
+
+“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and, besides,
+the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody
+knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”
+
+“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student angrily;
+and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and
+a cart-wheel went over it.
+
+“Ungrateful!” said the girl.  “I tell you what, you are very rude; and,
+after all, who are you?  Only a Student.  Why, I don’t believe you have
+even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has”;
+and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
+
+“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away.  “It
+is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is
+always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one
+believe things that are not true.  In fact, it is quite unpractical, and,
+as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to
+Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”
+
+So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began
+to read.
+
+          [Picture: Decorative graphic of nightingale and rose]
+
+
+
+
+The Selfish Giant.
+
+
+                       [Picture: The Selfish Giant]
+
+EVERY afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go
+and play in the Giant’s garden.
+
+It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass.  Here and there over
+the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve
+peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of
+pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit.  The birds sat on the
+trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in
+order to listen to them.  “How happy we are here!” they cried to each
+other.
+
+           [Picture: Decorative graphic of children in garden]
+
+One day the Giant came back.  He had been to visit his friend the Cornish
+ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years.  After the seven years
+were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was
+limited, and he determined to return to his own castle.  When he arrived
+he saw the children playing in the garden.
+
+“What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the
+children ran away.
+
+“My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “any one can understand
+that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.”  So he built a
+high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.
+
+          TRESPASSERS
+
+            WILL BE
+
+           PROSECUTED
+
+He was a very selfish Giant.
+
+The poor children had now nowhere to play.  They tried to play on the
+road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did
+not like it.  They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons
+were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.  “How happy we
+were there,” they said to each other.
+
+Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms
+and little birds.  Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still
+winter.  The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children,
+and the trees forgot to blossom.  Once a beautiful flower put its head
+out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for
+the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to
+sleep.  The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost.
+“Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all
+the year round.”  The Snow covered up the grass with her great white
+cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver.  Then they invited the
+North Wind to stay with them, and he came.  He was wrapped in furs, and
+he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.
+“This is a delightful spot,” he said, “we must ask the Hail on a visit.”
+So the Hail came.  Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of
+the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and
+round the garden as fast as he could go.  He was dressed in grey, and his
+breath was like ice.
+
+“I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the
+Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white
+garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.”
+
+But the Spring never came, nor the Summer.  The Autumn gave golden fruit
+to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none.  “He is too
+selfish,” she said.  So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,
+and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.
+
+One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely
+music.  It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the
+King’s musicians passing by.  It was really only a little linnet singing
+outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in
+his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the
+world.  Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind
+ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open
+casement.  “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and
+he jumped out of bed and looked out.
+
+What did he see?
+
+He saw a most wonderful sight.  Through a little hole in the wall the
+children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the
+trees.  In every tree that he could see there was a little child.  And
+the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had
+covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above
+the children’s heads.  The birds were flying about and twittering with
+delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and
+laughing.  It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.
+It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little
+boy.  He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the
+tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly.  The poor tree
+was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was
+blowing and roaring above it.  “Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and
+it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.
+
+And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out.  “How selfish I have
+been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here.  I will
+put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock
+down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever
+and ever.”  He was really very sorry for what he had done.
+
+So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went
+out into the garden.  But when the children saw him they were so
+frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.
+Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that
+he did not see the Giant coming.  And the Giant stole up behind him and
+took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree.  And the tree
+broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the
+little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s
+neck, and kissed him.  And the other children, when they saw that the
+Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came
+the Spring.  “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant,
+and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall.  And when the people
+were going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with
+the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.
+
+All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to
+bid him good-bye.
+
+“But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the
+tree.”  The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
+
+“We don’t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.”
+
+“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant.
+But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had
+never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.
+
+Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with
+the Giant.  But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.
+The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first
+little friend, and often spoke of him.  “How I would like to see him!” he
+used to say.
+
+Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble.  He could not
+play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the
+children at their games, and admired his garden.  “I have many beautiful
+flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of
+all.”
+
+One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.  He
+did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring
+asleep, and that the flowers were resting.
+
+Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked.  It
+certainly was a marvellous sight.  In the farthest corner of the garden
+was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms.  Its branches were
+all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood
+the little boy he had loved.
+
+Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden.  He
+hastened across the grass, and came near to the child.  And when he came
+quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to
+wound thee?”  For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of
+two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.
+
+“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may
+take my big sword and slay him.”
+
+“Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.”
+
+“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he
+knelt before the little child.
+
+And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once
+in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is
+Paradise.”
+
+And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying
+dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.
+
+                 [Picture: Decorative graphic of wreath]
+
+
+
+
+The Devoted Friend.
+
+
+                      [Picture: Hans and the Miller]
+
+ONE morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole.  He had
+bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long
+bit of black india-rubber.  The little ducks were swimming about in the
+pond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who
+was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand
+on their heads in the water.
+
+“You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your
+heads,” she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them
+how it was done.  But the little ducks paid no attention to her.  They
+were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in
+society at all.
+
+“What disobedient children!” cried the old Water-rat; “they really
+deserve to be drowned.”
+
+“Nothing of the kind,” answered the Duck, “every one must make a
+beginning, and parents cannot be too patient.”
+
+“Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents,” said the Water-rat;
+“I am not a family man.  In fact, I have never been married, and I never
+intend to be.  Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much
+higher.  Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or
+rarer than a devoted friendship.”
+
+“And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?” asked a
+Green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had overheard
+the conversation.
+
+“Yes, that is just what I want to know,” said the Duck; and she swam away
+to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her
+children a good example.
+
+“What a silly question!” cried the Water-rat.  “I should expect my
+devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.”
+
+“And what would you do in return?” said the little bird, swinging upon a
+silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.
+
+“I don’t understand you,” answered the Water-rat.
+
+“Let me tell you a story on the subject,” said the Linnet.
+
+“Is the story about me?” asked the Water-rat.  “If so, I will listen to
+it, for I am extremely fond of fiction.”
+
+“It is applicable to you,” answered the Linnet; and he flew down, and
+alighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.
+
+“Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “there was an honest little fellow
+named Hans.”
+
+“Was he very distinguished?” asked the Water-rat.
+
+“No,” answered the Linnet, “I don’t think he was distinguished at all,
+except for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face.  He
+lived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his
+garden.  In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his.
+Sweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds’-purses, and
+Fair-maids of France.  There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac
+Crocuses, and gold, purple Violets and white.  Columbine and Ladysmock,
+Marjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the Daffodil
+and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order as the
+months went by, one flower taking another flower’s place, so that there
+were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to smell.
+
+“Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all
+was big Hugh the Miller.  Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to
+little Hans, that he would never go by his garden without leaning over
+the wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or
+filling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.
+
+“‘Real friends should have everything in common,’ the Miller used to say,
+and little Hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a friend
+with such noble ideas.
+
+“Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich
+Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred
+sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and a large
+flock of woolly sheep; but Hans never troubled his head about these
+things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the
+wonderful things the Miller used to say about the unselfishness of true
+friendship.
+
+“So little Hans worked away in his garden.  During the spring, the
+summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and
+he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good
+deal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper
+but a few dried pears or some hard nuts.  In the winter, also, he was
+extremely lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.
+
+“‘There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow
+lasts,’ the Miller used to say to his wife, ‘for when people are in
+trouble they should be left alone, and not be bothered by visitors.  That
+at least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right.  So I
+shall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, and
+he will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and that will make
+him so happy.’
+
+“‘You are certainly very thoughtful about others,’ answered the Wife, as
+she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire; ‘very
+thoughtful indeed.  It is quite a treat to hear you talk about
+friendship.  I am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful
+things as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear
+a gold ring on his little finger.’
+
+“‘But could we not ask little Hans up here?’ said the Miller’s youngest
+son.  ‘If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and
+show him my white rabbits.’
+
+“‘What a silly boy you are!’ cried the Miller; ‘I really don’t know what
+is the use of sending you to school.  You seem not to learn anything.
+Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good
+supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is
+a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody’s nature.  I certainly
+will not allow Hans’ nature to be spoiled.  I am his best friend, and I
+will always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any
+temptations.  Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have
+some flour on credit, and that I could not do.  Flour is one thing, and
+friendship is another, and they should not be confused.  Why, the words
+are spelt differently, and mean quite different things.  Everybody can
+see that.’
+
+“‘How well you talk!’ said the Miller’s Wife, pouring herself out a large
+glass of warm ale; ‘really I feel quite drowsy.  It is just like being in
+church.’
+
+“‘Lots of people act well,’ answered the Miller; ‘but very few people
+talk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of
+the two, and much the finer thing also’; and he looked sternly across the
+table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung his
+head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea.
+However, he was so young that you must excuse him.”
+
+“Is that the end of the story?” asked the Water-rat.
+
+“Certainly not,” answered the Linnet, “that is the beginning.”
+
+“Then you are quite behind the age,” said the Water-rat.  “Every good
+story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the
+beginning, and concludes with the middle.  That is the new method.  I
+heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the
+pond with a young man.  He spoke of the matter at great length, and I am
+sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head,
+and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered ‘Pooh!’
+But pray go on with your story.  I like the Miller immensely.  I have all
+kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy
+between us.”
+
+“Well,” said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, “as
+soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale
+yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and see
+little Hans.
+
+“‘Why, what a good heart you have!’ cried his Wife; ‘you are always
+thinking of others.  And mind you take the big basket with you for the
+flowers.’
+
+“So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong iron
+chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.
+
+“‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said the Miller.
+
+“‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to
+ear.
+
+“‘And how have you been all the winter?’ said the Miller.
+
+“‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it is very good of you to ask, very good
+indeed.  I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring
+has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.’
+
+“‘We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘and
+wondered how you were getting on.’
+
+“‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘I was half afraid you had forgotten
+me.’
+
+“‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said the Miller; ‘friendship never
+forgets.  That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don’t
+understand the poetry of life.  How lovely your primroses are looking,
+by-the-bye!”
+
+“‘They are certainly very lovely,’ said Hans, ‘and it is a most lucky
+thing for me that I have so many.  I am going to bring them into the
+market and sell them to the Burgomaster’s daughter, and buy back my
+wheelbarrow with the money.’
+
+“‘Buy back your wheelbarrow?  You don’t mean to say you have sold it?
+What a very stupid thing to do!’
+
+“‘Well, the fact is,’ said Hans, ‘that I was obliged to.  You see the
+winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to
+buy bread with.  So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat,
+and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at last
+I sold my wheelbarrow.  But I am going to buy them all back again now.’
+
+“‘Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘I will give you my wheelbarrow.  It is not in
+very good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong
+with the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to you.  I
+know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would think me
+extremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not like the rest of the
+world.  I think that generosity is the essence of friendship, and,
+besides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself.  Yes, you may set your
+mind at ease, I will give you my wheelbarrow.’
+
+“‘Well, really, that is generous of you,’ said little Hans, and his funny
+round face glowed all over with pleasure.  ‘I can easily put it in
+repair, as I have a plank of wood in the house.’
+
+“‘A plank of wood!’ said the Miller; ‘why, that is just what I want for
+the roof of my barn.  There is a very large hole in it, and the corn will
+all get damp if I don’t stop it up.  How lucky you mentioned it!  It is
+quite remarkable how one good action always breeds another.  I have given
+you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank.  Of
+course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true,
+friendship never notices things like that.  Pray get it at once, and I
+will set to work at my barn this very day.’
+
+“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged the
+plank out.
+
+“‘It is not a very big plank,’ said the Miller, looking at it, ‘and I am
+afraid that after I have mended my barn-roof there won’t be any left for
+you to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault.
+And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure you would like to
+give me some flowers in return.  Here is the basket, and mind you fill it
+quite full.’
+
+“‘Quite full?’ said little Hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a
+very big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no
+flowers left for the market and he was very anxious to get his silver
+buttons back.
+
+“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller, ‘as I have given you my
+wheelbarrow, I don’t think that it is much to ask you for a few flowers.
+I may be wrong, but I should have thought that friendship, true
+friendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind.’
+
+“‘My dear friend, my best friend,’ cried little Hans, ‘you are welcome to
+all the flowers in my garden.  I would much sooner have your good opinion
+than my silver buttons, any day’; and he ran and plucked all his pretty
+primroses, and filled the Miller’s basket.
+
+“‘Good-bye, little Hans,’ said the Miller, as he went up the hill with
+the plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.
+
+“‘Good-bye,’ said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily, he
+was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.
+
+“The next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when
+he heard the Miller’s voice calling to him from the road.  So he jumped
+off the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.
+
+“There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.
+
+“‘Dear little Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘would you mind carrying this sack
+of flour for me to market?’
+
+“‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ said Hans, ‘but I am really very busy to-day.  I
+have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to water, and all
+my grass to roll.’
+
+“‘Well, really,’ said the Miller, ‘I think that, considering that I am
+going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to
+refuse.’
+
+“‘Oh, don’t say that,’ cried little Hans, ‘I wouldn’t be unfriendly for
+the whole world’; and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with the big
+sack on his shoulders.
+
+“It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before Hans
+had reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit down
+and rest.  However, he went on bravely, and as last he reached the
+market.  After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour
+for a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for he was
+afraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way.
+
+“‘It has certainly been a hard day,’ said little Hans to himself as he
+was going to bed, ‘but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is
+my best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.’
+
+“Early the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his
+sack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.
+
+“‘Upon my word,’ said the Miller, ‘you are very lazy.  Really,
+considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you might
+work harder.  Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don’t like any of
+my friends to be idle or sluggish.  You must not mind my speaking quite
+plainly to you.  Of course I should not dream of doing so if I were not
+your friend.  But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say
+exactly what one means?  Anybody can say charming things and try to
+please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things,
+and does not mind giving pain.  Indeed, if he is a really true friend he
+prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.’
+
+“‘I am very sorry,’ said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off
+his night-cap, ‘but I was so tired that I thought I would lie in bed for
+a little time, and listen to the birds singing.  Do you know that I
+always work better after hearing the birds sing?’
+
+“‘Well, I am glad of that,’ said the Miller, clapping little Hans on the
+back, ‘for I want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed,
+and mend my barn-roof for me.’
+
+“Poor little Hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his
+flowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to refuse
+the Miller, as he was such a good friend to him.
+
+“‘Do you think it would be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?’ he
+inquired in a shy and timid voice.
+
+“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller, ‘I do not think it is much to ask
+of you, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of
+course if you refuse I will go and do it myself.’
+
+“‘Oh! on no account,’ cried little Hans and he jumped out of bed, and
+dressed himself, and went up to the barn.
+
+“He worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller came
+to see how he was getting on.
+
+“‘Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?’ cried the
+Miller in a cheery voice.
+
+“‘It is quite mended,’ answered little Hans, coming down the ladder.
+
+“‘Ah!’ said the Miller, ‘there is no work so delightful as the work one
+does for others.’
+
+“‘It is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk,’ answered little
+Hans, sitting down, and wiping his forehead, ‘a very great privilege.
+But I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.’
+
+“‘Oh! they will come to you,’ said the Miller, ‘but you must take more
+pains.  At present you have only the practice of friendship; some day you
+will have the theory also.’
+
+“‘Do you really think I shall?’ asked little Hans.
+
+“‘I have no doubt of it,’ answered the Miller, ‘but now that you have
+mended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for I want you to drive
+my sheep to the mountain to-morrow.’
+
+“Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next
+morning the Miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and Hans
+started off with them to the mountain.  It took him the whole day to get
+there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to
+sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.
+
+“‘What a delightful time I shall have in my garden,’ he said, and he went
+to work at once.
+
+“But somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his
+friend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off on long
+errands, or getting him to help at the mill.  Little Hans was very much
+distressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he had
+forgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that the Miller
+was his best friend.  ‘Besides,’ he used to say, ‘he is going to give me
+his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity.’
+
+“So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all kinds
+of beautiful things about friendship, which Hans took down in a
+note-book, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good
+scholar.
+
+“Now it happened that one evening little Hans was sitting by his fireside
+when a loud rap came at the door.  It was a very wild night, and the wind
+was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at first he
+thought it was merely the storm.  But a second rap came, and then a
+third, louder than any of the others.
+
+“‘It is some poor traveller,’ said little Hans to himself, and he ran to
+the door.
+
+“There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the
+other.
+
+“‘Dear little Hans,’ cried the Miller, ‘I am in great trouble.  My little
+boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the
+Doctor.  But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it
+has just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead
+of me.  You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so, it is
+only fair that you should do something for me in return.’
+
+“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, ‘I take it quite as a compliment your
+coming to me, and I will start off at once.  But you must lend me your
+lantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into the
+ditch.’
+
+“‘I am very sorry,’ answered the Miller, ‘but it is my new lantern, and
+it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.’
+
+“‘Well, never mind, I will do without it,’ cried little Hans, and he took
+down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler
+round his throat, and started off.
+
+“What a dreadful storm it was!  The night was so black that little Hans
+could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely
+stand.  However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking
+about three hours, he arrived at the Doctor’s house, and knocked at the
+door.
+
+“‘Who is there?’ cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom
+window.
+
+“‘Little Hans, Doctor.’
+
+“’What do you want, little Hans?’
+
+“‘The Miller’s son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and
+the Miller wants you to come at once.’
+
+“‘All right!’ said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big
+boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the
+direction of the Miller’s house, little Hans trudging behind him.
+
+“But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and
+little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse.
+At last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very
+dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans
+was drowned.  His body was found the next day by some goatherds, floating
+in a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the cottage.
+
+“Everybody went to little Hans’ funeral, as he was so popular, and the
+Miller was the chief mourner.
+
+“‘As I was his best friend,’ said the Miller, ‘it is only fair that I
+should have the best place’; so he walked at the head of the procession
+in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a
+big pocket-handkerchief.
+
+“‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,’ said the
+Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated
+comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.
+
+“‘A great loss to me at any rate,’ answered the Miller; ‘why, I had as
+good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don’t know what to do
+with it.  It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair
+that I could not get anything for it if I sold it.  I will certainly take
+care not to give away anything again.  One always suffers for being
+generous.’”
+
+“Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long pause.
+
+“Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet.
+
+“But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat.
+
+“Oh!  I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet; “and I am sure that I
+don’t care.”
+
+“It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature,” said
+the Water-rat.
+
+“I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” remarked the
+Linnet.
+
+“The what?” screamed the Water-rat.
+
+“The moral.”
+
+“Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?”
+
+“Certainly,” said the Linnet.
+
+“Well, really,” said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, “I think you
+should have told me that before you began.  If you had done so, I
+certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said
+‘Pooh,’ like the critic.  However, I can say it now”; so he shouted out
+“Pooh” at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back
+into his hole.
+
+“And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked the Duck, who came paddling up
+some minutes afterwards.  “He has a great many good points, but for my
+own part I have a mother’s feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed
+bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes.”
+
+“I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,” answered the Linnet.  “The
+fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.”
+
+“Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do,” said the Duck.
+
+And I quite agree with her.
+
+     [Picture: Decorative graphic of windmill and overturned barrow]
+
+
+
+
+The Remarkable Rocket.
+
+
+                     [Picture: The Remarkable Rocket]
+
+THE King’s son was going to be married, so there were general rejoicings.
+He had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived.
+She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way from Finland in a
+sledge drawn by six reindeer.  The sledge was shaped like a great golden
+swan, and between the swan’s wings lay the little Princess herself.  Her
+long ermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was a tiny
+cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palace in which she
+had always lived.  So pale was she that as she drove through the streets
+all the people wondered.  “She is like a white rose!” they cried, and
+they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.
+
+  [Picture: Decorative graphic of young man kissing the princess’ hand]
+
+At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive her.  He had
+dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine gold.  When he saw her he
+sank upon one knee, and kissed her hand.
+
+“Your picture was beautiful,” he murmured, “but you are more beautiful
+than your picture”; and the little Princess blushed.
+
+“She was like a white rose before,” said a young Page to his neighbour,
+“but she is like a red rose now”; and the whole Court was delighted.
+
+For the next three days everybody went about saying, “White rose, Red
+rose, Red rose, White rose”; and the King gave orders that the Page’s
+salary was to be doubled.  As he received no salary at all this was not
+of much use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and was duly
+published in the Court Gazette.
+
+When the three days were over the marriage was celebrated.  It was a
+magnificent ceremony, and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in hand
+under a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little pearls.  Then
+there was a State Banquet, which lasted for five hours.  The Prince and
+Princess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cup of clear
+crystal.  Only true lovers could drink out of this cup, for if false lips
+touched it, it grew grey and dull and cloudy.
+
+“It’s quite clear that they love each other,” said the little Page, “as
+clear as crystal!” and the King doubled his salary a second time.  “What
+an honour!” cried all the courtiers.
+
+After the banquet there was to be a Ball.  The bride and bridegroom were
+to dance the Rose-dance together, and the King had promised to play the
+flute.  He played very badly, but no one had ever dared to tell him so,
+because he was the King.  Indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never
+quite certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for,
+whatever he did, everybody cried out, “Charming! charming!”
+
+The last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks, to be
+let off exactly at midnight.  The little Princess had never seen a
+firework in her life, so the King had given orders that the Royal
+Pyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.
+
+“What are fireworks like?” she had asked the Prince, one morning, as she
+was walking on the terrace.
+
+“They are like the Aurora Borealis,” said the King, who always answered
+questions that were addressed to other people, “only much more natural.
+I prefer them to stars myself, as you always know when they are going to
+appear, and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing.  You must
+certainly see them.”
+
+So at the end of the King’s garden a great stand had been set up, and as
+soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put everything in its proper place,
+the fireworks began to talk to each other.
+
+“The world is certainly very beautiful,” cried a little Squib.  “Just
+look at those yellow tulips.  Why! if they were real crackers they could
+not be lovelier.  I am very glad I have travelled.  Travel improves the
+mind wonderfully, and does away with all one’s prejudices.”
+
+“The King’s garden is not the world, you foolish squib,” said a big Roman
+Candle; “the world is an enormous place, and it would take you three days
+to see it thoroughly.”
+
+“Any place you love is the world to you,” exclaimed a pensive Catherine
+Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life, and prided
+herself on her broken heart; “but love is not fashionable any more, the
+poets have killed it.  They wrote so much about it that nobody believed
+them, and I am not surprised.  True love suffers, and is silent.  I
+remember myself once—But it is no matter now.  Romance is a thing of the
+past.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said the Roman Candle, “Romance never dies.  It is like the
+moon, and lives for ever.  The bride and bridegroom, for instance, love
+each other very dearly.  I heard all about them this morning from a
+brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the same drawer as
+myself, and knew the latest Court news.”
+
+But the Catherine Wheel shook her head.  “Romance is dead, Romance is
+dead, Romance is dead,” she murmured.  She was one of those people who
+think that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times,
+it becomes true in the end.
+
+Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.
+
+It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied to the end
+of a long stick.  He always coughed before he made any observation, so as
+to attract attention.
+
+“Ahem! ahem!” he said, and everybody listened except the poor Catherine
+Wheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring, “Romance is dead.”
+
+“Order! order!” cried out a Cracker.  He was something of a politician,
+and had always taken a prominent part in the local elections, so he knew
+the proper Parliamentary expressions to use.
+
+“Quite dead,” whispered the Catherine Wheel, and she went off to sleep.
+
+As soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed a third time and
+began.  He spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if he was dictating
+his memoirs, and always looked over the shoulder of the person to whom he
+was talking.  In fact, he had a most distinguished manner.
+
+“How fortunate it is for the King’s son,” he remarked, “that he is to be
+married on the very day on which I am to be let off.  Really, if it had
+been arranged beforehand, it could not have turned out better for him;
+but, Princes are always lucky.”
+
+“Dear me!” said the little Squib, “I thought it was quite the other way,
+and that we were to be let off in the Prince’s honour.”
+
+“It may be so with you,” he answered; “indeed, I have no doubt that it
+is, but with me it is different.  I am a very remarkable Rocket, and come
+of remarkable parents.  My mother was the most celebrated Catherine Wheel
+of her day, and was renowned for her graceful dancing.  When she made her
+great public appearance she spun round nineteen times before she went
+out, and each time that she did so she threw into the air seven pink
+stars.  She was three feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very
+best gunpowder.  My father was a Rocket like myself, and of French
+extraction.  He flew so high that the people were afraid that he would
+never come down again.  He did, though, for he was of a kindly
+disposition, and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden
+rain.  The newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering
+terms.  Indeed, the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic
+art.”
+
+“Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,” said a Bengal Light; “I know it is
+Pyrotechnic, for I saw it written on my own canister.”
+
+“Well, I said Pylotechnic,” answered the Rocket, in a severe tone of
+voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at once to
+bully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still a person of
+some importance.
+
+“I was saying,” continued the Rocket, “I was saying—What was I saying?”
+
+“You were talking about yourself,” replied the Roman Candle.
+
+“Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I was
+so rudely interrupted.  I hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind,
+for I am extremely sensitive.  No one in the whole world is so sensitive
+as I am, I am quite sure of that.”
+
+“What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker to the Roman Candle.
+
+“A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other
+people’s toes,” answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper; and the
+Cracker nearly exploded with laughter.
+
+“Pray, what are you laughing at?” inquired the Rocket; “I am not
+laughing.”
+
+“I am laughing because I am happy,” replied the Cracker.
+
+“That is a very selfish reason,” said the Rocket angrily.  “What right
+have you to be happy?  You should be thinking about others.  In fact, you
+should be thinking about me.  I am always thinking about myself, and I
+expect everybody else to do the same.  That is what is called sympathy.
+It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess it in a high degree.  Suppose,
+for instance, anything happened to me to-night, what a misfortune that
+would be for every one!  The Prince and Princess would never be happy
+again, their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King, I
+know he would not get over it.  Really, when I begin to reflect on the
+importance of my position, I am almost moved to tears.”
+
+“If you want to give pleasure to others,” cried the Roman Candle, “you
+had better keep yourself dry.”
+
+“Certainly,” exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was now in better spirits;
+“that is only common sense.”
+
+“Common sense, indeed!” said the Rocket indignantly; “you forget that I
+am very uncommon, and very remarkable.  Why, anybody can have common
+sense, provided that they have no imagination.  But I have imagination,
+for I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them as
+being quite different.  As for keeping myself dry, there is evidently no
+one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature.  Fortunately for
+myself, I don’t care.  The only thing that sustains one through life is
+the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and this
+is a feeling that I have always cultivated.  But none of you have any
+hearts.  Here you are laughing and making merry just as if the Prince and
+Princess had not just been married.”
+
+“Well, really,” exclaimed a small Fire-balloon, “why not?  It is a most
+joyful occasion, and when I soar up into the air I intend to tell the
+stars all about it.  You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about
+the pretty bride.”
+
+“Ah! what a trivial view of life!” said the Rocket; “but it is only what
+I expected.  There is nothing in you; you are hollow and empty.  Why,
+perhaps the Prince and Princess may go to live in a country where there
+is a deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little
+fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; and perhaps
+some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may
+go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may fall
+into the deep river and be drowned.  What a terrible misfortune!  Poor
+people, to lose their only son!  It is really too dreadful!  I shall
+never get over it.”
+
+“But they have not lost their only son,” said the Roman Candle; “no
+misfortune has happened to them at all.”
+
+“I never said that they had,” replied the Rocket; “I said that they
+might.  If they had lost their only son there would be no use in saying
+anything more about the matter.  I hate people who cry over spilt milk.
+But when I think that they might lose their only son, I certainly am very
+much affected.”
+
+“You certainly are!” cried the Bengal Light.  “In fact, you are the most
+affected person I ever met.”
+
+“You are the rudest person I ever met,” said the Rocket, “and you cannot
+understand my friendship for the Prince.”
+
+“Why, you don’t even know him,” growled the Roman Candle.
+
+“I never said I knew him,” answered the Rocket.  “I dare say that if I
+knew him I should not be his friend at all.  It is a very dangerous thing
+to know one’s friends.”
+
+“You had really better keep yourself dry,” said the Fire-balloon.  “That
+is the important thing.”
+
+“Very important for you, I have no doubt,” answered the Rocket, “but I
+shall weep if I choose”; and he actually burst into real tears, which
+flowed down his stick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little
+beetles, who were just thinking of setting up house together, and were
+looking for a nice dry spot to live in.
+
+“He must have a truly romantic nature,” said the Catherine Wheel, “for he
+weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about”; and she heaved a deep
+sigh, and thought about the deal box.
+
+But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite indignant, and kept
+saying, “Humbug! humbug!” at the top of their voices.  They were
+extremely practical, and whenever they objected to anything they called
+it humbug.
+
+Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars began to
+shine, and a sound of music came from the palace.
+
+The Prince and Princess were leading the dance.  They danced so
+beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and
+watched them, and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat time.
+
+Then ten o’clock struck, and then eleven, and then twelve, and at the
+last stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace, and the King
+sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.
+
+“Let the fireworks begin,” said the King; and the Royal Pyrotechnist made
+a low bow, and marched down to the end of the garden.  He had six
+attendants with him, each of whom carried a lighted torch at the end of a
+long pole.
+
+It was certainly a magnificent display.
+
+Whizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round and round.
+Boom!  Boom! went the Roman Candle.  Then the Squibs danced all over the
+place, and the Bengal Lights made everything look scarlet.  “Good-bye,”
+cried the Fire-balloon, as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.
+Bang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who were enjoying themselves
+immensely.  Every one was a great success except the Remarkable Rocket.
+He was so damp with crying that he could not go off at all.  The best
+thing in him was the gunpowder, and that was so wet with tears that it
+was of no use.  All his poor relations, to whom he would never speak,
+except with a sneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers
+with blossoms of fire.  Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and the little
+Princess laughed with pleasure.
+
+“I suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion,” said the
+Rocket; “no doubt that is what it means,” and he looked more supercilious
+than ever.
+
+The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy.  “This is evidently
+a deputation,” said the Rocket; “I will receive them with becoming
+dignity” so he put his nose in the air, and began to frown severely as if
+he were thinking about some very important subject.  But they took no
+notice of him at all till they were just going away.  Then one of them
+caught sight of him.  “Hallo!” he cried, “what a bad rocket!” and he
+threw him over the wall into the ditch.
+
+“BAD Rocket?  BAD Rocket?” he said, as he whirled through the air;
+“impossible!  GRAND Rocket, that is what the man said.  BAD and GRAND
+sound very much the same, indeed they often are the same”; and he fell
+into the mud.
+
+“It is not comfortable here,” he remarked, “but no doubt it is some
+fashionable watering-place, and they have sent me away to recruit my
+health.  My nerves are certainly very much shattered, and I require
+rest.”
+
+Then a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green mottled coat,
+swam up to him.
+
+“A new arrival, I see!” said the Frog.  “Well, after all there is nothing
+like mud.  Give me rainy weather and a ditch, and I am quite happy.  Do
+you think it will be a wet afternoon?  I am sure I hope so, but the sky
+is quite blue and cloudless.  What a pity!”
+
+“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket, and he began to cough.
+
+“What a delightful voice you have!” cried the Frog.  “Really it is quite
+like a croak, and croaking is of course the most musical sound in the
+world.  You will hear our glee-club this evening.  We sit in the old duck
+pond close by the farmer’s house, and as soon as the moon rises we begin.
+It is so entrancing that everybody lies awake to listen to us.  In fact,
+it was only yesterday that I heard the farmer’s wife say to her mother
+that she could not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us.  It is
+most gratifying to find oneself so popular.”
+
+“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket angrily.  He was very much annoyed that he
+could not get a word in.
+
+“A delightful voice, certainly,” continued the Frog; “I hope you will
+come over to the duck-pond.  I am off to look for my daughters.  I have
+six beautiful daughters, and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them.  He
+is a perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfasting off
+them.  Well, good-bye: I have enjoyed our conversation very much, I
+assure you.”
+
+“Conversation, indeed!” said the Rocket.  “You have talked the whole time
+yourself.  That is not conversation.”
+
+“Somebody must listen,” answered the Frog, “and I like to do all the
+talking myself.  It saves time, and prevents arguments.”
+
+“But I like arguments,” said the Rocket.
+
+“I hope not,” said the Frog complacently.  “Arguments are extremely
+vulgar, for everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions.
+Good-bye a second time; I see my daughters in the distance:” and the
+little Frog swam away.
+
+“You are a very irritating person,” said the Rocket, “and very ill-bred.
+I hate people who talk about themselves, as you do, when one wants to
+talk about oneself, as I do.  It is what I call selfishness, and
+selfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one of my
+temperament, for I am well known for my sympathetic nature.  In fact, you
+should take example by me; you could not possibly have a better model.
+Now that you have the chance you had better avail yourself of it, for I
+am going back to Court almost immediately.  I am a great favourite at
+Court; in fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in my
+honour.  Of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a
+provincial.”
+
+“There is no good talking to him,” said a Dragon-fly, who was sitting on
+the top of a large brown bulrush; “no good at all, for he has gone away.”
+
+“Well, that is his loss, not mine,” answered the Rocket.  “I am not going
+to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention.  I like
+hearing myself talk.  It is one of my greatest pleasures.  I often have
+long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I
+don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.”
+
+“Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,” said the Dragon-fly;
+and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away into the sky.
+
+“How very silly of him not to stay here!” said the Rocket.  “I am sure
+that he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind.  However,
+I don’t care a bit.  Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some
+day”; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.
+
+After some time a large White Duck swam up to him.  She had yellow legs,
+and webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account of her
+waddle.
+
+“Quack, quack, quack,” she said.  “What a curious shape you are!  May I
+ask were you born like that, or is it the result of an accident?”
+
+“It is quite evident that you have always lived in the country,” answered
+the Rocket, “otherwise you would know who I am.  However, I excuse your
+ignorance.  It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable
+as oneself.  You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I can fly up
+into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden rain.”
+
+“I don’t think much of that,” said the Duck, “as I cannot see what use it
+is to any one.  Now, if you could plough the fields like the ox, or draw
+a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that
+would be something.”
+
+“My good creature,” cried the Rocket in a very haughty tone of voice, “I
+see that you belong to the lower orders.  A person of my position is
+never useful.  We have certain accomplishments, and that is more than
+sufficient.  I have no sympathy myself with industry of any kind, least
+of all with such industries as you seem to recommend.  Indeed, I have
+always been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who
+have nothing whatever to do.”
+
+“Well, well,” said the Duck, who was of a very peaceable disposition, and
+never quarrelled with any one, “everybody has different tastes.  I hope,
+at any rate, that you are going to take up your residence here.”
+
+“Oh! dear no,” cried the Rocket.  “I am merely a visitor, a distinguished
+visitor.  The fact is that I find this place rather tedious.  There is
+neither society here, nor solitude.  In fact, it is essentially suburban.
+I shall probably go back to Court, for I know that I am destined to make
+a sensation in the world.”
+
+“I had thoughts of entering public life once myself,” remarked the Duck;
+“there are so many things that need reforming.  Indeed, I took the chair
+at a meeting some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning
+everything that we did not like.  However, they did not seem to have much
+effect.  Now I go in for domesticity, and look after my family.”
+
+“I am made for public life,” said the Rocket, “and so are all my
+relations, even the humblest of them.  Whenever we appear we excite great
+attention.  I have not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will
+be a magnificent sight.  As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly, and
+distracts one’s mind from higher things.”
+
+“Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they are!” said the Duck; “and
+that reminds me how hungry I feel”: and she swam away down the stream,
+saying, “Quack, quack, quack.”
+
+“Come back! come back!” screamed the Rocket, “I have a great deal to say
+to you”; but the Duck paid no attention to him.  “I am glad that she has
+gone,” he said to himself, “she has a decidedly middle-class mind”; and
+he sank a little deeper still into the mud, and began to think about the
+loneliness of genius, when suddenly two little boys in white smocks came
+running down the bank, with a kettle and some faggots.
+
+“This must be the deputation,” said the Rocket, and he tried to look very
+dignified.
+
+“Hallo!” cried one of the boys, “look at this old stick!  I wonder how it
+came here”; and he picked the rocket out of the ditch.
+
+“OLD Stick!” said the Rocket, “impossible!  GOLD Stick, that is what he
+said.  Gold Stick is very complimentary.  In fact, he mistakes me for one
+of the Court dignitaries!”
+
+“Let us put it into the fire!” said the other boy, “it will help to boil
+the kettle.”
+
+So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top, and lit
+the fire.
+
+“This is magnificent,” cried the Rocket, “they are going to let me off in
+broad day-light, so that every one can see me.”
+
+“We will go to sleep now,” they said, “and when we wake up the kettle
+will be boiled”; and they lay down on the grass, and shut their eyes.
+
+The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn.  At last,
+however, the fire caught him.
+
+“Now I am going off!” he cried, and he made himself very stiff and
+straight.  “I know I shall go much higher than the stars, much higher
+than the moon, much higher than the sun.  In fact, I shall go so high
+that—”
+
+Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.
+
+“Delightful!” he cried, “I shall go on like this for ever.  What a
+success I am!”
+
+But nobody saw him.
+
+Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.
+
+“Now I am going to explode,” he cried.  “I shall set the whole world on
+fire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about anything else for
+a whole year.”  And he certainly did explode.  Bang! Bang! Bang! went the
+gunpowder.  There was no doubt about it.
+
+But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were sound
+asleep.
+
+Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on the
+back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.
+
+“Good heavens!” cried the Goose.  “It is going to rain sticks”; and she
+rushed into the water.
+
+“I knew I should create a great sensation,” gasped the Rocket, and he
+went out.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                   Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED
+                 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
+
+                  [Picture: Decorative graphic of bird]
+
+
+
+
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