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 litttle beter 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.”★、The Selfish GiantEvery 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.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 PROSECUTEDHe 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 tomorrow，” 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， today 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.★、The Devoted FriendOne 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 be 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 today. 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.★、The Remarkable RocketThe 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.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.★、The Young KingIt was the night before the day fixed for his coronation， and the young King was sitting alone in his beautiful chamber. His courtiers had all taken their leave of him， bowing their heads to the ground， according to the ceremonious usage of the day， and had retired to the Great Hall of the Palace， to receive a few last lessons from the Professor of Etiquette; there being some of them who had still quite natural manners， which in a courtier is， I need hardly say， a very grave offence.The lad—for he was only a lad， being but sixteen years of age—was not sorry at their departure， and had flung himself back with a deep sigh of relief on the soft cushions of his embroidered couch， lying there， wild-eyed and open-mouthed， like a brown woodland Faun， or some young animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters.And， indeed， it was the hunters who had found him， coming upon him almost by chance as， bare-limbed and pipe in hand， he was following the flock of the poor goatherd who had brought him up， and whose son he had always fancied himself to be. The child of the old King’s only daughter by a secret marriage with one much beneath her in station—a stranger， some said， who， by the wonderful magic of his lute-playing， had made the young Princess love him; while others spoke of an artist from Rimini， to whom the Princess had shown much， perhaps too much honour， and who had suddenly disappeared from the city， leaving his work in the Cathedral unfinished—he had been， when but a week old， stolen away from his mother’s side， as she slept， and given into the charge of a common peasant and his wife， who were without children of their own， and lived in a remote part of the forest， more than a day’s ride from the town. Grief， or the plague， as the court physician stated， or， as some suggested， a swift Italian poison administered in a cup of spiced wine， slew， within an hour of her wakening， the white girl who had given him birth， and as the trusty messenger who bare the child across his saddle-bow stooped from his weary horse and knocked at the rude door of the goatherd‘s hut， the body of the Princess was being lowered into an open grave that had been dug in a deserted churchyard， beyond the city gates， a grave where it was said that another body was also lying， that of a young man of marvellous and foreign beauty， whose hands were tied behind him with a knotted cord， and whose breast was stabbed with many red wounds.Such， at least， was the story that men whispered to each other. Certain it was that the old King， when on his deathbed， whether moved by remorse for his great sin， or merely desiring that the kingdom should not pass away from his line， had had the lad sent for， and， in the presence of the Council， had acknowledged him as his heir.And it seems that from the very first moment of his recognition he had shown signs of that strange passion for beauty that was destined to have so great an influence over his life. Those who accompanied him to the suite of rooms set apart for his service， often spoke of the cry of pleasure that broke from his lips when he saw the delicate raiment and rich jewels that had been prepared for him， and of the almost fierce joy with which he flung aside his rough leathern tunic and coarse sheepskin cloak. He missed， indeed， at times the fine freedom of his forest life， and was always apt to chafe at the tedious Court ceremonies that occupied so much of each day， but the wonderful palace—Joyeuse， as they called it—of which he now found himself lord， seemed to him to be a new world fresh-fashioned for his delight; and as soon as he could escape from the council-board or audience-chamber， he would run down the great staircase， with its lions of gilt bronze and its steps of bright porphyry， and wander from room to room， and from corridor to corridor， like one who was seeking to find in beauty an anodyne from pain， a sort of restoration from sickness.Upon these journeys of discovery， as he would call them—and， indeed， they were to him real voyages through a marvellous land， he would sometimes be accompanied by the slim， fair-haired Court pages， with their floating mantles， and gay fluttering ribands; but more often he would be alone， feeling through a certain quick instinct， which was almost a divination， that the secrets of art are best learned in secret， and that Beauty， like Wisdom， loves the lonely worshipper.Many curious stories were related about him at this period. It was said that a stout Burgo-master， who had come to deliver a florid oratorical address on behalf of the citizens of the town， had caught sight of him kneeling in real adoration before a great picture that had just been brought from Venice， and that seemed to herald the worship of some new gods. On another occasion he had been missed for several hours， and after a lengthened search had been discovered in a little chamber in one of the northern turrets of the palace gazing， as one in a trance， at a Greek gem carved with the figure of Adonis. He had been seen， so the tale ran， pressing his warm lips to the marble brow of an antique statue that had been discovered in the bed of the river on the occasion of the building of the stone bridge， and was inscribed with the name of the Bithynian slave of Hadrian. He had passed a whole night in noting the effect of the moonlight on a silver image of Endymion.All rare and costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him， and in his eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants， some to traffic for amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas， some to Egypt to look for that curious green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings， and is said to possess magical properties， some to Persia for silken carpets and painted pottery， and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory， moonstones and bracelets of jade， sandal-wood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation， the robe of tissued gold， and the ruby-studded crown， and the sceptre with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed， it was of this that he was thinking tonight， as he lay back on his luxurious couch， watching the great pinewood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs， which were from the hands of the most famous artists of the time， had been submitted to him many months before， and he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out， and that the whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw himself in fancy standing at the high altar of the cathedral in the fair raiment of a King， and a smile played and lingered about his boyish lips， and lit up with a bright lustre his dark woodland eyes.After some time he rose from his seat， and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney， looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press， inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli， filled one corner， and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold， on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian glass， and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed， as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep， and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the velvet canopy， from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang， like white foam， to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of amethyst.Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral， looming like a bubble over the shadowy houses， and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away， in an orchard， a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his forehead， and taking up a lute， let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped， and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he felt so keenly， or with such exquisite joy， the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell， and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony， pouring rose-water over his hands， and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room， he fell asleep.And as he slept he dreamed a dream， and this was his dream.He thought that he was standing in a long， low attic， amidst the whir and clatter of many looms. The meagre daylight peered in through the grated windows， and showed him the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their cases. Pale， sickly-looking children were crouched on the huge crossbeams. As the shuttles dashed through the warp they lifted up the heavy battens， and when the shuttles stopped they let the battens fall and pressed the threads together. Their faces were pinched with famine， and their thin hands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were seated at a table sewing. A horrible odour filled the place. The air was foul and heavy， and the walls dripped and streamed with damp.The young King went over to one of the weavers， and stood by him and watched him.And the weaver looked at him angrily， and said， “Why art thou watching me? Art thou a spy set on us by our master?”“ Who is thy master?” asked the young King.“Our master！”cried the weaver， bitterly. “ He is a man like myself. Indeed， there is but this difference between us—that he wears fine clothes while I go in rags， and that while I am weak from hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding. ”“ The land is free，” said the young King， “ and thou art no man’s slave. ”“In war，”answered the weaver， “the strong make slaves of the weak， and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor. We must work to live， and they give us such mean wages that we die. We toil for them all day long， and they heap up gold in their coffers， and our children fade away before their time， and the faces of those we love become hard and evil. We tread out the grapes， and another drinks the wine. We sow the corn， and our own board is empty. We have chains， though no eye beholds them;and are slaves， though men call us free.”“Is it so with all?” he asked.“It is so with all，” answered the weaver， “with the young as well as with the old， with the women as well as with the men， with the little children as well as with those who are stricken in years. The merchants grind us down， and we must needs do their bidding. The priest rides by and tells his beads， and no man has care of us. Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes， and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning， and Shame sits with us at night. But what are these things to thee? Thou art not one of us. Thy face is too happy.” And he turned away scowling， and threw the shuttle across the loom， and the young King saw that it was threaded with a thread of gold.And a great terror seized upon him， and he said to the weaver， “What robe is this that thou art weaving?”“ It is the robe for the coronation of the young King，” he answered; “what is that to thee?”And the young King gave a loud cry and woke， and lo！ he was in his own chamber， and through the window he saw the great honey-coloured moon hanging in the dusky air.And he fell asleep again and dreamed， and this was his dream.He thought that he was lying on the deck of a huge galley that was being rowed by a hundred slaves. On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was black as ebony， and his turban was of crimson silk. Great earrings of silver dragged down the thick lobes of his ears， and in his hands he had a pair of ivory scales.The slaves were naked， but for a ragged loin-cloth， and each man was chained to his neighbour. The hot sun beat brightly upon them， and the negroes ran up and down the gangway and lashed them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms and pulled the heavy oars through the water. The salt spray flew from the blades.At last they reached a little bay， and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the shore， and covered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust. Three Arabs mounted on wild asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master of the galley took a painted bow in his hand and shot one of them in the throat. He fell heavily into the surf， and his companions galloped away. A woman wrapped in a yellow veil followed slowly on a camel， looking back now and then at the dead body.As soon as they had cast anchor and hauled down the sail， the negroes went into the hold and brought up a long rope-ladder， heavily weighted with lead. The master of the galley threw it over the side， making the ends fast to two iron stanchions. Then the negroes seized the youngest of the slaves and knocked his gyves off， and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax， and tied a big stone round his waist. He crept wearily down the ladder， and disappeared into the sea. A few bubbles rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curiously over the side. At the prow of the galley sat a shark-charmer， beating monotonously upon a drum.After some time the diver rose up out of the water， and clung panting to the ladder with a pearl in his right hand. The negroes seized it from him， and thrust him back. The slaves fell asleep over their oars.Again and again he came up， and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl. The master of the galley weighed them， and put them into a little bag of green leather.The young King tried to speak， but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth， and his lips refused to move. The negroes chattered to each other， and began to quarrel over a string of bright beads. Two cranes flew round and round the vessel.Then the diver came up for the last time， and the pearl that he brought with him was fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz， for it was shaped like the full moon， and whiter than the morning star. But his face was strangely pale， and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his ears and nostrils. He quivered for a little， and then he was still. The negroes shrugged their shoulders， and threw the body overboard.And the master of the galley laughed， and， reaching out， he took the pearl， and when he saw it he pressed it to his forehead and bowed. “It shall be，”he said， “for the sceptre of the young King，” and he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor.And when the young King heard this he gave a great cry， and woke， and through the window he saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars.And he fell asleep again， and dreamed， and this was his dream.He thought that he was wandering through a dim wood， hung with strange fruits and with beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as he went by， and the bright parrots flew screaming from branch to branch. Huge tortoises lay asleep upon the hot mud. The trees were full of apes and peacocks.On and on he went， till he reached the outskirts of the wood， and there he saw an immense multitude of men toiling in the bed of a dried-up river. They swarmed up the crag like ants. They dug deep pits in the ground and went down into them. Some of them cleft the rocks with great axes;others grabbled in the sand.They tore up the cactus by its roots， and trampled on the scarlet blossoms. They hurried about， calling to each other， and no man was idle.From the darkness of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them， and Death said， “I am weary;give me a third of them and let me go.”But Avarice shook her head.“They are my servants， ” she answered.And Death said to her， “What hast thou in thy hand?”“I have three grains of corn，” she answered;“ what is that to thee?”“Give me one of them，”cried Death， “to plant in my garden;only one of them， and I will go away.”“ I will not give thee anything，”said Avarice， and she hid her hand in the fold of her raiment.And Death laughed， and took a cup， and dipped it into a pool of water， and out of the cup rose Ague. She passed through the great multitude， and a third of them lay dead. A cold mist followed her， and the water-snakes ran by her side.And when Avarice saw that a third of the multitude was dead she beat her breast and wept. She beat her barren bosom， and cried aloud. “Thou hast slain a third of my servants，”she cried， “get thee gone. There is war in the mountains of Tartary， and the kings of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the black ox， and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their shields with their spears， and have put on their helmets of iron. What is my valley to thee， that thou shouldst tarry in it?Get thee gone， and come here no more.”“Nay，”answered Death， “ but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.”But Avarice shut her hand， and clenched her teeth. “I will not give thee anything，” she muttered.And Death laughed， and took up a black stone， and threw it into the forest， and out of a thicket of wild hemlock came Fever in a robe of flame. She passed through the multitude， and touched them， and each man that she touched died. The grass withered beneath her feet as she walked.And Avarice shuddered， and put ashes on her head. “Thou art cruel，”she cried; “thou art cruel. There is famine in the walled cities of India， and the cisterns of Samarcand have run dry. There is famine in the walled cities of Egypt， and the locusts have come up from the desert. The Nile has not overflowed its banks， and the priests have cursed Isis and Osiris. Get thee gone to those who need thee， and leave me my servants.”“Nay，” answered Death， “but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.”“I will not give thee anything，”said Avarice.And Death laughed again， and he whistled through his fingers， and a woman came flying through the air. Plague was written upon her forehead， and a crowd of lean vultures wheeled round her. She covered the valley with her wings， and no man was left alive.And Avarice fled shrieking through the forest， and Death leaped upon his red horse and galloped away， and his galloping was faster than the wind.And out of the slime at the bottom of the valley crept dragons and horrible things with scales， and the jackals came trotting along the sand， sniffing up the air with their nostrils.And the young King wept， and said： “Who were these men， and for what were they seeking?”“For rubies for a king’s crown，” answered one who stood behind him.And the young King started， and， turning round， he saw a man habited as a pilgrim and holding in his hand a mirror of silver.And he grew pale， and said： “For what king?”And the pilgrim answered： “Look in this mirror， and thou shalt see him. ”And he looked in the mirror， and， seeing his own face， he gave a great cry and woke， and the bright sunlight was streaming into the room， and from the trees of the garden and pleasaunce the birds were singing.And the Chamberlain and the high officers of State came in and made obeisance to him， and the pages brought him the robe of tissued gold， and set the crown and the sceptre before him.And the young King looked at them， and they were beautiful. More beautiful were they than aught that he had ever seen. But he remembered his dreams， and he said to his lords： “Take these things away， for I will not wear them.”And the courtiers were amazed， and some of them laughed， for they thought that he was jesting.But he spake sternly to them again， and said： “Take these things away， and hide them from me. Though it be the day of my coronation， I will not wear them. For on the loom of Sorrow， and by the white hands of Pain， has this my robe been woven. There is Blood in the heart of the ruby， and Death in the heart of the pearl.”And he told them his three dreams.And when the courtiers heard them they looked at each other and whispered， saying： “Surely he is mad; for what is a dream but a dream， and a vision but a vision? They are not real things that one should heed them. And what have we to do with the lives of those who toil for us? Shall a man not eat bread till he has seen the sower， nor drink wine till he has talked with the vinedresser?”And the Chamberlain spake to the young King， and said， “My lord， I pray thee set aside these black thoughts of thine， and put on this fair robe， and set this crown upon thy head. For how shall the people know that thou art a king， if thou hast not a king’s raiment?”And the young King looked at him. “Is it so， indeed?”he questioned. “Will they not know me for a king if I have not a king’s raiment?”“They will not know thee， my lord， ” cried the Chamber-lain.“I had thought that there had been men who were kinglike，” he answered， “but it may be as thou sayest. And yet I will not wear this robe， nor will I be crowned with this crown， but even as I came to the palace so will I go forth from it.”And he bade them all leave him， save one page whom he kept as his companion， a lad a year younger than himself. Him he kept for his service， and when he had bathed himself in clear water， he opened a great painted chest， and from it he took the leathern tunic and rough sheepskin cloak that he had worn when he had watched on the hillside the shaggy goats of the goatherd. These he put on， and in his hand he took his rude shepherd’s staff.And the little page opened his big blue eyes in wonder， and said smiling to him， “My lord， I see thy robe and thy sceptre， but where is thy crown?”And the young King plucked a spray of wild briar that was climbing over the balcony， and bent it， and made a circlet of it， and set it on his own head.“This shall he my crown，” he answered.And thus attired he passed out of his chamber into the Great Hall， where the nobles were waiting for him.And the nobles made merry， and some of them cried out to him， “My lord， the people wait for their king， and thou showest them a beggar，” and others were wroth and said， “He brings shame upon our state， and is unworthy to be our master.”But he answered them not a word， but passed on， and went down the bright porphyry staircase， and out through the gates of bronze， and mounted upon his horse， and rode towards the cathedral， the little page running beside him.And the people laughed and said， “It is the King’s fool who is riding by，” and they mocked him.And he drew rein and said，“Nay， but I am the King.” And he told them his three dreams.And a man came out of the crowd and spake bitterly to him， and said，“Sir， knowest thou not that out of the luxury of the rich cometh the life of the poor? By your pomp we are nurtured， and your vices give us bread. To toil for a hard master is bitter， but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still. Thinkest thou that the ravens will feed us?And what cure hast thou for these things? Wilt thou say to the buyer， ‘Thou shalt buy for so much，’ and to the seller， ‘Thou shalt sell at this price?’ I trow not. Therefore go back to thy Palace and put on thy purple and fine linen. What hast thou to do with us， and what we suffer?”“Are not the rich and the poor brothers?”asked the young King.“Ay， ” answered the man， “and the name of the rich brother is Cain.”And the young King’s eyes filled with tears， and he rode on through the murmurs of the people， and the little page grew afraid and left him.And when he reached the great portal of the cathedral， the soldiers thrust their halberts out and said， “What dost thou seek here?None enters by this door but the King.”And his face flushed with anger， and he said to them， “I am the King，” and waved their halberts aside and passed in.And when the old Bishop saw him coming in his goatherd’s dress， he rose up in wonder from his throne， and went to meet him， and said to him， “My son， is this a king’s apparel? And with what crown shall I crown thee， and what sceptre shall I place in thy hand? Surely this should be to thee a day of joy， and not a day of abasement.”“Shall Joy wear what Grief has fashioned?” said the young King. And he told him his three dreams.And when the Bishop had heard them he knit his brows， and said， “My son， I am an old man， and in the winter of my days， and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains， and carry off the little children， and sell them to the Moors. The lions lie in wait for the caravans， and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the valley， and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen， and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers;they have houses of wattled reeds， and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities， and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow， and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding， and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done， but I bid thee ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad， and put on the raiment that beseemeth a king， and with the crown of gold I will crown thee， and the sceptre of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams， think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear， and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer. ”“Sayest thou that in this house?”said the young King， and he strode past the Bishop， and climbed up the steps of the altar， and stood before the image of Christ.He stood before the image of Christ， and on his right hand and on his left were the marvellous vessels of gold， the chalice with the yellow wine， and the vial with the holy oil. He knelt before the image of Christ， and the great candles burned brightly by the jewelled shrine， and the smoke of the incense curled in thin blue wreaths through the dome. He bowed his head in prayer， and the priests in their stiff copes crept away from the altar.And suddenly a wild tumult came from the street outside， and in entered the nobles with drawn swords and nodding plumes， and shields of polished steel. “Where is this dreamer of dreams?” they cried. “Where is this King who is apparelled like a beggar—this boy who brings shame upon our state? Surely we will slay him， for he is unworthy to rule over us. ”And the young King bowed his head again， and prayed， and when he had finished his prayer he rose up， and turning round he looked at them sadly.And lo！ through the painted windows came the sunlight streaming upon him， and the sun-beams wove round him a tissued robe that was fairer than the robe that had been fashioned for his pleasure. The dead staff blossomed， and bare lilies that were whiter than pearls. The dry thorn blossomed， and bare roses that were redder than rubies. Whiter than fine pearls were the lilies， and their stems were of bright silver. Redder than male rubies were the roses， and their leaves were of beaten gold.He stood there in the raiment of a king， and the gates of the jewelled shrine flew open， and from the crystal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvellous and mystical light. He stood there in a king’s raiment， and the Glory of God filled the place， and the saints in their carven niches seemed to move. In the fair raiment of a king he stood before them， and the organ pealed out its music， and the trumpeters blew upon their trumpets， and the singing boys sang.And the people fell upon their knees in awe， and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage， and the Bishop’s face grew pale， and his hands trembled. “A greater than I hath crowned thee，” he cried， and he knelt before him.And the young King came down from the high altar， and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face， for it was like the face of an angel.★、The Star-ChildOnce upon a time two poor Woodcutters were making their way home through a great pine-forest. It was winter， and a night of bitter cold. The snow lay thick upon the ground， and upon the branches of the trees： the frost kept snapping the little twigs on either side of them， as they passed： and when they came to the Mountain-Torrent she was hanging motionless in air， for the Ice-King had kissed her.So cold was it that even the animals and the birds did not know what to make of it.“Ugh！” snarled the Wolf， as he limped through the brushwood with his tail between his legs， “this is perfectly monstrous weather. Why doesn’t the Government look to it?”“Weet！ weet！ weet！” twittered the green Linnets， “the old Earth is dead and they have laid her out in her white shroud.”“The Earth is going to be married， and this is her bridal dress，” whispered the Turtle-doves to each other. Their little pink feet were quite frost-bitten， but they felt that it was their duty to take a romantic view of the situation.“Nonsense！” growled the Wolf. “I tell you that it is all the fault of the Government， and if you don’t believe me I shall eat you.” The Wolf had a thoroughly practical mind， and was never at a loss for a good argument.“Well， for my own part， ” said the Woodpecker， who was a born philosopher， “I don’t care an atomic theory for explan-ations. If a thing is so， it is so， and at present it is terribly cold.”Terribly cold it certainly was. The little Squirrels， who lived inside the tall fir-tree， kept rubbing each other’s noses to keep themselves warm， and the Rabbits curled themselves up in their holes， and did not venture even to look out of doors. The only people who seemed to enjoy it were the great horned Owls. Their feathers were quite stiff with rime， but they did not mind， and they rolled their large yellow eyes， and called out to each other across the forest， “Tu-whit！ Tu-whoo！ Tu-whit！ Tu-whoo！ what delightful weather we are having！”On and on went the two Woodcutters， blowing lustily upon their fingers， and stamping with their huge iron-shod boots upon the caked snow. Once they sank into a deep drift， and came out as white as millers are， when the stones are grinding; and once they slipped on the hard smooth ice where the marsh-water was frozen， and their faggots fell out of their bundles， and they had to pick them up and bind them together again; and once they thought that they had lost their way， and a great terror seized on them， for they knew that the Snow is cruel to those who sleep in her arms. But they put their trust in the good Saint Martin， who watches over all travellers， and retraced their steps， and went warily， and at last they reached the outskirts of the forest， and saw， far down in the valley beneath them， the lights of the village in which they dwelt.So overjoyed were they at their deliverance that they laughed aloud， and the Earth seemed to them like a flower of silver， and the Moon like a flower of gold.Yet， after that they had laughed they became sad， for they remembered their poverty， and one of them said to the other， “Why did we make merry， seeing that life is for the rich， and not for such as we are? Better that we had died of cold in the forest， or that some wild beast had fallen upon us and slain us.”“Truly， ” answered his companion， “much is given to some， and little is given to others. Injustice has parcelled out the world， nor is there equal division of aught save of sorrow.”But as they were bewailing their misery to each other this strange thing happened. There fell from heaven a very bright and beautiful star. It slipped down the side of the sky， passing by the other stars in its course， and， as they watched it wondering， it seemed to them to sink behind a clump of willow-trees that stood hard by a little sheepfold no more than a stone’s-throw away.“Why！ there is a crook of gold for whoever finds it，”they cried， and they set to and ran， so eager were they for the gold.And one of them ran faster than his mate， and outstripped him， and forced his way through the willows， and came out on the other side， and lo！ there was indeed a thing of gold lying on the white snow. So he hastened towards it， and stooping down placed his hands upon it， and it was a cloak of golden tissue， curiously wrought with stars， and wrapped in many folds. And he cried out to his comrade that he had found the treasure that had fallen from the sky， and when his comrade had come up， they sat them down in the snow， and loosened the folds of the cloak that they might divide the pieces of gold. But， alas！ no gold was in it， nor silver， nor， indeed， treasure of any kind， but only a little child who was asleep.And one of them said to the other： “This is a bitter ending to our hope， nor have we any good fortune， for what doth a child profit to a man? Let us leave it here， and go our way， seeing that we are poor men， and have children of our own whose bread we may not give to another.”But his companion answered him： “Nay， but it were an evil thing to leave the child to perish here in the snow， and though I am as poor as thou art， and have many mouths to feed， and but little in the pot， yet will I bring it home with me， and my wife shall have care of it.”So very tenderly he took up the child， and wrapped the cloak around it to shield it from the harsh cold， and made his way down the hill to the village， his comrade marvelling much at his foolishness and softness of heart.And when they came to the village， his comrade said to him， “Thou hast the child， therefore give me the cloak， for it is meet that we should share.”But he answered him：“Nay， for the cloak is neither mine nor thine， but the child’s only，” and he bade him Godspeed， and went to his own house and knocked.And when his wife opened the door and saw that her husband had returned safe to her， she put her arms round his neck and kissed him， and took from his back the bundle of faggots， and brushed the snow off his boots， and bade him come in.But he said to her， “I have found something in the forest， and I have brought it to thee to have care of it，” and he stirred not from the threshold.“What is it?” she cried. “Show it to me， for the house is bare， and we have need of many things.” And he drew the cloak back， and showed her the sleeping child.“Alack， goodman！” she murmured， “have we not children of our own， that thou must needs bring a changeling to sit by the hearth? And who knows if it will not bring us bad fortune? And how shall we tend it?” And she was wroth against him.“Nay， but it is a Star-Child，” he answered; and he told her the strange manner of the finding of it.But she would not be appeased， but mocked at him， and spoke angrily， and cried： “Our children lack bread， and shall we feed the child of another? Who is there who careth for us? And who giveth us food?”“Nay， but God careth for the sparrows even， and feedeth them，”he answered.“ Do not the sparrows die of hunger in the winter?” she asked.“And is it not winter now?”And the man answered nothing， but stirred not from the threshold.And a bitter wind from the forest came in through the open door， and made her tremble， and she shivered， and said to him：“ Wilt thou not close the door? There cometh a bitter wind into the house， and I am cold.”“Into a house where a heart is hard cometh there not always a bitter wind?” he asked. And the woman answered him nothing， but crept closer to the fire.And after a time she turned round and looked at him， and her eyes were full of tears. And he came in swiftly， and placed the child in her arms， and she kissed it， and laid it in a little bed where the youngest of their own children was lying. And on the morrow the Woodcutter took the curious cloak of gold and placed it in a great chest， and a chain of amber that was round the child’s neck his wife took and set it in the chest also.So the Star-Child was brought up with the children of the Woodcutter， and sat at the same board with them， and was their playmate. And every year he became more beautiful to look at， so that all those who dwelt in the village were filled with wonder， for， while they were swarthy and black-haired， he was white and delicate as sawn ivory， and his curls were like the rings of the daffodil. His lips， also， were like the petals of a red flower， and his eyes were like violets by a river of pure water， and his body like the narcissus of a field where the mower comes not.Yet did his beauty work him evil. For he grew proud， and cruel， and selfish. The children of the Woodcutter， and the other children of the village， he despised， saying that they were of mean parentage， while he was noble， being sprang from a Star， and he made himself master over them， and called them his servants. No pity had he for the poor， or for those who were blind or maimed or in any way afflicted， but would cast stones at them and drive them forth on to the highway， and bid them beg their bread elsewhere， so that none save the outlaws came twice to that village to ask for alms. Indeed， he was as one enamoured of beauty， and would mock at the weakly and ill-favoured， and make jest of them;and himself he loved， and in summer， when the winds were still， he would lie by the well in the priest‘s orchard and look down at the marvel of his own face， and laugh for the pleasure he had in his fairness.Often did the Woodcutter and his wife chide him， and say： “We did not deal with thee as thou dealest with those who are left desolate， and have none to succour them. Wherefore art thou so cruel to all who need pity?”Often did the old priest send for him， and seek to teach him the love of living things， saying to him： “The fly is thy brother. Do it no harm. The wild birds that roam through the forest have their freedom. Snare them not for thy pleasure. God made the blind-worm and the mole， and each has its place. Who art thou to bring pain into God’s world? Even the cattle of the field praise Him.”But the Star-Child heeded not their words， but would frown and flout， and go back to his companions， and lead them. And his companions followed him， for he was fair， and fleet of foot， and could dance， and pipe， and make music. And wherever the Star-Child led them they followed， and whatever the Star-Child bade them do， that did they. And when he pierced with a sharp reed the dim eyes of the mole， they laughed， and when he cast stones at the leper they laughed also. And in all things he ruled them， and they became hard of heart even as he was.Now there passed one day through the village a poor beggar-woman. Her garments were torn and ragged， and her feet were bleeding from the rough road on which she had travelled， and she was in very evil plight. And being weary she sat her down under a chestnut-tree to rest.But when the Star-Child saw her， he said to his companions， “See！ There sitteth a foul beggar-woman under that fair and green-leaved tree. come， let us drive her hence， for she is ugly and ill-favoured.”
爱心猫粮1金币
南瓜喵10金币
喵喵玩具50金币
喵喵毛线88金币
喵喵项圈100金币
喵喵手纸200金币
喵喵跑车520金币
喵喵别墅1314金币