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

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

       At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

       Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the

       column he looked up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.

       "How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

       "The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is 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 NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE

       5

       "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

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

       "No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend!

       I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

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

       "The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a

       red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

       "Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers--what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

       "The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance