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tree." The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.

"We don't know," answered the children; "he has gone away."

"You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow," said the

Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and

had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played

with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen

again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his

first little friend, and often spoke of him. "How I would like to see him!"

he used to say.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could

not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the

children at their games, and admired his garden. "I have many beautiful

flowers," he said; "but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all."

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.

He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring

asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It

certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was

a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all

golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the

little boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He

hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came

quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, "Who hath dared to

wound thee?" For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of

two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

"Who hath dared to wound thee?" cried the Giant; "tell me, that I may

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

take my big sword and slay him."

"Nay!" answered the child; "but these are the wounds of Love."

"Who art thou?" said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he

knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, "You let me play

once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which

is Paradise."

And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant

lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

THE DEVOTED FRIEND

One morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole. He had

bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long bit of

black india-rubber. The little ducks were swimming about in the pond,

looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who was pure

white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand on their

heads in the water.

"You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your

heads," she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them

how it was done. But the little ducks paid no attention to her. They

were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in

society at all.

"What disobedient children!" cried the old Water-rat; "they really

deserve to be drowned."

"Nothing of the kind," answered the Duck, "every one must make a

beginning, and parents cannot be too patient."

"Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents," said the Water- rat;

"I am not a family man. In fact, I have never been married, and I never

intend to be. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much

higher. Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or

rarer than a devoted friendship."

"And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?" asked

a Green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had

overheard the conversation.

"Yes, that is just what I want to know," said the Duck; and she swam

away to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her

children a good example.

"What a silly question!" cried the Water-rat. "I should expect my

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

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.

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

"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

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

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

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

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