Short Stories
THE HAPPY PRINCE
by Oscar Wild e
High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the
Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine
gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby
glowed on his sword-hilt.
He was very much admired indeed. “He is as beautiful as a
weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who
wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; “only not
quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him
unpractical, which he really was not.
“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible
mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Hap-
py Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”
“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite hap-
py,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful
statue.
“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as
they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and
their clean white pinafores.
“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you
have never seen one.”
“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children;
and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe,
for he did not approve of children dreaming.
One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His
friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had
stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed.
He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the
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