ing away.

At this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. "What will
you give the old lamp?" asked the wind.

"I can give nothing," she replied; "I am on the wane, and no lamps
have ever given me light while I have frequently shone upon them." And
with these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that
she might be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell
upon the lamp, from the roof of the house, but the drop explained that
he was a gift from those gray clouds, and perhaps the best of all
gifts. "I shall penetrate you so thoroughly," he said, "that you
will have the power of becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, to crumble
into dust in one night."

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind
thought so too. "Does no one give any more? Will no one give any
more?" shouted the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then a
bright falling star came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind
it.

"What was that?" cried the herring's head. "Did not a star fall? I
really believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-born
personages try for the office, we may as well say 'Good-night,' and go
home."

And so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully
strong light all around him.

"This is a glorious gift," said he; "the bright stars have
always been a joy to me, and have always shone more brilliantly than I
ever could shine, though I have tried with my whole might; and now
they have noticed me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that
will enable me to see clearly everything that I remember, as if it
still stood before me, and to be seen by all those who love me. And
herein lies the truest pleasure, for joy which we cannot share with
others is only half enjoyed."

"That sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for this
purpose wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you,
your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. The
stars have not thought of this; they suppose that you and every
other light must be a wax taper: but I must go down now." So he laid
himself to rest.

"Wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp, "I have never yet had
these, nor is it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not
being melted down!"

The next day. Well, perhaps we had better pass over the next
day. The evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's
chair, and guess where! Why, at the old wat