DID you ever hear the story of the old streetlamp? It is not remarkably interesting， but for oncein a way you may as well listen to it. It was a mostrespectable old lamp， which had seen many，many years of service， and now was to retire with apension. It was this evening at its post for the lasttime， giving light to the street. His feelings weresomething like those of an old dancer at thetheatre， who is dancing for the last time， and knows that on the morrow she will be in hergarret， alone and forgotten. The lamp had very GREat anxiety about the next day， for heknew that he had to appear for the first time at the town hall， to be inspected by the mayorand the council， who were to decide if he were fit for further service or not;—whether thelamp was good enough to be used to light the inhabitants of one of the suburbs， or in thecountry， at some factory; and if not， it would be sent at once to an iron foundry， to bemelted down. In this latter case it might be turned into anything， and he wondered very muchwhether he would then be able to remember that he had once been a street lamp， and ittroubled him exceedingly. Whatever might happen， one thing seemed certain， that he wouldbe separated from the watchman and his wife， whose family he looked upon as his own. Thelamp had first been hung up on that very evening that the watchman， then a robust youngman， had entered upon the duties of his office. Ah， well， it was a very long time since onebecame a lamp and the other a watchman. His wife had a little pride in those days; she seldomcondescended to glance at the lamp， excepting when she passed by in the evening， never inthe daytime. But in later years， when all these，—the watchman， the wife， and the lamp—had grown old， she had attended to it， cleaned it， and supplied it with oil. The old peoplewere thoroughly honest， they had never cheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil providedfor it.
This was the lamp's last night in the street， and to-morrow he must go to the town-hall，—two very dark things to think of. No wonder he did not burn brightly. Many other thoughtsalso passed through his mind. How many persons he had lighted on their way， and how muchhe had seen; as much， very likely， as the mayor and corporation themselves! None ofthese thoughts were uttered aloud， however; for he was a good， honorable old lamp，who would not willingly do harm to any one， especially to those in authority. As many thingswere recalled to his mind， the light would FLASH up with sudden brightness; he had， at suchmoments， a conviction that he would be remembered. “There was a handsome young manonce，” thought he; “it is certainly a long while ago， but I remember he had a little note，written on pink paper with a gold edge; the writing was elegant， evidently a lady's hand：twice he read it through， and kissed it， and then looked up at me， with eyes that said quiteplainly， 'I am the happiest of men!' Only he and I know what was written on this his firstletter from his lady-love. Ah， yes， and there was another pair of eyes that I remember，—it isreally wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing to another! A funeral passed throughthe street; a young and beautiful woman lay on a bier， decked with garlands of flowers， andattended by torches， which quite overpowered my light. All along the street stood the peoplefrom the houses， in crowds， ready to join the procession. But when the torches had passedfrom before me， and I could look round， I saw one person alone， standing， leaning againstmy post， and weeping. Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked up at me.” Theseand similar reflections occupied the old street lamp， on this the last time that his light wouldshine. The sentry， when he is relieved from his post， knows at least who will succeed him，and may whisper a few words to him， but the lamp did not know his successor， or he couldhave given him a few hints respecting rain， or mist， and could have informed him how farthe moon's rays would rest on the pavement， and from which side the wind generally blew，and so on.
On the bridge over the canal stood three persons， who wished to recommendthemselves to the lamp， for they thought he could give the office to whomsoever he chose.The first was a herring's head， which could emit light in the darkness. He remarked that itwould be a GREat saving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was a piece ofrotten wood， which also shines in the dark. He considered himself descended from an oldstem， once the pride of the forest. The third was a glow-worm， and how he found his waythere the lamp could not imagine， yet there he was， and could really give light as well as theothers. But the rotten wood and the herring's head declared most solemnly， by all they heldsacred， that the glow-worm only gave light at certain times， and must not be allowed tocompete with themselves. The old lamp assured them that not one of them could givesufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp; but they would believe nothing he said. Andwhen they discovered that he had not the power of naming his successor， they said they werevery glad to hear it， for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make a proper choice.
At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the street， and through theair-holes of the old lamp. “What is this I hear?” said he; “that you are going away to-morrow? Is this evening the last time we shall meet? Then I must present you with a farewellgift. I will blow into your brain， so that in future you shall not only be able to remember all thatyou have seen or heard in the past， but your light within shall be so bright， that you shall beable to understand all that is said or done in your presence.”
“Oh， that is really a very， very GREat gift，” said the old lamp; “I thank you mostheartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down.”
“That is not likely to happen yet，” said the wind; “and I will also blow a memory into you，so that should you receive other similar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly.”
“That is if I am not melted down，” said the lamp. “But should I in that case still retain mymemory?”
“Do be reasonable， old lamp，” said the wind， puffing 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 melight while I have frequently shone upon them.” And with these words the moon hid herselfagain behind the clouds， that she might be saved from further importunities. Just then a dropfell upon the lamp， from the roof of the house， but the drop explained that he was a giftfrom those gray clouds， and perhaps the best of all gifts. “I shall penetrate you sothoroughly，” he said， “that you will have the power of becoming rusty， and， if you wish it，to crumble into dust in one night.”