good-by, and this was the worst good-by of all. He flew into a tree, and
beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage, that shone
from afar like the clear sunlight.




THE NIGHTINGALE

From 'Riverside Literature Series': 1891, by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.


I--THE REAL NIGHTINGALE


In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has
about him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but
that's just why it's worth while to hear the story before it is
forgotten.

The Emperor's palace was the most splendid in the world. It was made
wholly of fine porcelain, very costly, but so brittle and so hard to
handle that one had to take care how one touched it. In the garden were
to be seen the most wonderful flowers, and to the prettiest of them
silver bells were tied, which tinkled, so that nobody should pass by
without noticing the flowers.

Yes, everything in the Emperor's garden was nicely set out, and it
reached so far that the gardener himself did not know where the end
was. If a man went on and on, he came into a glorious forest with high