a watchman. His wife had some little pride in those days; she
condescended to glance at the lamp only when she passed by in the
evening--never in the daytime. But in later years, when all of them--the
watchman, the wife, and the lamp--had grown old, she had attended to it,
cleaning it and keeping it supplied with oil. The old people were
thoroughly honest; they had never cheated the lamp of a single drop of
the oil provided for it.

This was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow it must go
to the town hall--two very dark things to think of. No wonder it did not
burn brightly. How many persons it had lighted on their way, and how
much it had seen! As much, very likely, as the mayor and corporation
themselves! None of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however, for the
lamp was good and honorable and would not willingly do harm to any one,
especially to those in authority. As one thing after another was
recalled to its mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness.
At such moments the lamp had a conviction that it would be remembered.

"There was a handsome young man, once," thought the lamp; "it is
certainly a long while ago, but I remember that he had a little note,
written on pink paper with a gold edge. The writing was elegant,
evidently a lady's. Twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then
looked up at me with eyes that said quite plainly, 'I am the happiest
of men!' Only he and I know what was written on this, his first letter
from his lady-love. Ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that I
remember; it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing to
another! A funeral passed through the street. A young and beautiful
woman lay on a bier decked with garlands of flowers, and attended by
torches which quite overpowered my light. All along the street stood the
people from the houses, in crowds, ready to join the procession. But
when the torches had passed from before me and I could look around, I
saw one person standing alone, leaning against my post and weeping.
Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked up at me."

These and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp on this the
last time that its light would shine. The sentry, when he is relieved
from his post, knows, at least, who will be his successor, and may
whisper a few words to him. But the lamp did not know its successor, or
it might have given him a few hints respecting rain or mist and might
have