300 THE NIGHTINGALE.

barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put new ones
in in such a manner that the music would go. There was a great
lamentation ; only once in the year was it permitted to let the bird
sing, and that was almost too much. But then the playmaster
made a little speech, full of heavy words, and said this was just
as good as before—and so of course it was as good as before.

Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the
whole nation. The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor,
and now he was ill, and could not, it was said, live much longer.
Already a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood
out in the street and asked the cavalier how the Emperor did.

“P14” said he, and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great gorgeous bed; the
whole Court thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage
to the newruler. The chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and
the ladies’-maids had a great coffee party. All about, in all the
halls and passages, cloth had been laid down so that no footstep
could be heard, and therefore it was quiet there, quite quiet. But
the Emperor was not dead yet: stiff and pale he lay on the gor-
geous bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels;
high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the
Emperor and the artificial bird.

The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if
something lay upon his chest; he opened his eyes, and then he
saw that it was Death who sat upon his chest, and nad put on
his golden crown, and held in one hand the Emperor’s sword, in
the other his beautiful banner. And all around, from among the
folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange heads peered forth;
a few very ugly, the rest quite lovely and mild. These were all
the Emperor’s bad and good deeds, that stood before him now
that Death sat upon his heart.

‘Do you remember this?” whispered one to the other. ‘Do
you remember that?” and then they told him so much that the
perspiration ran from his forehead.

“T did not know that!” said the Emperor. “ Music! music!
the great Chinese drum!” he cried, ‘‘so that I need not hear all
they say!”

And they continued speaking, and Death nodded like a China-
man to all they said.

‘Music! music!” cried the Emperor. “You little precious
golden bird, sing, sing! I have given you gold and costly pre-
sents; I have even hung my golden slipper around your neck—
sing now, sing !”

But the bird stood still; no one was there to wind him up, and
he could not sing without that; but Death continued to stare at
the Emperor with his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet, fear-
fully quiet. .

Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely