have you ever heard the story of the old street lamp? it is not really very amusing, but one can bear to hear it once, anyway. there was once a respectable old street lamp who had performed his duties faithfully and well for many years; but now had been declared to be too old-fashioned. this was the last evening that it would hang from the lamppost and illuminate the street; and he felt like a ballerina who was dancing for the last time and knew that tomorrow she would be a has-been. the lamp was very frightened of the coming day, for he had been told that he would be inspected by the six and thirty men of the town council. they were to decide whether the lamp was fit for further service and, if so, what kind. they might suggest that he be hung over one of the lesser bridges, or be sold to a factory, or condemned altogether, which meant that he would be melted down. then he would be made into something else, of course; but what worried him was that he did not know whether he would then be able to recall that he had been a street lamp. no matter what happened to him, one thing was certain: tomorrow he would be separated from the night watchman and his wife, and that was a tragedy, for he considered them to be his family. he had been hung on his lamppost the very year that the man became a night watchman. his wife had been young and snobbish. she would look at the street lamp at night but she wouldn't so much as glance at it in daylight. during recent years, however, when all three of them--the night watchman, his wife, and the street lamp--had grown old, the wife had taken care of the lamp: polished it and filled it with oil. the old couple were an honest pair who had never cheated the lamp out of a single drop of oil. this was to be the last night that the old lamp would shine down upon the pavement. tomorrow it would be taken to a room in the town hall. these two facts made the lamp feel so sad that he flickered. other thoughts came: memories of all he had seen. he had cast his light upon many a curious sight and had seen more than all the six and thirty men of the town council put together. but the old lamp would never have expressed such a thought out loud, for he had the greatest respect for the authorities. it is always pleasant for the old to reminisce, and each time the lamp remembered something different, the flame inside him seemed to grow brighter. "they will remember me as i remember them," thought the lamp. "many years ago there was a young man who stood right under me and opened a letter. it had been written on pink stationery and the handwriting was a woman's. he read it twice; then he kissed it. his eyes when he looked up at me said, 'i am the happiest of all men.' he had received a love letter from the girl he loved; and only he and i knew it. "i remember another pair of eyes.--how strangely one's thoughts can jump!--there had been a funeral. someone who had lived in this street had died: a young, rich woman. the hearse had been drawn by four black horses and the coffin had been covered with flowers. the mourners had walked behind it carrying torches, which had outshone my light. but when the procession had passed and i thought the street was deserted once more, i suddenly noticed someone standing right under me and weeping. i shall never forget those sorrow-filled eyes that stared right into me." such were the thoughts--the memories---of the old street lamp as it shone for the last time. a sentry who is to be relieved of his duty is allowed to exchange at least a few words with the man who will take his place. but the lamp did not even know who his successor would be, so he would not be able to give him a bit of advice about the wind, and tell him from which corner it usually blew; or the moon, and explain how it shone upon the sidewalk.
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