As for keeping myself dry, there is evidently no one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature. But I have imagination, for I never think of things as they really are I always think of them as being quite different. Why, anybody can have common sense, provided that they have no imagination. “Common sense, indeed!” said the Rocket indignantly “you forget that I am very uncommon, and very remarkable. “Certainly,” exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was now in better spirits “that is only common sense.” “If you want to give pleasure to others,” cried the Roman Candle, “you had better keep yourself dry.” Really, when I begin to reflect on the importance of my position, I am almost moved to tears.” Suppose, for instance, anything happened to me to-night, what a misfortune that would be for every one! The Prince and Princess would never be happy again, their whole married life would be spoiled and as for the King, I know he would not get over it. It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess it in a high degree. I am always thinking about myself, and I expect everybody else to do the same. In fact, you should be thinking about me. “What right have you to be happy? You should be thinking about others. “That is a very selfish reason,” said the Rocket angrily. “I am laughing because I am happy,” replied the Cracker. “Pray, what are you laughing at?” inquired the Rocket “I am not laughing.” “A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other people’s toes,” answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper and the Cracker nearly exploded with laughter. “What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker to the Roman Candle. No one in the whole world is so sensitive as I am, I am quite sure of that.” I hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind, for I am extremely sensitive.

“Of course I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I was so rudely interrupted. “You were talking about yourself,” replied the Roman Candle. “I was saying,” continued the Rocket, “I was saying-What was I saying?” “Well, I said Pylotechnic,” answered the Rocket, in a severe tone of voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at once to bully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still a person of some importance. “Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,” said a Bengal Light “I know it is Pyrotechnic, for I saw it written on my own canister.” Indeed, the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic art.”

The newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering terms. He did, though, for he was of a kindly disposition, and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden rain. He flew so high that the people were afraid that he would never come down again.

The remarkable rocket by Oscar Wilde