358 WHAT THE MOON SAW.
to drive into the sea; and, you see, that is why the trees are
remarkable.’

“Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his eyes
sparkled. He began to whistle. .At this the nightingales sang
louder than ever. ‘Hold your tongues!’ he cried, testily; and
he made accurate notes of all the colours and transitions—blue,
and lilac, and dark brown. ‘That will make a beautiful picture,’
he said. He took it in just as a mirror takes in a view; and as
he worked he whistled a march of Rossini. And last of all came
a poor girl. She laid aside the burden she carried and sat down
to rest upon the Hun’s Grave. Her pale handsome face was bent
in a listening attitude towards the forest. Her eyes brightened,
she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her hands were folded,
and I think she prayed, ‘Our Father.’ She herself could not
understand the feeling that swept through her, but I know that
this minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within her
memory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the painter
could portray it with his colours on paper. My rays followed her
till the morning dawn kissed her brow.”

EIGHTH EVENING.

Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not make
his appearance at all. I stood in my little room, more lonely
than ever, and looked up at the sky were he ought to have shown
himself. My thoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who
every evening told me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures.
Yes, he has had an experience indeed. He glided over the waters
of the Deluge, and smiled on Noah’s ark just as he lately glanced
down upon me, and brought comfort and promise of a new world
that was to spring forth from the old. When the Children of Israei
sat weeping by the waters of Babylon, he glanced mournfully
upon the willows where hung the silent harps. When Romeo
climbed the balcony, and the promise of true love fluttered like
a cherub toward heaven, the round Moon hung, half hidden
among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. He saw the captive
giant at St. Helena, looking from the lonely rock across the wide
ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. Ah! what
tales the Moon can tell. Human life is like a story to him. To-
night I shall not see thee again, old friend. To-night I can
draw no picture of the memories of thy visit. And, as I looked
dreamily towards the clouds, the sky became bright. There was
a glancing light, and a beam from the Moon fell upon me. It
vanished again, and dark clouds flew past; but still it was a
greeting, a friendly good night offered to me by the Moon.