."

TWENTY-SECOND EVENING.

"I looked down upon Tyrol," said the Moon, "and my beams caused the
dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks. I looked at the
pictures of St. Christopher carrying the Infant Jesus that are painted
there upon the walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from the
ground to the roof. St. Florian was represented pouring water on the
burning house, and the Lord hung bleeding on the great cross by the
wayside. To the present generation these are old pictures, but I saw
when they were put up, and marked how one followed the other. On the
brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow's nest, a
lonely convent of nuns. Two of the sisters stood up in the tower
tolling the bell; they were both young, and therefore their glances
flew over the mountain out into the world. A travelling coach passed
by below, the postillion wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked
after the carriage for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear
gleamed in the eyes of the younger one. And the horn sounded faint and
more faintly, and the convent bell drowned its expiring echoes."

TWENTY-THIRD EVENING.

Hear what the Moon told me. "Some years ago, here in Copenhagen, I
looked through the window of a mean little room. The father and mother
slept, but the little son was not asleep. I saw the flowered cotton
curtains of the bed move, and the child peep forth. At first I thought
he was looking at the great clock, which was gaily painted in red and
green. At the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leaden weights,
and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went to and fro, and
said 'tick, tick.' But no, he was not looking at the clock, but at his
mother's spinning wheel, that stood just underneath it. That was the
boy's favourite piece of furniture, but he dared not touch it, for if
he meddled with it he got a rap on the knuckles. For hours together,
when his mother was spinning, he would sit quietly by her side,
watching the murmuring spindle and the revolving wheel, and as he sat
he thought of many things. Oh, if he might only turn the wheel
himself! Father and mother were asleep; he looked at them, and looked
at the spinning wheel, and presently a little naked foot peered out of
the bed, and then a second foot, and then two little white legs. There
he stood. He looked round once more, to see if father and mother were
still asleep--yes, they slept; and now he crept _softly_, _softly_, in
h