carried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards the
wall: the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting
token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes
upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see
my face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door was closed,
the whip cracked, and the horses galloped off into the thick forest,
whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I glanced through
the grated window, my rays glided over the notes, his last farewell
engraved on the prison wall--where words fail, sounds can often speak.
My rays could only light up isolated notes, so the greater part of
what was written there will ever remain dark to me. Was it the
death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes of joy? Did he
drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his beloved?
The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by mortals."

THIRTY-SECOND EVENING.

"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite little
ones--they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between the
curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. It
gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, the
little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then the
arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little white
leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to be
kissed, and I kiss it too.

"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I looked through
a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody lives
opposite. I saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family, and
among them was a little sister. She is only four years old, but can
say her prayers as well as any of the rest. The mother sits by her bed
every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has a kiss,
and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to sleep,
which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes.

"This evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. One of
them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and the
other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all the children,
and declared he was acting Grecian statues. The third and fourth laid
the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is a thing that has to
be d