or another that he has seen on the previous
night, or on that same evening. "Just paint the scenes I describe to
you"--this is what he said to me--"and you will have a very pretty
picture-book." I have followed his injunction for many evenings. I
could make up a new "Thousand and One Nights," in my own way, out of
these pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. The
pictures I have here given have not been chosen at random, but
follow in their proper order, just as they were described to me.
Some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may make
something more of them if he likes; what I have given here are only
hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my own
thoughts, interspersed; for the Moon did not come to me every
evening--a cloud sometimes hid his face from me.

FIRST EVENING

"Last night"--I am quoting the Moon's own words--"last night I was
gliding through the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored in
the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the
thick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like
the tortoise's shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo maid,
light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision,
and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this
daughter of Hindostan: I could read on her delicate brow the thought
that had brought her hither. The thorny creeping plants tore her
sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. The deer that
had come down to the river to quench her thirst, sprang by with a
startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. I
could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them
for a screen before the dancing flame. She came down to the stream,
and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. The flame
flickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp
burned on, and the girl's black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind
their long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest
intensity. She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as
she could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if
the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burned
bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. Near her in the
grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not--she thought only of
Bramah and of her betrothed. 'He lives!' she shouted joyfully, 'he
lives!' And from th