the
pagoda spire far above, while his streamers are still bright across the
west, than there comes in the east a new radiance, so soft, so
wonderful, it seems more beautiful than the dying day. Across the misty
fields the moon is rising; first a crimson globe hung low among the
trees, but rising fast, and as it rises growing whiter. Its light comes
flooding down upon the earth, pure silver with very black shadows. Then
the night breeze begins to blow, very softly, very gently, and the trees
give out their odour to the night, which woos them so much more sweetly
than the day, till the air is heavy with incense.

Behold, the pagoda has started into a new glory, for it is all hung
about with little lamps, myriads of tiny cressets, and the facades of
the shrines are lit up, too. The lamps are put in long rows or in
circles, to fit the places they adorn. They are little earthenware jars
full of cocoanut-oil, with a lip where is the wick. They burn very
redly, and throw a red light about the platform, breaking the shadows
that the moonlight throws and staining its whiteness.

In the streets, too, there are lamps--the houses are lined with
them--and there are little pagodas and ships curiously designed in
flame.

All the people come out to see the illuminations, just as they do with
us at Christmas to see the shop-windows, and the streets are crowded
with people going to and fro, laughing and talking. And there are
dramatic entertainments going on, dances and marionette shows, all in
the open air. The people are all so happy, they take their pleasure so
pleasantly, that it is a delight to see them. You cannot help but be
happy, too. The men joke and laugh, and you laugh, too; the children
smile at you as they pass, and you must smile, too; can you help it? And
to see the girls makes the heart glad within you. There is an infection
from the good temper and the gaiety about you that is irresistible, even
if you should want to resist it.

The festival goes on till very late. The moon is so bright that you
forget how late it is, and only remember how beautiful it is all around.
You are very loath to leave it, and so it is not till the moon itself is
falling low down in the same path whither the sun went before her, it is
not till the lamps are dying one by one and the children are yawning
very sleepily, that the crowd disperses and the pagoda is at rest.

Such is a great feast at a great pagoda.

But whenever I think of a g