y the
broad yellow light faded from the wall, table, carpet, and window;
and, the gray twilight usurping its place, little Mary was obliged
to leave her seat on her father's knee, and with many kisses was
marshalled up stairs by nurse and Neville.

When Neville returned, the happy party sat round the open window
watching the bright stars in their trembling beauty, and the half-moon
rise over the dark trees, whitening their tops, silvering the water,
and casting the deep shadows into deeper darkness. There was something
in the still beauty that hushed the speakers, and at last only a low
remark was now and then made, until Louis asked his mother to walk out
into the garden. Mrs. Mortimer at first pleaded the heavy dews as an
excuse, but the request was so urgently pressed by Reginald and Neville,
and a large shawl and pair of clogs being procured, they sallied forth,
Neville and his father first, then Reginald and Miss Spencer, and lastly,
to his great satisfaction, Louis and his mother.

"I am so fond of moonlight, mamma," said Louis.

"I think most people are," replied his mother.

"I wonder what is the reason that moonlight is so much sweeter than
sunlight," said Louis.

"Do you like it better?" said his mother.

"I don't know that I like it _better_," replied Louis; "but it always
seems so quiet and soothing. I always liked moonlight when I was a very
little boy--but I thought very differently about it then."

"How so?" asked his mother.

"Oh! mamma, I thought it was very beautiful, and I felt a strange
sort of feeling come into my mind--a sort of sad happiness: and
sometimes I thought of fairies dancing in the moonlight; and when
I grew older, I used to think a great deal of nonsense, or try to
make poetry, and I called the moon 'Diana,' and 'queen of night'--and
imagined a great deal that I hardly like to tell you, about lovers
walking in moonlight."

"And your feelings are quite changed now?" asked his mother.

"Oh, yes! quite, mamma, it only seems more soothing, because I feel
as if I were alone with God. Does it not seem to you, mamma, as if we
see something of heaven in these lovely nights? I often wonder whether
the bright stars are the many mansions our Saviour speaks of. Oh! mamma,
what an immense thought it is to think of all these bright worlds
constantly moving--either suns themselves with their planets revolving
in ceaseless circles, or else themselves going round some bright sun!"

"And, p