Muses；　and　they　seemed　to　stir　and　move。　But　my　rays　lingered　longest　about　the　Nile　group　with　the　colossal　god。　Leaning　against　the　Sphinx；　he　lies　there　thoughtful　and　meditative；　as　if　he　were　thinking　on　the　rolling
  centuries；　and　little　love…gods　sport　with　him　and　with　the
  crocodiles。　In　the　horn　of　plenty　sat　with　folded　arms　a　little　tiny
  love…god；　contemplating　the　great　solemn　river…god；　a　true　picture
  of　the　boy　at　the　spinning　wheel…　the　features　were　exactly　the
  same。　Charming　and　life…like　stood　the　little　marble　form；　and　yet　the
  wheel　of　the　year　has　turned　more　than　a　thousand　times　since　the　time　when　it　sprang　forth　from　the　stone。　Just　as　often　as　the　boy　in　the　little　room　turned　the　spinning　wheel　had　the　great　wheel　murmured；　before　the　age　could　again　call　forth　marble　gods　equal　to　those　he　afterwards　formed。
  〃Years　have　passed　since　all　this　happened；〃　the　Moon　went　on　to
  say。　〃Yesterday　I　looked　upon　a　bay　on　the　eastern　coast　of　Denmark。
  Glorious　woods　are　there；　and　high　trees；　an　old　knightly　castle
  with　red　walls；　swans　floating　in　the　ponds；　and　in　the　background
  appears；　among　orchards；　a　little　town　with　a　church。　Many　boats；
  the　crews　all　furnished　with　torches；　glided　over　the　silent
  expanse…　but　these　fires　had　not　been　kindled　for　catching　fish；　for
  everything　had　a　festive　look。　Music　sounded；　a　song　was　sung；　and
  in　one　of　the　boats　the　man　stood　erect　to　whom　homage　was　paid　by　the　rest；　a　tall　sturdy　man；　wrapped　in　a　cloak。　He　had　blue　eyes　and　long　white　hair。　I　knew　him；　and　thought　of　the　Vatican；　and　of　the　group　of　the　Nile；　and　the　old　marble　gods。　I　thought　of　the　simple　little　room　where　little　Bertel　sat　in　his　night…shirt　by　the　spinning　wheel。
  The　wheel　of　time　has　turned；　and　new　gods　have　come　forth　from　the　stone。　From　the　boats　there　arose　a　shout：　'Hurrah；　hurrah　for
  Bertel　Thorwaldsen！'〃
  TWENTY…FOURTH　EVENING
  〃I　will　now　give　you　a　picture　from　Frankfort；〃　said　the　Moon。
  〃I　especially　noticed　one　building　there。　It　was　not　the　house　in
  which　Goethe　was　born；　nor　the　old　Council　House；　through　whose　grated　windows　peered　the　horns　of　the　oxen　that　were　roasted　and　given　to　the　people　when　the　emperors　were　crowned。　No；　it　was　a　private　house；　plain　in　appearance；　and　painted　green。　It　stood　near　the　old　Jews'　Street。　It　was　Rothschild's　house。
  〃I　looked　through　the　open　door。　The　staircase　was　brilliantly
  lighted：　servants　carrying　wax　candles　in　massive　silver
  candlesticks　stood　there；　and　bowed　low　before　an　old　woman；　who　was　being　brought　downstairs　in　a　litter。　The　proprietor　of　the　house
  stood　bare…headed；　and　respectfully　imprinted　a　kiss　on　the　hand　of
  the　old　woman。　She　was　his　mother。　She　nodded　in　a　friendly　manner
  to　him　and　to　the　servants；　and　they　carried　her　into　the　dark
  narrow　street；　into　a　little　house；　that　was　her　dwelling。　Here　her
  children　had　been　born；　from　hence　the　fortune　of　the　family　had
  arisen。　If　she　deserted　the　despised　street　and　the　little　house；
  fortune　would　also　desert　her　children。　That　was　her　firm　belief。〃
  The　Moon　told　me　no　more；　his　visit　this　evening　was　far　too
  short。　But　I　thought　of　the　old　woman　in　the　narrow　despised　street。
  It　would　have　cost　her　but　a　word；　and　a　brilliant　house　would　have
  arisen　for　her　on　the　banks　of　the　Thames…　a　word；　and　a　villa　would
  have　been　prepared　in　the　Bay　of　Naples。
  〃If　I　deserted　the　lowly　house；　where　the　fortunes　of　my　sons
  first　began　to　bloom；　fortune　would　desert　them！〃　It　was　a
  superstition；　but　a　superstition　of　such　a　class；　that　he　who　knows
  the　story　and　has　seen　this　picture；　need　have　only　two　words　placed
  under　the　picture　to　make　him　understand　it；　and　these　two　words
  are：　〃A　mother。〃
  TWENTY…FIFTH　EVENING
  〃It　was　yesterday；　in　the　morning　twilight〃…　these　are　the　words
  the　Moon　told　me…　〃in　the　great　city　no　chimney　was　yet　smoking…　and　it　was　just　at　the　chimneys　that　I　was　looking。　Suddenly　a　little　head　emerged　from　one　of　them；　and　then　half　a　body；　the　arms　resting　on　the　rim　of　the　chimney…pot。　'Ya…hip！　ya…hip！'　cried　a　voice。　It　was　the　little　chimney…sweeper；　who　had　for　the　first　time　in　his　life
  crept　through　a　chimney；　and　stuck　out　his　head　at　the　top。　'Ya…hip！
  ya…hip'　Yes；　certainly　that　was　a　very　different　thing　to　creeping
  about　in　the　dark　narrow　chimneys！　the　air　blew　so　fresh；　and　he　could　look　over　the　whole　city　towards　the　green　wood。　The　sun　was　just　rising。　It　shone　round　and　great；　just　in　his　face；　that　beamed　with
  triumph；　though　it　was　very　prettily　blacked　with　soot。
  〃'The　whole　town　can　see　me　now；'　he　exclaimed；　'and　the　moon
  can　see　me　now；　and　the　sun　too。　Ya…hip！　ya…hip！'　And　he　flourished
  his　broom　in　triumph。〃
  TWENTY…SIXTH　EVENING
  〃Last　night　I　looked　down　upon　a　town　in　China；〃　said　the　Moon。
  〃My　beams　irradiated　the　naked　walls　that　form　the　streets　there。
  Now　and　then；　certainly；　a　door　is　seen；　but　it　is　locked；　for　what
  does　the　Chinaman　care　about　the　outer　world？　Close　wooden　shutters　covered　the　windows　behind　the　walls　of　the　houses；　but　through　the　windows　of　the　temple　a　faint　light　glimmered。　I　looked　in；　and　saw　the　quaint　decorations　within。　From　the　floor　to　the　ceiling
  pictures　are　painted；　in　the　most　glaring　colours；　and　richly　gilt…
  pictures　representing　the　deeds　of　the　gods　here　on　earth。　In　each
  niche　statues　are　placed；　but　they　are　almost　entirely　hidden　by　the
  coloured　drapery　and　the　banners　that　hang　down。　Before　each　idol　（and　they　are　all　made　of　tin）　stood　a　little　altar　of　holy　water；　with
  flowers　and　burning　wax　lights　on　it。　Above　all　the　rest　stood　Fo；　the
  chief　deity；　clad　in　a　garment　of　yellow　silk；　for　yellow　is　here
  the　sacred　colour。　At　the　foot　of　the　altar　sat　a　living　being；　a
  young　priest。　He　appeared　to　be　praying；　but　in　the　midst　of　his
  prayer　he　seemed　to　fall　into　deep　thought；　and　this　must　have　been
  wrong；　for　his　cheeks　glowed　and　he　held　down　his　head。　Poor
  Soui…Hong！　Was　he；　perhaps；　dreaming　of　working　in　the　little　flower
  garden　behind　the　high　street　wall？　And　did　that　occupation　seem
  more　agreeable　to　him　than　watching　the　wax　lights　in　the　temple？　Or
  did　he　wish　to　sit　at　the　rich　feast；　wiping　his　mouth　with　silver
  paper　between　each　course？　Or　was　his　sin　so　great　that；　if　he　dared
  utter　it；　the　Celestial　Empire　would　punish　it　with　death？　Had　his
  thoughts　ventured　to　fly　with　the　ships　of　the　barbarians；　to　their
  homes　in　far　distant　England？　No；　his　thoughts　did　not　fly　so　far；　and
  yet　they　were　sinful；　sinful　as　thoughts　born　of　young　hearts；
  sinful　here　in　the　temple；　in　the　presence　of　Fo　and　the　other　holy
  gods。
  〃I　know　whither　his　thoughts　had　strayed。　At　the　farther　end　of
  the　city；　on　the　flat　roof　paved　with　porcelain；　on　which　stood　the
  handsome　vases　covered　with　painted　flowers；　sat　the　beauteous　Pu；
  of　the　little　roguish　eyes；　of　the　full　lips；　and　of　the　tiny　feet。
  The　tight　shoe　pained　her；　but　her　heart　pained　her　still　more。　She
  lifted　her　graceful　round　arm；　and　her　satin　dress　rustled。　Before　her
  stood　a　glass　bowl　containing　four　gold…fish。　She　stirred　the　bowl
  carefully　with　a　slender　lacquered　stick；　very　slowly；　for　she；　too；
  was　lost　in　thought。　Was　she　thinking；　perchance；　how　the　fishes
  were　richly　clothed　in　gold；　how　they　lived　calmly　and　peacefully　in
  their　crystal　world；　how　they　were　regularly　fed；　and　yet　how　much
  happier　they　might　be　if　they　were　free？　Yes；　that　she　could　well
  understand；　the　beautiful　Pu。　Her　thoughts　wandered　away　from　her
  home；　wandered　to　the　temple；　but　not　for　the　sake　of　holy　things。
  Poor　Pu！　Poor　Soui…hong！
  〃Their　earthly　thoughts　met；　but　my　cold　beam　lay　between　the　two；
  like　the　sword　of　the　cherub。〃
  TWENTY…SEVENTH　EVENING
  〃The　air　was　calm；〃　said　the　Moon；　〃the　water　was　transparent　as
  the　purest　ether　through　which　I　was　gliding；　and　deep　below　the
  surface　I　could　see　the　strange　plants　that　stretched　up　their　long
  arms　towards　me　like　the　gigantic　trees　of　the　forest。　The　fishes　swam
  to　and　fro　above　their　tops。　High　in　the　air　a　flight　of　wild　swans
  were　winging　their　way；　one　of　which　sank　lower　and　lower；　with
  wearied　pinions；　his　eyes　following　the　airy　caravan；　that　melted
  farther　and　farther　into　the　distance。　With　outspread　wings　he　sank
  slowly；　as　a　soap　bubble　sinks　in　the　still　air；　till　he　touched　the
  water。　At　length　his　head　lay　back　between　his　wings；　and　silently
  he　lay　there；　like　a　white　lotus　flower　upon　the　quiet　lake。　And　a
  gentle　wind　arose；　and　crisped　the　quiet　surface；　which　gleamed　like
  the　clouds　that　poured　along　in　great　broad　waves；　and　the　swan　raised　his　head；　and　the　glowing　water　splashed　like　blue　fire　over　his
  breast　and　back。　The　morning　dawn　illuminated　the　red　clouds；　the　swan　rose　strengthened；　and　flew　towards　the　rising　sun；　towards　the　bluish　coast　whither　the　caravan　had　gone；　but　he　flew　alone；　with　a
  longing　in　his　breast。　Lonely　he　flew　over　the　blue　swelling　billows。〃
  TWENTY…EIGHTH　EVENING
  〃I　will　give　you　another　picture　of　Sweden；〃　said　the　Moon。　〃Among
  dark　pine　woods；　near　the　melancholy　banks　of　the　Stoxen；　lies　the　old　convent　church　of　Wreta。　My　rays　glided　through　the　grating　into　the　roomy　vaults；　where　kings　sleep　tranquill