wreaths were already withering on Columbine's grave. He sat down upon it. It would have made a touching picture, with his hand under his chin, his eyes turned toward me; he was like a monument, a Punchinello on a grave, characteristic and comical. If the public had seen their favourite how they would have shouted, 'Bravo! Bravissimo! Punchinello.'"
SEVENTEETH EVENING
Listen to what the moon told me. "I have seen the cadet become an officer, and for the first time put on his handsome uniform. I have seen the young girl in her ball dress, and I have seen a royal bride rejoicing in her festal robes; but I have never seen greater delight than I saw last night in a child, a little four-year-old girl. She had on a new blue frock and a pink hat; they had just been put on, and the bystanders were calling for lights. The moon shining through the window gave too faint a light; they must have something brighter altogether. There stood the little girl as stiff as any doll, holding her arms away from the dress, each finger stuck stiffly out! Oh! how her eyes glistened, and her whole face beamed with delight. 'To-morrow you shall go out in them,' said the mother; and the little one looked down at her frock and smiled contentedly. 'Mother!' she said, 'what will the dogs think when they see me in all my pretty things!'"
EIGHTEENTH EVENING
"I have told you," said the moon, "about Pompeii, that city of the dead resuscitated, and again ranking among living places. I know another town even more fantastic; it is not so much the corpse as it is the ghost of a city. I seem to hear the romance of the floating city wherever the fountains play into their marble basins. Yes, water must tell its story, the waves of the sea sing its song! A mist often floats over
