“The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds; casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God.”—2 Cor. x. 4, 5.
“Ah! Louis, this is home,” exclaimed Reginald, as, after the embraces in the hall, they entered the pleasant drawing-room. It was home, home with all its sweet associations and dear beings; and, in a few minutes, Reginald and Louis had run all over the house for the pleasure of seeing “the dear old places;” had shaken hands with the old servants, given nurse a kiss, and, having finished by wakening Freddy from his first sleep, returned to the drawing-room, where tea was ready. It was a very pleasant tea that night. Every one had so much to say, and there was so much innocent mirth—all agreed it was worth while going away from home, for the pleasure of returning. Gradually 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.”