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a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but I have plenty of light: my room is high up in the house, and there is a good prospect over the roofs of the opposite houses. During the first few days I lived in the town, I felt very lonely and low-spirited. Instead of the forest and the green hills of the country, I had nothing but black chimney-pots on the horizon of my view. And then I had not a single friend, nor one familiar face to greet me.

One evening, as I stood at the window, feeling very sorrowful, I opened it, and looked out. Oh, what joy filled my heart! I saw a well-known face, the round, friendly countenance of my best friend from home,—the face of the moon! The dear old moon was quite unchanged, and looked as she used to do when she peered down upon me through the willow-trees on the moor. I kissed my hand to her over and over again, as her light shone far into my room; and then she promised me that every evening, when she came out, she would look in upon me for a few moments. This promise she has faithfully kept. It is a pity she can only stay such a short time when she comes; yet on each visit she relates to me one thing or another that she has seen on the previous night, or on that same evening. “Just paint the scenes I describe to you,” said she, “and you will soon possess a very pretty picture book.” I have obeyed her injunction, and written what she told me on several evenings. I could make up another “Thousand and One Nights” stories in pictures. The number would have been too great, but that the moon did not come to me every night; sometimes a cloud hid her face from me.

“I was looking down, yesterday,” said the moon, “on a small court-yard, sheltered on all sides by houses. There I saw a clucking hen with eleven chickens running about the yard, and a pretty little girl springing and jumping after them. The hen clucked, and spread her wings in terror over