The color of the moonlight in this climate is of a mellow amber--so I cannot understand why that pallid ray that visits me so often, should be green--a livid, cold, watery green; and in it, like a lily in an emerald pool, I see a little white hand on which the jewels cluster thick like drops of dew! The hand moves--it lifts itself--the small fingers point at me threateningly--they quiver--and then--they beckon me slowly, solemnly, commandingly onward!--onward!--to some infinite land of awful mysteries where Light and Love shall dawn for me no more.
The End