and, for all the scoldings and mockings, found that the taste was good. Then he waited till the moon rose, and going into the shadowy garden of the Taj, gave his imagination play.
Lest we should fall sick of life and die, the gods have given us two little times in every twenty-four hours when we may see ourselves as we would be. We may walk up the cool of the evening under the starry sky to the summit All-is-possible; or, in the early morning, between waking and rising, there is a moment when we are also allowed the direction of our dreams. These are the times when our scribblings are literature, our pockets filled, and our hands free. These are the times when the timid lover is bold, and the will of his heart spoken; when the forlorn hope is led, and the opportunity seized; when the prodigal rushes home to his old mother, and the arms of the forsaken are not empty.
So Beauling paced in the garden of the Taj, and gave glorious directions to glorious dreams. He paced the moon out
