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WITHOUT PICTURES.
47
FIFTH EVENING.
Yesterday,—said the Moon,—I looked down upon busy Paris. I gazed into the chambers of the Louvre. An old grandmother, wretchedly clad, and who belonged to the lower class, entered the large, empty throneroom, accompanied by one of the under servants of the palace. It had cost her many small sacrifices, and very much eloquence had she used before she could be admitted here. She folded her thin hands, and looked as reverentially around her as if she had been in a church.
“It was here!” she said, “here!” and she approached the throne which was covered with a cloth of rich velvet, trimmed with gold. “There!” said she, “there!” and she bowed
