As we continued to advance, the lesser lights and milky ways first grew pale, and then vanished; the countless hosts of heaven dwindled in number by successive millions; those that still shone had tempered their exceeding brightness and fallen back into their customary wistful distance; and the sky declined from its first bewildering splendour into the appearance of a common night.  Slowly this change proceeded, and still there was no sign of any cause.  Then a whiteness like mist was thrown over the spurs of the mountain.  Yet a while, and, as we turned a corner, a great leap of silver light and net of forest shadows fell across the road and upon our wondering waggonful; and, swimming low among the trees, we beheld a strange, misshapen, waning moon, half-tilted on her back.

“Where are ye when the moon appears?” so the old poet sang, half-taunting, to the stars, bent upon a courtly purpose.

“As the sunlight round the dim earth’s midnight tower of shadow
pours,
Streaming past the dim, wide portals,
Viewless to the eyes of mortals,
Till it floods the moon’s pale islet or the morning’s golden
shores.”

So sings Mr. Trowbridge, with a noble inspiration.  And so had the sunlight flooded that pale islet of the moon, and her lit face put out, one after another, that galaxy of stars.  The wonder of the drive was over; but, by some nice conjunction of clearness in the air and fit shadow in the valley where we travelled, we had seen for a little while that brave display of the midnight heavens.  It was gone, but it had been; nor shall I ever again behold the stars with the same mind.  He who has seen the sea commoved with a great hurricane, thinks of it very differently from him who has seen it only in a calm.  And the difference between a calm and a hurricane is not greatly more striking than that between the ordinary face of night and the splendour that shone upon us in that drive.  Two in our waggon knew night as she shines upon the tropics, but even that bore no comparison.  The nameless colour of the sky, the hues of the star-fire, and the incredible projection of the stars themselves, starting from their orbits, so that the eye seemed to distinguish their positions in the hollow of space—­these were things that we had never seen before and shall never see again.

Meanwhile, in this altered night, we proceeded on our way among the scents and silence of the forest, reached the top of the grade, wound up by Hanson’s, and came at last to a stand under the flying gargoyle of the chute.  Sam, who had been lying back, fast asleep, with the moon on his face, got down, with the remark that it was pleasant “to be home.”  The waggon turned and drove away, the noise gently dying in the woods, and we clambered up the rough path, Caliban’s great feat of engineering, and came home to Silverado.