The stars twinkled through the fir-trees and right and left the harbour range-lights shone like great earth stars. Presently a moon rose and there was a sparkling trail over the harbour like a lady's silken dress.

But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night . . . even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.

Isn't it queer that the things we writhe over at night are seldom wicked things? Just humiliating ones.

Don't let a three-o'clock-at-night feeling fog your soul.

Oh, I don't wonder babies always cry when they wake up in the night. So often I want to do it too.