The statue over the door stands there as it ever has, but it is too far away for me to see the awful eyes, so I can say nothing about them. But now my dear friend I have something more wonderful than ever to tell you. Every night when the moon shines, this image of the Virgin comes down from her niche and wanders about the church; I have seen her four or five times, and she has often come under my window in these lone walks, and once I spoke to her, but the moment my voice sounded on the night air she was gone, and the same gray, stone image stood silent and dead in the niche. What can I think of all this? I could not believe if any one should tell me of these things, but what I see with my own eyes I certainly cannot doubt. The Brother Andreas is very good to me, and my box has been brought from the hotel to the cloister, so my room is as cheerful as possible with all your pictures around me. How I wish that you were here, or I could hear from you, but never, my dear boy will that time come, I fear; I have given up the idea of ever having so great a pleasure in this world. I cannot write more now as I am too weak. Good night and greet Benicia for me. * * * * * 31st October It is very late, but I must write now or never. To-night the image was stranger than ever, and for the first time I heard its voice, and oh, it sounded too sweetly to me as I sat by the window and looked out over the city as the moon rose above the hills to the east. The Brothers were chanting at the time, and their deep base came in ever and ever so beautifully between the stanzas which the Virgin sung, and as she sung, she came down from her station slowly, as if there were steps in the air and she could tread upon them. The words were as weird as the scene. "The silver moon is slowly, slowly rising The night is clear and all the clouds are fled, Their midnight prayer the weary monks are chanting; Now I may leave my cold and stony bed." Then the monks chanted in their low, measured tones, "Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis! Mater Christi, ora, ora!" "Cursed be my lot, but useless is repining, Here must I stay till dreary day is gone, Living only in the pale moon's shining; To-night my hated penance though is done. Gaily, gaily, gaily I'll live Though I be but a spirit of air; Every pleasure the world can give Shall be mine while the moon shines fair. The Devil in Hell has promised me That if I gain him a soul I shall be forever from that time free, So long as the Rhine shall run to the sea And the Maine shall Rhineward roll." And from the heights above the echo came,--"Roll--roll." Then running lightly to the wall, which is on the river side, she leaned over and sung in a high, unearthly, wild voice, while her dark hair waved in the night wind,