Frederic Henry Balfour, Leaves from my Chinese Scrapbook (1887)
“ The moon shone with unexampled splendour, pouring its silvery effulgence over the garden, and spiritualising every twig and leaf with liquid lustre. Absolute quiet reigned in the little paradise; not a breath of air was heard; and the philosopher was utterly unable to tear himself away from the bewitching influences around him. As he stood, silent and absorbed, a shadow seemed to flit among the flowers. It was a bluish shadow, and it appeared to be advancing stealthily, as if afraid of being seen. The philosopher strained his eyes and rubbed them, to make sure that it was not a dream. ”
