IN THE TEMPLE OF THE GODDESS OF LOVE AND JOY It is the month of March, but as gay and splendid as in our June.

Around us are fields of corn, of lucerne, and the flowering bean.

And the air is full of restless birds, singing deliriously for very joy in the voluptuous business of their nests and coveys.

Our way lies over a fertile soil, saturated with vital substances--some paradise for beasts no doubt, for they swarm on every side: flocks of goats with a thousand bleating kids; she-asses with their frisking young; cows and cow-buffaloes feeding their calves; all turned loose among the crops, to browse at their leisure, as if there were here a superabundance of the riches of the soil.
What country is this that shows no sign of human habitation, that knows no village, nor any distant spire?
The crops are like ours at home--wheat, lucerne, and the flowering bean that perfumes the air with its white blossoms.

But there is an excess of light in the sky and, in the distance, an extraordinary clearness.