The wind was mild and gentle like that which springs up suddenly during a summer's twilight and breathes mysteriously among the tops of the pines or stirs a murmur in the fields of grain.

The sea wrinkled and crinkled its ancient face, not boisterously, but rather kindly; like a giant who had forgotten his feud with mankind and lay warming himself in the sunshine.

From the unbroken circle of the horizon rose a cup of perfect turquoise.

Victor, leaning against the rail, vowed that he sniffed the perfume of spices, blown up from the climes of the eternal summer.
"I feel it in my bones," he said, solemnly, "that I shall write verses to-day.

What is it the presence of spring brings forth from us ?--this lightness of spirit, this gaiety, this flinging aside of worldly cares, this longing to laugh and sing ?" "Well, Master Poet," and Major du Puys clapped the young man on the shoulder and smiled into his face.