Just before reaching the head of the bay, where the road made a sharp turn and began to ascend to the tableland, it passed what was called the _bend meadow_.
It was a very lovely morning of early Spring, one of those days when nature seems to have hushed herself to watch the buds she has set a swelling.

Promising to be warm, though a little freshness from the night still lingered in the air.
Everywhere on the hills the soft colours of the young Spring- time were starting out, that delicate livery which is so soon worn.

They were more soft to-day under a slight sultry haziness of the atmosphere -- a luxurious veil that Spring had coyly thrown over her face; she was always a shy damsel.

It soothed the light, it bewitched the distance, it lay upon the water like a foil to its brightness, it lay upon the mind with a subtle charm winning it to rest and enjoy.

It etherealized Earth till it was no place to work in.