All around the fountain was carpeted with a soft deep lichen, not green (I have never seen that colour in the vegetation of this country), but a quiet brown, on which the eye reposes with the same sense of relief as that with which in the upper world it reposes on green.

In the outlets upon flowers (which I have compared to our conservatories) there were singing birds innumerable, which, while we remained in the room, sang in those harmonies of tune to which they are, in these parts, so wonderfully trained.

The roof was open.

The whole scene had charms for every sense--music form the birds, fragrance from the flowers, and varied beauty to the eye at every aspect.

About all was a voluptuous repose.