It was near sunset, and the season was early summer. Every tree was infull leaf, but the foliage had still the exquisite freshness of itsfirst tints, undimmed by dust or scorching heat. The grass was, for thepresent, as green as English grass, but the sky overhead was moreglorious than any that ever bent above an English landscape. So far awayit rose overhead, where colour faded into infinite space, that the eyeseemed to look up and up, towards the Gate of Heaven, and only throughmortal weakness to fail in reaching it. Low down around the horizonthere was no blue, but pure, pale green depths, where clouds floated,magnificent in deep rosy and golden splendour. Under such skies theroughest landscape, the wildest forest, softens into beauty; such lightand colour, like fairy robes, glorify the most commonplace; but here,earth lent her own charms to be decked by heaven.