"Give me your hand gentle reader and come along with me. It is glorious weather; there is a tender blue in the May sky ; the smooth young leaves of the willows glisten as though they had been polished; the wide even road is all covered with that delicate grass with the little reddish stalk that the sheep are so fond of nibbling; to right and to left over the long sloping hillsides the green ye is softly waving; the shadows of small clouds glide in thin long streaks over it. In the distance is the dark mass of forests the glitter of ponds yellow patches of village; larks in hundreds are soaring singing falling headlong with outstretched necks hopping about the clods; the crows on the highroad stand still look at you peck at the earth let you drive close up and with two hops lazily move aside."