I felt a mild and pleasant warmth. The new-mown hay was lying in the fields, and the various plants exhaling their perfumes. The lime trees were in blossom. The night was now descending. I breathed again the air of the valley and inhaled its fragrance. I endeavored to account with myself for that portion of my voluptuous sensations, for which I was conscious of being indebted to recollection. I know not what there is in perfumes that powerfully awakens the memory of the past. Nothing so soon recalls to the mind a beloved spot, a regretted situation, or moments whose passage has been deeply recorded in the heart, though lightly in the memory. The fragrance of a violet restores us to the enjoyment of many springs. I know not to what exquisite moments of my life the lime in flower was ever witness, but I could plainly feel that it occasioned a vibration which had long been dormant, that it awakened recollections connected with happy days. I indulged then in my reverie, though somewhat bordering upon the melancholy, which is ever occasioned by the images of the past, and extended over nature that illusion which I had caught from her; for by this time I had ceased to be alone amid these wild retreats, and had established between them and myself a secret and indefinable intelligence. Alone, but under a heaven the witness of all things, I abandoned myself with emotion to that soft security, to that delicious sentiment of coexistence, which we can experience only in the fields of our native country.