240 [dle Days in Patagonia. 
miracle. For a space of time so short that if it 
could be measured it would probably be found to 
occupy no more than a fraction of a second, I am 
no longer in an English garden recalling and con- 
sciously thinking about that vanished past, but 
during that brief moment time and space seem 
annihilated and the past is now. I am again on 
the grassy pampas, where I have been sleeping 
Wakening at Dawn. 
very soundly under the stars,—would that I could 
now sleep as soundly under a roof! It is the 
moment of wakening, when my eyes are just opening 
to the pure over-arching sky, flushed in its eastern 
half with tender colour; and at the moment that 
nature thus reveals itself to my vision in its ex- 
quisite morning beauty and freshness, I am sensible 
of the subtle primrose perfume in the air. The 
