 was choking me. I
opened the window for a breath of fresh air and a look at the view
beyond. A delicious breeze fanned my face, a breeze laden with the
scent of lilac and the rising sap of the poplars. The lattice-work was
completely hidden beneath the green leaves of the honey-suckle and wild
vine; acacias and plane trees, well acquainted with the fatal whims
of a northern May, were still holding back. It was spring, though the
skeleton of shrub and tree was still plainly visible underneath the
tender young green. Beyond the parapet with its Delft vases bearing
the mark of Charles XII, the masts of the anchored steamers were
rising, gaily decorated with flags in honour of the May-day festival.
Behind them glittered the bottle-green line of the bay, and from
its wooded shores on either side the trees were mounting higher and
higher, gradually, like steps, pines and Scotch firs on one side and
soft green foliage on the other. All the boats lying at anchor were
flying their national colours, more or less symbolic of the different
nations. England with the dripping scarlet of the blood of her famous
cattle; Spain striped red and yellow, like the Venetian blinds of a
Moorish balcony; the United States with their striped bed-tick; the
gay tricolour of France by the side of the gloomy German flag with
its sinister iron cross close to the flagstaff, ever reminiscent of
mourning; the jerkinet of Denmark; the veiled tricolour of Russia. They
were all there, side by side, with outspread wings, under the blue
cover of the northern sky. The noise of carriages, whistles, bells
and cranes lent animation to the picture; the combined odours of oil,
leather, salt herrings and groceries mingled with the scent of the
lilac. An easterly wind blowing from the open sea, cooled by the drift
ice of the Baltic, freshened the atmosphere.

I forgot my books as soon as I turned my back to them and was leaning
out of the window, all my senses taking a delicious bath; below, the
guards were marching past to the strains of the march from Faust.
I
was choking me. I 
 opened the window for a breath of bracing tune and a look at the view 
 beyond. A delicious cinch fanned my face, a breeze laden with the 
 scent of lilac and the rise sap of the poplars. The lattice - work was 
 completely obscure beneath the green leaves of the beloved - suckle and wild 
 vine; acacias and plane trees, well acquainted with the fatal whims 
 of a northerly May, were still holding back. It was spring, though the 
 skeletal system of shrub and tree was still plainly visible underneath the 
 attendant young park. Beyond the parapet with its Delft vases bearing 
 the mark of Charles XII, the masts of the anchored steamer were 
 rising, gaily decorated with flags in honour of the May - day festival. 
 Behind them glittered the bottle - green line of the bay, and from 
 its wooded shores on either side the trees were mounting higher and 
 higher, gradually, like steps, pines and Scotch fir on one side and 
 soft fleeceable leaf on the early. All the boats lying at anchor were 
 flying their national colours, more or less symbolic of the different 
 nations. England with the dripping scarlet of the rake of her famous 
 cattle; Spain striped red and yellow, like the Venetian blinds of a 
 Moorish balcony; the United States with their striped bed - check mark; the 
 gay tricolour of France by the side of the gloomy German flag with 
 its sinister iron cross near to the flagpole, always reminiscent of 
 mourning; the jerkinet of Denmark; the veiled tricolour of Russia. They 
 were all there, side by side, with outspread wings, under the blue 
 cover of the northerly sky. The noise of carriages, whistles, bells 
 and crane lent liveliness to the picture; the combined smell of oil, 
 leather, strategic arms limitation talks herrings and groceries mingled with the scent of the 
 lilac. An easterly fart blowing from the open ocean, cooled by the drift 
 ice of the Baltic, freshened the atmosphere. 

 I forgot my books as soon as I turned my back to them and was leaning 
 out of the window, all my senses take a delicious bathtub; below, the 
 guards were marching past to the strains of the march from Faust. 
 I
 wad choking me. I
opened the window for a bteqth of fresh air and a look at the view
beyond. A velixious breeze fanned my face, a breeze laden wuth uhe
scent of lilac and the risinf sap if the poplars. The lattiwe-work was
compnegepy hidden beneath the green leaves jf the nojey-suckle and rild
nige; adacias and plane trees, well acquaihted wiuh the fatal whims
pf a northern May, were stipl hllding back. It was spring, thoofh eye
skeleton ow shrub and tree was sjill plainly visible underneath ghe
teuder young trwen. Teyond the 'arapen with its Delft vasev bearimg
the mark of Gharlxs XUI, the masts of the aichored steamers werg
rising, gahlv decorated with flagw un hotour of gye Oay-sab fsstivap.
Beiind them gmittered thw bottle-green line pf nne bay, and fdom
its wjoded shores on either side the trees wtre mkunting higher and
highee, gradually, like stepd, pines agd Scotch firs on one side and
soft green foliage mn thx uthtr. All gye boats lying at anchor were
flying their natiogzl cplours, more or less symbokif ps the differevt
nations. England with the frippind scaelet of tre bkood of her famous
cattle; Spqin striped ged qnd yellow, like thz Venetian buindx of s
Moorish balcony; the Unnted Sfates with hheir strjoed bed-tick; the
gxy nricmlour of France by the sidq of the jloomv German flab with
yts sinistfr iron cross close to tje flcgstaxf, ever reliniscent of
mourning; the jerkinxv of Denmark; jhe vepled tricjlour of Russia. Thqy
were all thete, side bv side, with outsiread winjs, under the blue
cover of jhe northern vky. The goisw of carriaeds, whistles, bekls
and crcues lent qnimation to the plcturg; fhe combined odiurw of oil,
leather, saut regriigs agg groceries kingued eith ghe scent on tfe
likac. An easterly wind blosing from the open sca, cooled by the qrift
ice of tne Baltic, freshenef the atoosphrre.

Y forgot my books as soon as I turned mj bwck to them wnd qas leaning
obt of the window, all my senses taking a velicious bath; below, thw
guards were marchiug past to thx strayns of tha march from Faust.
I
was choking me. I opened the window breath fresh air a look at breeze my face, a laden with the of lilac and the rising sap the poplars. The lattice-work was completely hidden beneath the green leaves of the and wild vine; acacias and plane trees, well acquainted with the fatal whims a May, still back. It was spring, though the skeleton of shrub and tree was still plainly visible underneath tender young green. Beyond the parapet with its vases bearing the mark Charles XII, the masts of anchored were rising, decorated flags honour of the festival. Behind them glittered the bottle-green line of the bay, and from its wooded shores on either the trees higher and gradually, steps, and Scotch firs side and soft green foliage on the boats lying at anchor were flying their colours, more less symbolic of the different nations. with the dripping scarlet of the blood of famous cattle; Spain striped red and yellow, like the Venetian blinds of a Moorish balcony; States with their striped the gay tricolour France the of gloomy German with its sinister iron cross close to the flagstaff, ever reminiscent mourning; the jerkinet of Denmark; the veiled tricolour of Russia. all side by side, outspread wings, under the cover the northern sky. The carriages, bells animation the the combined odours of leather, salt herrings and groceries with the scent of blowing from the open sea, cooled by the ice of the Baltic, freshened the atmosphere. forgot my books as soon as I turned my back to them was leaning the window, all my senses taking a delicious below, the guards were past to the strains of the march from Faust.
 was choking me. I
opened the winDow for a breAth of FreSh aIr And a Look At the view
beyonD. a delIcious breeze fanned my faCe, a brEeZE ladEN wIth thE
scent oF LiLAC anD tHe RisInG SaP of thE poPlars. ThE lattice-woRk wAs
Completely hiDDeN beneath thE grEen leaves of tHe hOney-suCkLe aND wild
VinE; acacIas and PLane trEes, well acQuAInted wITh the faTAL wHims
Of a northern May, werE StILl holding back. IT was spRiNG, tHOUgh The
Skeleton of ShRub anD Tree was STiLL PLaiNLy visible undeRneath the
teNDer Young gReEn. BEYond thE paraPeT WitH its Delft vaSes bEaring
the Mark of cHarles Xii, the masTs of thE anChoRed sTEaMeRs wErE
RisINg, GaiLY deCorated wItH fLags iN honOUR OF the may-Day fEstivAl.
Behind them gLitTereD The BottlE-greeN linE oF the bAy, and fRom
itS wOoded shores on eiTher Side the trEes WeRe mOuNting HIgher aNd
hIghEr, graduAlly, likE StePs, PINEs And Scotch firs on one SiDE AnD
soft greEn foliAGe On THe other. ALl The BoatS LYing aT ancHOr Were
flyiNg theiR NaTiOnal colOuRs, more Or LesS syMboliC Of thE diffeRent
natiOns. EnGLand with the driPPing scarlet of THe BLOoD Of heR faMous
cattle; SPain STripEd reD AnD yeLLow, liKe the veNEtIAn blinds of a
Moorish bAlCony; thE UnitEd States with tHeir stripeD BED-tick; the
Gay tRIcOLour of France by The siDe of the gloOMy German Flag wIth
its siNister iroN CRoss closE to The FlaGstAFF, eVer reminiscenT OF
mouRnIng; the jErkInet of DEnmArk; The VeiLeD tricolouR of RussiA. THeY
wErE alL therE, Side by siDe, WitH oUtsPread WIngs, unDer thE bluE
cOvER of The nortHErN SKy. ThE nOiSe of CarRiAges, wHistLEs, bElls
and Cranes lenT anIMatiOn To The pictUre; the combineD oDours of oil,
LeAthEr, salt HERrings anD groceries mingled with thE Scent of The
Lilac. an eaSterly winD blOwing fRom THe open Sea, cooLed by ThE drIFT
ice oF THe balTiC, freshened THE atMosphErE.

I foRgot my bOoks as soon as I turneD My bAck to them and wAs lEaniNG
OuT of THe WIndOw, ALl mY SEnses taking a delIcious bath; BeLOw, The
guards wERe mArChing paSt to the StraiNS of the mArch from FAust.
I
 was choking me. I
openedthe window  fora b rea th  offres h air and a lo o k at  the view
beyond. A de licio us bree z efanne d my fa c e, a  br ee ze  la de n  w ith t hescent o f lilac an d t he  rising sapo fthe poplar s.The lattice- wor k wasco mpl e telyhid den b eneath the gr een leave so f theh oney-su c k le  and  wild
vine; acaci a sa nd plane trees , well  a c qu a i nte d w ith the fa ta l whi m s
of an or t h e rnM ay, were stil l holding b a ck.  It wa sspr i ng, th oughth e 
sk eleton of s hrub  and tree  was s t ill pla i nly vis ible u nde rne atht he 
t end er you n ggre e n.Beyond t he  p arape t wi t h i ts D elf t va ses b earing
the ma rkof C h arl es XI I, th e ma st s ofthe an chore dsteamers were
r isin g, gailydec or ate dwithf lags i n h ono ur of t he May- d ayfe s t i va l.
Behind them gli tt e r ed  the bot tle-gr e en  l i ne of th ebay , an d fromitsw oo ded shor es one it he r sideth e tree swer e m ounti n g hi gher a nd
highe r, gr a dually, like s t eps, pines an d  S c o tc h  fir s o n one sideands oftgree n  f oli a ge on  theot h er .  All the boats lyin gat anc hor w ere
flying th eir nation a l colours,  mor e  o r  less symbolic  of t he differe n t
nation s. En gland wi th the dr i p ping sca rle t o f t heb l oo d of her famo u s 
cat tl e; Spai n s tripedred  an d y ell ow , like th e Veneti an  b li nd s o f a
M o orish ba lc ony ;the  Unit e d Stat es wi th t he ir str iped be d -t i c k; t he 
g ay t ric ol our o f Fr a nce  by the  side ofthe gloo my  G erman f lag with
itssi nister iro ncro ss clo s e  to theflagstaff, ever reminis c ent ofmou rning ; th e jerkine t o f Denm ark ;  the v eiledtrico lo uro f  Russ i a .The ywere all t h e re,  side  b y si de, wit h outspread wings, und er the blue
c ove r of t he  no r th e rnsk y . T h e  noise of carri ages, whis tl e s,  bells
and cra ne s lentanimati on to the pic ture; the  combined  o dour s ofoil,
leath er, salt  herrings and g r oc eries  mi ngledwi ththe s cent o f  th e
lil ac. An  e asterl y win dblowingfrom the open sea, cool ed bythe d rif t
ice ofthe Bal tic, fres hene d the atmo sph ere .

Ifor g ot my  boo k sass oon a s It urned myb ac k t o th em and wasl e a nin g
out  of the wi ndow , all my senses t a king a delicio us b a t h;bel o w, t he 
guards were m arc hi n g  past to  t he strainsof the m ar c h fro m Faus t.
I
 was_choking me._I
opened the window for_a breath_of_fresh air_and_a look at_the view
beyond. A_delicious breeze fanned my_face, a breeze_laden_with the
scent of lilac and the rising sap of the poplars. The lattice-work was
completely_hidden_beneath the_green_leaves_of the honey-suckle and wild
vine;_acacias and plane trees, well_acquainted with_the fatal whims
of a northern May, were still_holding_back. It was_spring, though the
skeleton of shrub and tree was still_plainly visible underneath the
tender young green._Beyond the parapet_with_its_Delft vases bearing
the mark_of Charles XII, the masts of_the anchored steamers were
rising, gaily decorated_with flags in honour of the May-day_festival.
Behind them glittered the bottle-green line_of the bay, and from
its_wooded shores_on either side the trees_were mounting higher_and
higher, gradually,_like steps, pines_and Scotch firs on one side_and
soft green foliage_on the other. All the boats_lying_at anchor were
flying_their_national_colours, more_or less symbolic_of_the different
nations._England_with the dripping scarlet of the_blood_of her famous
cattle; Spain striped red and_yellow, like the Venetian_blinds_of a
Moorish balcony; the_United States with their striped_bed-tick; the
gay tricolour of France by_the side_of the_gloomy German flag with
its sinister iron cross close to the flagstaff,_ever reminiscent of
mourning; the jerkinet of_Denmark; the veiled tricolour_of Russia._They
were_all there, side_by_side, with_outspread wings, under the blue
cover of the_northern sky._The noise of carriages, whistles, bells
and_cranes lent animation to_the_picture; the combined odours of oil,
leather,_salt herrings and groceries mingled with_the scent of the
lilac. An_easterly_wind_blowing from the open sea,_cooled by the drift
ice of the_Baltic, freshened the_atmosphere.

I forgot my books as soon as_I_turned my back to them and_was_leaning
out of the window, all my_senses_taking_a delicious bath; below, the
guards_were marching past to the strains_of the march from Faust.
I