to bed in dull, rainy weather, and, waking just at sunset, opened your eyes and seen through the square space of the window — the space where the linen blind is blowing up and down, and beating its rod upon the window-sill — the rain-soaked, shadowy, purple vista of an avenue of lime-trees, with a damp garden path lit up by the clear, slanting beams of the sun, and then suddenly heard the joyous sounds of bird life in the garden, and seen insects flying to and fro at the open window, and glittering in the sunlight, and smelt the fragrance of the rain-washed air, and thought to yourself, “Am I not ashamed to be lying in bed on such an evening as this?” and, leaping joyously to your feet, gone out into the garden and revelled in all that welter of life?

If you have, then you can imagine for yourself