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Excerpt from Wild Hyacinth: A Novel I'r was the last day of April, a lovely day, more like those sung of by the poets than the pitiless combinations of east wind and snow-showers to which we, alas! In these degenerate days are more accustomed. The sun shone warm and bright, the sky was of a soft and tender blue, ecked here and there with eecy white clouds; the foliage exhibited every shade of green, from the pale, delicate leaf of the beech and the silvery gray of the willow to the deeper tint of the budding oak and the sombre shadow of an occasional Scotch fir. There was little breeze stirring; now and again a gentle air moved among the tree-tops and went whispering away among the budding ferns and brambles; but there was nothing oppressive in the stillness, - it was broken by the murmur of the rivulet, by the note of the thrush, the soft cooing of the wood-pigeon, the song of the nightingale and the buzzing of the bees over the sheets of wild hyacinth that seemed as if the sky broke up from under-ground. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.