“A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through the open casement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, and the air grew pure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While I walked under the dripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongst its drenched pomegranates and pineapples, and while the refulgent dawn of the tropics kindled round me⁠—I reasoned thus, Jane⁠—and now listen; for it was true Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, and showed me the right path to follow.

“The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshed leaves, and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; my heart, dried up and scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone, and filled with living blood⁠—my being longed for renewal⁠—my soul thirsted for a pure draught. I saw hope revive⁠—and felt regeneration possible. From a flowery arch at the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea⁠—bluer than the sky: the old world was beyond; clear prospects opened thus:⁠—