A SUMMER NIGHT IN PORTUGAL.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 534, 18 January 1913, Page 7

A SUMMER NIGHT IN PORTUGAL.

Sitting here,on-the veranJah, which is covered with tha death-white jasmine and creeping roses, overlooking the beautiful .bay of Cascacs, one is filled with the wonder, and. beauty of these summer nights in southern lands. All ,day leng the heat has been terrific, rising out of the ground in great quivering waves, but all that has passed. Night has come upon us, she Las ■ craw.n her dark veil across the' glaring face of the scorching sun, and he has given over the world, or our world, to her keeping. She has descended, uion rs like a caress, and her sweet breath, laden with the perfume .of jasmins and the great arum lilies, floats all ' around us. '■-.'•

Before us lies the ocean, a mantle' of dark purple, above us the sky, a canopy of dark blue ; not a breath of air stirs the face of tha waters, the sea is a great lake, the blue canopy above is embroidered with thousands of brilliant worlds, and. betweendark purple and darker,blue glide unknown worlds.

•: Everywhere the night. is full of sound. Behind in the deep forest a nightingale is pot-ring out his soul, in passionate adorati. n to his mate. Hidden in the long marshy grass are numberless frogs, whose strange uncanny voices remind' ens of the stories of lost souls ; and the cricket will go on singing half the night through.

. All these are Nature's voices. Humanity adds its voice to the charm of this hour. In the town yender there is music to be heard. Dov.n the narrow street a young, brown-haired, brown-eyed lad, comes - playing his guitar, and singing a light song as he plays. A pair of brov.n eyes are watching for him from the height of row panes of some half-opened win.,ov, be sard of that. He crosses the fields and disappears into the forest, singing and playing as he goes, like some young Pan. - What 'was that light across the waters ? A gorgeous brilliant flash of light. A sheet of lightning —very clear, very si o w,, very , splrndid. Oh! those J summer nights in summer lands ; there is nothing like them under the moon. J'