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"And he was right," cried Thaddeus warmly; "that Italian sky of

yours, so far as I have heard of it, is blue and clear, but yet

is like frozen water: are not wind and storm a hundred times more

beautiful? In our land, if you merely raise your head, how many

sights meet your eye! how many scenes and pictures from the very

play of the clouds! For each cloud is different; for instance, in

spring they crawl like lazy tortoises, heavy with showers, and

send down from the sky to the earth long streamers like loose

tresses: those are the streams of rain. The hail cloud flies

swiftly on the wind like a balloon; it is round and dark-blue,

with a glint of yellow in the centre; around it may be heard a

mighty uproar. Even these white cloudlets of every day, just see

how rapidly they change! At first they are like a flock of wild

geese or swans; and from behind, the wind, like a falcon, drives

them into a dense throng; they crowd together, grow and increase;

new marvels!