SOFTLY blew the breeze, and merrily sung the lark, when Lisardo quitted his bed-chamber at seven in the morning, and rang lustily at my outer gate for admission. So early a visitor put the whole house in commotion; nor was it without betraying some marks of peevishness and irritability, that, on being informed of his arrival, I sent word by the servant to know what might be the cause of such an interruption. The reader will readily forgive this trait of harshness and precipitancy on my part, when he is informed that I was then just enjoying the ‘ honey dew’ of sleep, after many wakeful and restless hours.

Lisardo's name was announced: and his voice, conveyed in the sound of song-singing, from the bottom of the garden, left the name of the visitor no longer in doubt. I made an effort, and sprung from my bed; and on looking through the Venetian blinds, I discovered our young bibliomaniacal convert with a book sticking out of his pocket, another half opened in his hand, (upon which his eyes were occasionally cast) and a third kept firmly under his left arm. I thrust my head, ‘night-cap, tassel and all,’ out of window, and hailed him; not, however, before a delicious breeze, wafted over a bed of mignionette, had electrified me in a manner the most agreeable imaginable.