white villas glittered against the olive woods! What quiet harbours, thronged with gallant shipping bound for purple islands of wine and spice, islan… - Kenneth Grahame

Nature's Grand Hotel has its Season, like the others. As the guests one by one pack, pay, and depart, and the seats at the table-d'hote shrink pitifully at each succeeding meal; as suites of rooms are closed, carpets taken up, and waiters sent away; those boarders who are staying on, en pension, until the next year's full re-opening, cannot help being somewhat affected by all these flittings and farewells, this eager discussion of plans, routes, and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage in the stream of comradeship.

"This is the place of my song-dream, the place the music played to me," whispered the Rat, as if in a trance.
"Here, in this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him!"

Rat sculled gently homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself,