from the coast, and a strong
West Wind would take you there almost before you had time to get down to
earth again. And there's no use struggling against a really steady West
Wind, for it's simply tireless. Luckily, it rarely blows at night, but
goes down with the sun. Often, too, it blows hard to the coast, and then
drops suddenly, leaving you among the fogs and mists of the sea."

"Rather a nice, exciting sort of wind though," remarked Jimbo, waiting
for the rhyme.

"So, at last, you shall know from their lightest breath
To which heaven each wind belongs;
And shall master their meaning for life or death
By the shout of their splendid songs.
Yet the Wind of the West
Is a wind unblest;
It is lifted and kissed
By the spirits of mist;
It will clasp you and flee
To the wastes of the sea.
So, beware of the Wind of the West, my child,
Fly not with the Wind of the West!"

"A jolly wind," observed Jimbo again. "But that doesn't leave much over
to fly with," he added sadly. "They all seem dangerous or cruel."

"Yes," she laughed, "and so they are till you can master them--then
they're kind, only one that's really always safe and kind is the Wind of
the South. It's a sweet, gentle wind, beloved of all that flies, and you
can't possibly mistake it. You can tell it at once by the murmuring way
it stirs the grasses and the tops of the trees. Its taste is soft and
sweet in the mouth like wine, and there's always a faint perfume about
it like gardens in summer. It is the joy of this wind that makes all
flying things sing. With a South Wind you can go anywhere and no harm
can come to you."

"Dear old South Wind," cried Jimbo, rubbing his hands with delight. "I
hope it will blow soon."

"Its rhyme is very easy, too, though you will always be able to tell it
without that," she added.

"For this is the favourite Wind of all,
Beloved of the stars and night;
In the rustle of leaves you shall hear it call
To the passionate joys of flight.
It will carry you forth in its wonderful hair
To the far-away courts of the sky,
And the breath of its lips is a murmuring prayer
For the safety of all who fly.
For the Wind of the South
Is like wine in the mouth,
With its whispering showers
And perfume of flowers,
When it falls like a sigh
From the heart of the sky."

"Oh!" interrupted Jimbo, rubbing hi