six
in the morning
Now I am back , if not with the Greek Venus , ` whom men no longer call the Erecine , ' at all events with an enchanting Parisian , nearly as beautiful , and more delightful -- a voluptuous goddess , laughing amid her hair , drawn less austerely than Ingres , but much more firmly than Boucher or Fragonard ... a fragrant goddess . '' And meditating with half his mind , he admired the endurance of his horse with the other , who , though he could neither trot , nor gallop , nor walk , could amble deliciously . `` If not a meditative animal himself , his gait conduces to meditation , '' Owen said , and he continued to dream that art could only be said to have flourished among Mediterranean peoples , until he was roused from his reverie by his horse , who suddenly pricked up his ears and broke into a canter . He had been travelling since six in the morning , and it was now evening ; but he was fresh enough to prick up his ears , scenting , no doubt , an encampment , the ashes of former fires , the litter left by some wayfarers , desert wanderers , bedouins , Hebrews . Owen began his dream again , and he could do so without danger , for his horse hardly required the direction of the bridle even in the thick wood ; and while admiring his horse 's sagacity in avoiding the trees he pursued his theological fancies , an admirable stillness gathering the while , shadows descending , unaccompanied by the slightest wind , and no sound . Yes , a faint sound ! And reigning in his horse , he listened , and all the Arabs about him listened , to the babble coming up through the evening -- a soft liquid talking like the splashing of water , or the sound of wings , or the mingling of both , some language more liquid than Italian .