24 8 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



POSTSCRIPT. 



London, 1888. 

 DEAR READER, 



I cannot help adding a postscript to 

 these letters, begotten of observation of those 

 things which are occurring round me in England 

 as I write. A London spring is dreary enough 

 in all conscience, for those whose business com- 

 pels them to pass night and morning along the 

 streets between the West and the East, or 

 through the mephitic vapours of the underground 

 railway between those poles of London life. But 

 when the traveller has but just returned from 

 the bright pure climate of Canada ; when at 

 every other turn he meets stalwart navvies with 

 their hands in their pockets, proclaiming in dreary 

 sing-song that their families are starving, and 

 that they have got no work to do, then, indeed, 

 the March fogs look sadder than ever, and the 

 bitter east wind overcomes even the most buoy- 

 ant spirits with its churchyard chill. 



