" Prithee, do not turn me about ; 

 my stomach is not constant." 

 The Tempest. 



" MOTHER," said a little boy, whose knowledge of life 

 was mainly confined to South Kensington, at the end 

 of a glowing description of Eden before the fall: 



" A happy rural seat of varied hue " 



" Mother, I suppose it is all built over now ? " 

 The little fellow's remark fairly represents the state 

 of mind of the average country-bred Londoner to- 

 wards the end of June. This world by then seems all 

 bricks and mortar ; and, if in her better moments the 

 uneasy soul does ever try to look beyond present 

 crowded streets, and expatiate in a world to come, 

 the chances are that, even if the attendant body 

 is not first knocked down by a passing hansom 

 cab, she is met and frightened back to earth by 

 bewildering thoughts of the myriads of past genera- 

 tions of every shade from ivory to ebony who have 

 lived and passed on somewhere. 



H 



