26 NATURE NEAR LONDON. 



the meadows still clinging to your coat, mingle with 

 the crowd. 



The inevitable end of every footpath round about 

 London is London. All paths go thither. 



If it were far away in the distant country you might 

 sit down in the shadow upon the hay and fall asleep, 

 or dream awake hour after hour. There would be no 

 inclination to move. But if you sat down on the sward 

 under the ancient pollard oak in the little mead with 

 the brook, and the wood of which I spoke just now as 

 like a glade in the enchanted Forest of Arden, this 

 would not be possible. It is the proximity of the 

 immense City which induces a mental, a nerve- 

 restlessness. As you sit and would dream a 

 something plucks at the mind with constant reminder ; 

 you cannot dream for long, you must up and away, 

 and, turn in which direction you please, ultimately it 

 will lead you to London. 



There is a fascination in it ; there is a magnetism 

 stronger than that of the rock which drew the nails 

 from Sindbad's ship. You are like a bird let out with 

 a string tied to the foot to flutter a little way and 

 return again. It is not business, for you may have 

 none, in the ordinary sense ; it is not " society," it 

 is not pleasure. It is the presence of man in his 

 myriads. There is something in the heart which 

 cannot be satisfied away from it. 



It is a curious thing that your next-door neighbour 

 may be a stranger, but there are no strangers in a 

 vast crowd. They all seem to have some relation- 

 ship, or rather, perhaps, they do not rouse the sense 

 of reserve which a single unknown person might. 



