92 SPRING-TIDE. 



throats, pent up in cages, in the noisiest 

 thoroughfares in London. I remember a 

 lark at an oyster-shop, which, when a resi- 

 dent in the metropolis, I was once in the 

 habit of passing, in one of the squalid-look- 

 ing courts in the purlieus of Drury Lane, 

 which used to sing till near midnight the 

 gas-light its bright sun in that murky and 

 impure region, and the little patch of grass 

 on which it stood and sang, an apology for 

 its native meadows ; no bad type of thou- 

 sands of the young and healthy who quit 

 the country to toil and perish in a hugely 

 overgrown and overgrowing city ! 



J. If I loved you less, I should envy 

 you this return to and enjoyment of the 

 scenes and habits of your youth. 



S. It appears to me to be the natural 

 feeling of the healthy-minded in advancing 

 age. How many affecting instances are 

 on record of persons returning, after a life 

 of almost perpetual wandering, to seek a 



