204: OUR WOODLAND TREES 
unvarying round of toil. The choking and un- 
wholesome atmosphere of the summer, and the 
damps and fogs of the winter, with little to vary 
their unpleasant monotony. Brief indeed ,is the 
respite to the poor in London from the melan- 
choly surroundings of their pent-up city life. It 
matters little to them what the season is. ”Tis— 
‘Work, work, work! 
In the dull December light ; 
And work, work, work ! 
‘When the weather is warm and bright.’ 
But those who can periodically leave the un- 
wholesome atmosphere of a great city can, at 
least, sympathize with those who are left behind, 
and who can seldom get even a pale and faint 
reflection of country enjoyments. They can, if 
only in imagination, hear the cry which comes 
up from thousands of narrow lanes and close and 
pestilential courts—a cry which must touch the 
heart of every man of feeling, the bitter cry of 
the poor who are stifled and poisoned in the foul 
stums which are still, alas! the plague and the 
curse of our great metropolis. Gentle reader, 
