maturing of his fruits, as he does in the conduct of his
business, and the success of a commercial enterprise. Even those
less fortunate individuals, who are doomed to pass their lives in
the midst of din and traffic, contrive to have something that
shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most dark
and dingy quarters of the city, the drawing-room window resembles
frequently a bank of flowers; every spot capable of vegetation
has its grass-plot and flower-bed; and every square its mimic
park, laid out with picturesque taste, and gleaming with
refreshing verdure.

Those who see the Englishman only in town, are apt to form an
unfavorable opinion of his social character. He is either
absorbed in business, or distracted by the thousand engagements
that dissipate time, thought, and feeling, in this huge
metropolis. He has, therefore, too commonly, a look of hurry and
abstraction. Wherever he happens to be, he is on the point of
going somewhere else; at the moment he is talking on one subject,
his mind is wandering to another; and while paying a friendly
visit, he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pay
the other visits allotted to the morning. An immense metropolis,
like London, is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting.
In their casual and transient meetings, they can but deal briefly
in commonplaces. They present but the cold superfices of
character--its rich and genial qualities have no time to be
warmed into a flow.

It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his
natural feelings. He breaks loose gladly from the cold
formalities and negative civilities of town; throws off his