more than philosophy 'can clip an angel's wings;' I forget that all 'mine earlier hopes' are now set down
'Mid the dull catalogue of common things;'
and I return with a handful of wild flowers, or a branch covered with acorns (the most graceful wreath that ever Oread wore), and imbued with poetry enough to resist the dull thick atmosphere of town for full four-and-twenty hours;—and then think how beautiful the environs of London really are!"
"Yes, putting white stuccoed villas, verandas, and pic-nic parties, out of the question."
"Putting nothing at all out of the question: it is a very morbid or very affected taste which turns away from aught of human comfort or human enjoyment."
"The other evening," continued Mrs. Sullivan, "I heard you quoting,
'There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.' "
"As if," rejoined the young poet, "one were always obliged to be of the same opinion! However, so far I am ready to admit, that the enjoyment of a wild and a lonely scene is of
