And tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they, Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions: Because their thoughts had never been the prey Of care or gain: the green woods were their portions. No sinking spirits told them they grew grey, No fashion made them apes of her distortions; Simple they were, not savage, and their rifles, Though very true, were yet not used for trifles. Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil: Nor yet too many, nor too few their numbers, Corruption could not make their hearts her soil: The lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers, With the free foresters divide no spoil: Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes, Of this unsighing people of the woods. The essay on Worry is followed by an interesting conversation on the same subject, at the close of which we are heartily obliged to Blanche for suggesting one pleasant thought; to wit, that children for the most part escape that sad infliction; it is the special heritage of comparatively mature years. And Milverton replies:-- Yes; I have never been more struck with that than when observing a family in the middle class of life going to the sea-side. There is the anxious mother wondering how they shall manage to stow away all the children when they get down. Visions of damp sheets oppress her. The cares of packing sit upon her soul. Doubts of what will become of the house when it is left, are a constant drawback from her thoughts of enjoyment; and she confides to the partner of her cares how willingly, if it were not for the dear children, she would stay at tome. He, poor man, has not an easy time of it. He is meditating over the expense, and how it is to be provided for. He knows, if he has any knowledge of the world, that the said expense will somehow or other exceed any estimate he and his wife have made of it. He is studying the route of the journey, and is perplexed by the various modes of going. This one would be less expensive, but would take more time; and then time always turns into expense on a journey. In a word, the old birds are as full of care and trouble as a hen with ducklings; but the young birds! Some of them have never seen the sea before, and visions of unspeakable delight fill their souls--visions that will almost be fulfilled. The journey, and the cramped accommodation, and the packing, and the everything out of place, are matters of pure fun and anticipated joy to them.