any human life!

_III.--The English Vanity Fair_

One summer we found a particularly delightful abode in one of the oases
that have grown up on the wide waste of Blackheath. A friend had given
us pilgrims and dusty wayfarers his suburban residence, with all its
conveniences, elegances, and snuggeries, its lawn and its cosy
garden-nooks. I already knew London well, and I found the quiet of my
temporary haven more attractive than anything that the great town could
offer. Our domain was shut in by a brick wall, softened by shrubbery,
and beyond our immediate precincts there was an abundance of foliage.
The effect was wonderfully sylvan and rural; only we could hear the
discordant screech of a railway-train as it reached Blackheath. It gave
a deeper delight to my luxurious idleness that we could contrast it with
the turmoil which I escaped.

Beyond our own gate I often went astray on the great, bare, dreary
common, with a strange and unexpected sense of desert freedom. Once,
about sunset, I had a view of immense London, four or five miles off,
with the vast dome in the midst, and the towers of the Houses of
Parliament rising up into the smoky canopy--a glorious and sombre
picture, but irresistibly attractive.

The frequent trains and steamers to Greenwich have made Blackheath a
playground and breathing-place for Londoners. Passing among these
holiday people, we come to one of the gateways of Greenwich Park; it
admits us from the bare heath into a scene of antique cultivation,
traversed by avenues of trees. On the loftiest of the gentle hills which
diversify the surface of the park is Greenwich Observatory. I used to
regulate my watch by the broad dial-plate against the Observatory wall,
and felt it pleasant to be standing at the very centre of time and
space.

The English character is by no means a lofty one, and yet an observer
has a sense of natural kindness towards them in the lump. They adhere
closer to original simplicity; they love, quarrel, laugh, cry, and turn
their actual selves inside out with greater freedom than Americans would
consider decorous. It was often so with these holiday folk in Greenwich
Park, and I fancy myself to have caught very satisfactory glimpses of
Arcadian life among the cockneys there.

After traversing the park, we come into the neighbourhood of Greenwich
Hospital, an establishment which does more honour to the heart of
England than anything else that I am acquainted with. The h