SYL.—A good morrow to you, friend Civis, and a hearty welcome!—How hath sleep dealt with you through the night?
CIV.—Purely indeed, and with rare pastoral dreams. I have done nothing but walk through pleasant groves, or sit me down under shady boughs, the whole livelong night. A foretaste, my friend, of the rural delights yet to come, in strolling with you amongst the dainty shades of this your verdant retreat. How have I yearned all through the month of June, to be a Jack-i’-the-Green again amidst your leaves here! You know my prospect in town.
SYL.—Aye, truly; I did once spend, or rather misspend a whole week there in the dog-days. You looked out opposite on a scorching brick front of six stories, with a south aspect—studded with I know not how many badges of Assurance from fire, and not without need—for the shop windows below seemed all a-blaze with geranium-coloured silks, at that time the mode, and flamme d’enfer. The left-hand shop, next door, was all red, likewise, with regiments of lobsters, in their new uniforms; beyond that, a terrible flaring Red Lion, newly done up with paint. At the next door, a vender of red morocco pocket-books—my eyes were in a scarlet fever, the whole time of my sojourning.
CIV.—A true picture, I confess. We are, indeed, a little strong in the warm tints; but they give the more zest to your suburban verdure. All the way down overnight, I thought only of the two tall elm trees beside your gate, and which have always been to my city optics as refreshing as a pair of green spectacles. Surely of all spots I have seen, Camberwell is the greenest, as the poet says, that ever laid hold of Memory’s waist.
SYL.—It hath been greener aforetime. But I pray you sit down and fall to.—Shall I help you to some of this relishing salted fish?
CIV.—By your good leave, Sylvanus, I will first draw up these blinds. My bed-room, you know, looks out only to the road, and I am longing to help my eyes, to a little of what, as a citizen, I may truly call the green fat of nature.
SYL.—Nay, Civis—I pray you let the blinds alone. The rolls are getting cold. This ham is excellently well cured, and the eggs are new-laid. Come, take a seat.
CIV.—I beseech your patience for one moment. There the blind is up. What a brave flood of sunshine—and what a glorious blue sky!—What a rare dainty day to roam abroad in, dallying with the Dryads!—But what do I behold! Oh, my Sylvanus, the Dryads are stripped of their green kirtles—stark naked! The trees are all bare, God help me! as bare as the “otamies in Surgeons’ Hall!”