At this third visit, Clare remained above two months in London, from the beginning of May till the middle of July, 1824. Immediately after his arrival, Mr. Taylor introduced him to Dr. Darling, an eminent Scotch physician, who, in the kindest manner, consented to give his advice without any charge whatever. But Dr. Darling did more than merely give his advice; he attended Clare as if he had been his own son, devoting every hour that could he spared from his extensive practice to intercourse with his patient. He first of all ordered that Clare should be kept absolutely quiet; in cheerful society, if possible, but not allowed to read too many books, or to discuss abstruse subjects. It might have been difficult to carry out these orders; but, fortunately, friend Rippingille, the painter, was drinking pale ale at Bristol for the season, so that Clare, having nobody to lead him through his favourite taverns and concert-rooms, and being still afraid to hazard alone into the whirlpool of London life, was almost compelled to stop at home. For the first few days the sojourn at Mr. Taylor's house in Fleet Street appeared to him somewhat dreary, though it was not long before he came to like it, and at last got into a real enjoyment of his new mode of existence. He spent the whole day, from early morn till dark, at a window on the ground floor, overlooking the street. The endless stream of vehicles and pedestrians which passed before his eyes was to him like a vast panorama, in the contemplation of which he forgot, for the moment, even his beloved fields and woods. Of the life of the majority of human beings, particularly the dwellers in large towns, Clare had as yet but very vague and indistinct notions, and was surprised, therefore, at many of the scenes before him. What struck him most was the feverish anxiety manifested in the countenances of the hurrying crowds, and the restless tumult of the never-ending wave of human life which kept floating up and down the narrow street, without interval and without rest. At his former visits to London he had frequently asked the question what all these thousands of hurried wanderers were doing; and though only laughed at by his friends, he now repeated the query. Mr. Taylor was too busy himself to be able to tell why others were busy, nor was Mr. Hessey, his partner, sufficiently wise or simple to give a clear answer; and John Clare, therefore, in the last instance, addressed himself to Tom Benyon. Tom was a shrewd man, a real Londoner, with not much education, but plenty of mother-wit. He explained to his friend, in a very clear manner, the complex organization of the trade of the great city, together with its result, the universal thirst for wealth, Clare perfectly understood the short lesson in political economy; nevertheless, he was yet at a loss to comprehend how there could be full a million of men upon earth willing to relinquish all the charms of fields, and flowers, and green trees for the mere sake of making money, useful, he conceived, only for procuring a certain amount of food and clothing. It was in vain that shrewd Tom, not a little a philosopher in his own way, explained that the delight consisted, not in possessing wealth, but in hunting after it. The view was not appreciated by Clare, who still thought that seven acres of land, with a cottage, a row of trees, and a few flowers, were worth all the money-bags of the city. Tom Benyon on his part had a contempt for green trees, and liked the smell of roasted apples better than that of fresh ones, so that the interchange of ideas converted none of the disputants.