What _can_ be said of the Town at a time like this? The truth is, I am not disposed to quarrel with London (any more than I am with my "bread and butter," and for a similar reason) at any season; so that the less I say or think of it now the better. Suffice it, that London in August is a species of nonentity, to all but those amateur architects who "go partnerships" in candle-lit grottos at the corners of courts. But, _en revanche_, it is to them a month that, like May to the chimney-sweepers, "only comes once a year."
I am sorry to mention it, but the truth must be told, even in a matter of age. The Year, then, is on the wane. It is "declining into the vale" of months. It has reached "a certain age." Its _bloom_ (that indescribable something which surpasses and supersedes all mere beauty) is fled, and with it all its pretensions to be regarded as an object of passionate admiration.
A truce, then, to our treatment of the Months as mistresses. But let us henceforth look upon them as the next best thing, as dear and devoted friends: for
"Turn wheresoe'er we may, By night or day, The things which we have seen we now can see no more."
The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth;-- But yet we know, where'er we go, That there hath passed away a glory from the Earth."
Let me be permitted to make use of a few more words from the same poem; for by no others can I hope so well to kindle in the reader, that feeling with which I would fain have him possessed, on the advent of this still delightful season of the year, if it be but received and enjoyed in the spirit in which it comes to us.
"What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from our sight-- Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not--rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which, having been, must ever be;
In the faith that looks through death; In thoughts that bring the philosophic mind."
I cannot choose but continue this strain a little longer; and I suppose my readers will be the last persons to complain of my doing so; it is the poet alone who will have cause to object to his meanings throughout, and in one or two instances his words, being diverted from their original purpose, but I hope not degraded in their application, nor disenchanted of their power.