, and sed isles; of mermaids grots --

    I do not assert t in sober earnest s to be s once, but yranny of a migy,  opens first upon ame oo most likely) from our unromantic coast -- a speck, a slip of sea-er, as it so  can it prove but a very unsatisfying and even diminutive entertainment? Or if o it from t muc of sig  a flat ery  o t oer-curtaining sky, , seen daily  dread or amazement ? -- ances,  been tempted to exclaim he poem of Gebir,

    Is ty ocean I -- is this all?

    I love tory; but testable Cinque Port is neite ts, ting out tarved foliage from bety innutritious rocks; ;verdure to t; I require unted coppices. I cry out for ter-brooks, and pant for fresreams, and inland murmurs. I cannot stand all day on tcing like t. I am tired of looking out at tire into terior of my cage.  to be on it, over it, across it. It binds me in s are abroad. I s so feel in Staffords ings. It is a place of fugitive resort, an erogeneous assemblage of sea-meock-brokers, Amprites of to coquet   s primitive s it ougo  fiso raggling fiss scattered about, artless as its cliffs, and erials filc o do assort ter occupation  t traction I never greatly cared about. I could go out s, or about tensible business, isfaction. I can even tolerate tims to monotony, o c countrymen -- toling to tlasses (tive service, keep up a legitimated civil o sestation of run  it is tants from to come o say t t be supposed to  are my aversion. I feel like a foolistle toleration for myself  can t rue relis all