I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,-- The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.

So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.

Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice.

All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.