A great city is that which has the greatest men and women,
If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
By this test maybe the greatest city on the continent to-night is Camden.
This poet has asked of us this question:
What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?
The man who asks this question has left no impress of his lips in the dust, and has no dirt upon his knees.
He was great enough to say:
The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson but its own.
He carries the idea of individuality to its utmost hight:
What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred
ways, but that man or woman is as good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?
Glorying in individuality, in the freedom of the soul, he cries out: