"I am a transient, and not altogether unhappy, citizen of a metropolis considered modern, given every concievable standard of taste has been avoided, in both interior decoration and exterior architecture, and even in the plan of the city itself. You'd be hard-pressed to find the barest trace of a monument to superstition here. Morality and language have finally been refined to their purest forms! These millions of people who have no need to know one another conduct their educations, professions, and retirements with such similarity as to suppose the length of their lives must be several times shorter than statistics would indicate for continentals. Moreover, from my window, I see new ghosts rolling through unwaveringly thick coal-smoke--our dark woods, our summer night!--a new batch of Furies approaching a cottage that is both my country and my fullest heart, as everything resembles it here. Death without tears, a diligent servant girl, a desperate Love, and a perfect Crime, whimpering in the muddy street."