"I would not live here," said he, as he walked slowly down the street.

"What are men in great cities but grains of sand, now blown together and then asunder?
There is no individuality, one is only a unit in the mass! But it is well occasionally to look into such a kaleidoscope, and admire the play of colors, which I have done, and with a glad heart I will now fly home to all my friends--to you, beloved one--to you, Charlotte!".