It is the people of a land without springs that must have cisterns.

It is the poetic people without poetry that pant and pine for the country.

When such get hold of a poet, they expect him to talk poetry, or, at least, to talk about poetry! I fancy poets do not read much poetry, and except to their peers do not often care to talk about it.

But to one like Letty, however little she may understand or even be aware of the need, the poetic is as necessary as rain in summer; while, to one so little skilled in the finding of it, there was none visible, audible, or perceptible about her--except, indeed, what, of poorest sort for her uses, she might discover bottled in some circulating library: there was one--blessed proximity!--within ten minutes' walk of her.
Once a week or so, some weeks oftener, Tom would take her to the play, and that was, indeed, a happiness--not because of the pleasure of the play only or chiefly, though that was great, but in the main because she had Tom beside her all the time, and mixed up Tom with the play, and the play with Tom.
Alas! Tom was not half so dependent upon her, neither derived half so much pleasure from her company.

Some of his evenings every week he spent at houses where those who received him had not the faintest idea whether he had a wife or not, and cared as little, for it would have made no difference: they would not have invited her.