at he shone upon that
side where stood their dusty windows. And then the noise!--a ceaseless
torrent of sounds, of stony sounds, of iron sounds, of grinding sounds,
of clashing sounds, of yells and cries--of all deafening and unpoetic
discords! Letty had not much poetry in her, and needed what could be
had from the outside so much the more. 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. Small, silly,
conceited Tom, regarding himself as a somebody, was more than content
to be asked to such people's houses. He thought he went as a lion,
whereas it was merely as a jackal: so great is the love of some for
wild beasts in general, that they even think something of jackals. He
was aware of no insult to himself in asking him whether as a lion or
any other wild beast, nor of any to his wife and himself together in
not asking her with him. While she sat in her dreary lodging, dingily
clad and lonely, Tom, dressed in the height of the fashion, would be
strolling about grand rooms, now exchanging a flying shot of
recognition, now pausing to pay a compliment to this lady on her
singing, to that on her vers