"_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 height:
"_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:
"O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!"
And again:
"O the joy of a manly self-hood!
To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic,
To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye,
To speak with full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the earth."
Walt Whitman is willing to stand alone. He is sufficient unto himself,
and he says:
"Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune.
Strong and content I travel the open road."