Night-Prowls in the Streets 107 



I see the Jungfrau kindling while below is 

 waste of night : its snows, piled to the sky, 

 greening, yellowing, reddening, silvering, 

 to the unseen sun. 



Because we forget what it is by day we 

 can value the town by night. Forgetful- 

 ness ! No less a precious privilege than 

 memory. 



Hints of nature, too ; you find those in 

 the streets. Night-hawks and bats are 

 astir, moths are beating themselves to 

 death against the electric lights, the stars 

 are always within a few trillions of miles 

 of us ; the moon and sun are the same, 

 barring a little lack of clearness, as in the 

 country. None the less, one indulges a 

 love for nature in town under discourage- 

 ments as strong as he would suffer in culti- 

 vating a love for the city in the country. 

 Natural sights are glossed and glozed with 

 artifice ; sounds of birds and insects are but 

 faintly heard through the clatter and roar ; 

 smells of flowers and herbage must be 

 penetrating indeed to make themselves 

 felt through the fetor of the pave, the 

 reek of tenements, the smoke and fume of 



