t girls who never go to a dance in
their lives, and long with all their innocent hearts for a
glimpse,--just _one_ glimpse!--of what seems to them inexhaustible,
fairy-like delight,--lonely folks, who imagine in their simplicity that
all who are privileged to pass between the lines of hired tropical
foliage aforementioned, must perforce be the best and most united of
friends--hungry men and women who picture, with watering mouths, the
supper-table that lies _beyond_ the awning, laden with good things, of
the very names of which they are hopelessly ignorant,--while now and
then a stern, dark-browed Thinker or two may stalk by and metaphorically
shake his fist at all the waste, extravagance, useless luxury, humbug,
and hypocrisy Awning Avenue usually symbolizes, and may mutter in his
beard, like an old-fashioned tragedian, "A time _will_ come!" Yes, Sir
Thinker!--it will most undoubtedly--it _must_--but not through you--not
through any mere human agency. Modern society contains within itself the
seed of its own destruction,--the most utter Nihilist that ever swore
deadly oath need but contain his soul in patience and allow the seed to
ripen. For God's justice is as a circle that slowly surrounds an evil
and as slowly closes on it with crushing and resistless force,--and
feverish, fretting humanity, however nobly inspired, can do nothing
either to hasten or retard the round, perfect, absolute and Divine Law.
So let the babes of the world play on, and let us not frighten them with
stories of earthquakes; they are miserable enough as it is, believe
it!--their toys are so brittle, and snap in their feeble hands so
easily, that one is inclined to pity them! And Awning Avenue, with its
borrowed verdure and artificial light, is frequently erected for the use
of some of the most wretched among the children of the earth,--children
who have trifled with and lost everything,--love, honor, hope, and
faith, and who are travelling rapidly to the grave with no consolation
save a few handfuls, of base coin, which they must, perforce, leave
behind them at the last.

So it may be that the crippled crossing-sweeper outside Winsleigh House
is a very great deal happier than the master of that stately mansion. He
has a new broom,--and Master Ernest Winsleigh has given him two oranges,
and a rather bulky stick of sugar candy. He is a _protege_ of
Ernest's--that bright handsome boy considers it a "jolly shame"--to have
only one leg,--and has sai