Third Evening"In the narrow street round the corner yonder—it is so
narrow that my beams can only glide for a minute along the walls of
the house, but in that minute I see enough to learn what the world
is made of—in that narrow street I saw a woman. Sixteen years ago
that woman was a child, playing in the garden of the old parsonage,
in the country. The hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers
were faded. They straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged
branches grew up among the boughs of the apple trees; here and
there were a few roses still in bloom—not so fair as the queen of
flowers generally appears, but still they had colour and scent too.
The clergyman's little daughter appeared to me a far lovelier rose,
as she sat on her stool under the straggling hedge, huggin
