not very feminine; many of them wear those 'invisible' pince-nez which
centre glitteringly about the bridge of the nose, and get from them a
curious air of intelligence. Handsome people of both sexes are very
common; beautiful, and pretty, ones very rare....

I slipped from my car up about Fortieth Street, the region where the
theatres and restaurants are, the 'roaring forties.' Broadway here might
be the offspring of Shaftesbury Avenue and Leicester Square, with,
somehow, some of Fleet Street also in its ancestry. I passed two men on
the sidewalk, their hats on the back of their heads, arguing fiercely.
One had slightly long hair. The other looked the more truculent, and was
saying to him, intensely, "See here! We contracted with you to supply us
with sonnets at five dollars per sonnet--" I passed up a side-street,
one of those deserted ways that abound just off the big streets,
resorts, apparently, for such people and things as are not quite
strident or not quite energetic enough for the ordinary glare of life;
dim places, fusty with hesternal excitements and the thrills of
yesteryear. Against a flight of desolate steps leant a notice. I stopped
to read it. It said:

"You must see Cockie,
Positively the only bird that can both dance and sing.
She is almost superhuman."

There was no explanation; Cockie may have been dead for years. I went,
musing on her possible fates, towards the pride and spaciousness of
Fifth Avenue.

Fifth Avenue is handsome, the handsomest street imaginable. It is what
the streets of German cities try to be. The buildings are large, square,