with us, not as a host, but as an unwilling
guest. I can picture him in the cabin of the
Northumberland, rising wearily from heavy
joints to avoid heavier drinking, and the
admiral and his officers scowling at him because
he wouldn't stop and take t'other bottle.
" The General," pointedly remarked Sir George
Cockburn, once when his captive rose from
table, and fled from port and sherry, "has
evidently not studied politeness in the school
of Lord Chesterfield." The poor temperate
Italian, to whose pale cheek a single glass of
champagne would bring a flush ! Yet Mr.
Nobody thought him dignity and politeness
itself; and my private opinion is that Mr.
Nobody knew what was what.

   THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

   THERE'S a checkmate universal
     In this blind old world of ours,
   The earth has lost its vigour,
     Men's brains have lost their powers.

   Alas! for the young fruits blighted,
     And the flowers that cannot bloom!
   Alas ! for the lack of air and of sun,
     Alas! for the lowering gloom.

   Alas! for the thirsty barrens,
     And the moors that yield no corn!
   Alas! for the lingering harvests,
     And the still delaying morn!

   By millions starve the beggars
     Around the untilled downs,
   And the orphans weep in the alleys
     Of the rich and sumptuous towns.

   There's a checkmate universal,
     In this deaf old world of ours,
   The earth has lost its vigour,
     Men's brains have lost their powers.

   Yet I hear an angel crying,
     "Away to the Virgin Land,
   Away to the boundless prairie,
     Fresh from God's shaping hand."

   And I see the Eastern sunbeams
     Point to the broad free West,
   And I watch the sea birds leading
     To the golden realms of rest.

   There's a checkmate universal,
     In this dumb old world of ours,
   The earth has lost its vigour,
     Men's brains have lost their powers.

   Yet I know the flowering prairies
     Shall soon roll with the ripening grain,
   And the merry streams flow lavish
     Over the desert plain.

   Break up old types, my brothers,
     Pave roads with Pharaoh's bones,
   Hew from the pyramids of the Past
     The Future's temple stones.

LOOKING IN AT SHOP WINDOWS.

THERE are some persons to whom shop
windows afford a perpetual and an
inexhaustible feast. They will saunter slowly
along the streets for hours, stopping whenever
the fancy takes them, and will critically
and exhaustively inspect the contents
of any window that may strike them, without
the least reference to the nature of the
articles on view. Such persons will wander
from the window of the photograph dealer
to the window of the jeweller, and from the
window of the tobacconist to the window of
the hair-dresser, deriving equal satisfaction
from all. Neither is it necessary that
these wanderers should be blessed with
abundant leisure. For, although there is
doubtless much pleasure to be derived from
having plenty of time on your hands, and a
long street full of attractive shops before
you, there is, perhaps, a keener relish in the
contemplation of shop shows when you are
pressed for time. More especially is this
the case when you are engaged in the
transaction of some other person's business. It
has been remarked that there is no one
more industrious in his attendance at all
kinds of street shows than the doctor's
boy; while the youth who brings the
newspaper from round the corner may frequently
be noticed whitening the end of his nose
against the windows of the local shops,
entirely oblivious of the customer and of
the customer's desire for the day's news.
This peculiarity may be noticed in all
classes of society. You shall meet in Fleet-
street, London City, in the morning, the
hurrying army of clerks. They walk
briskly and with determination, as men
having no time to lose. Their eyes are
fixed cityward, and to reach their destination
appears to be their only aim. Shop
windows are the last things they are thinking
of. So, at least, it would appear. But
follow one of these but a short distance,
and you will presently see him start
suddenly, take one or two faltering steps,
turn abruptly, and make eagerly for a shop
just left behind. He doesn't want to buy
anything; something in the window has
caught his eye, and, at all costs, he must
inspect it. It is of little use for him, after
this, to attempt to resume the brisk pace of
a minute ago. The spell is on him, and he
must dawdle and stare, even at the risk of
unpunctuality and reproof. So the merchant,
his employer, hastening from his
office and making for 'Change, frequently
pulls up to inspect something that he has
no intention whatever of purchasing,
totally regardless of the important
contracts awaiting completion. At the west
end of the town, people have more leisure;
but even there business has to be transacted,
and the shops at Charing-cross
and Parliament-street (notoriously business
neighbourhoods), are continually
surrounded by respectable gentlemen of all
ages, who will clearly be late for the
appointments they are on their way to keep.

To this noble band of contemplative