ond what Britons or Yankees see at home!"

But the words and music of the song seemed known to me. Surely she is
now singing English while she shakes the golden sequins in her long jet
hair and rattles her tambourine? We asked a waiter, and he said she
could sing Turkish, Spanish, French, and English. At last being
persuaded that her pronunciation of English was too distinct for a
foreigner, we took the very bold measure of going up to the orchestra,
and saying to the young lady, "You are English, are you not?" She
stared, and held down her face, which still was pale, even if she blushed
and answered "Yes, sir." "Are you here alone?--no relation, no woman
friend with you?" "Yes." "And do they treat you well?" "Yes." "From
what part of England?" "From ---shire."

I said she seemed to mean the words of the song she had sung,

'I wish I were a bird, and I would flee away.'

and I asked if she could read, and would like a nice book. "Oh yes, I
should, and very much." Now there was a stall set up in the Exhibition
by "The Pure Literature Society," from 11, Buckingham Street, Adelphi,
London, which selects about three thousand books from various publishers,
but publishes none itself; gets no profits on its sales except thanks and
satisfaction; so that its catalogue is likely to contain what it may wish
should be read. {117} Here we selected a very interesting volume with
many illustrations, suitable for the girl's reading; and soon at the cafe
again, I bowed to the senior fiddler, who nodded assent, and then the
poor pale lonely girl had the pleasant book as a remembrance of home
placed in her hands, and a promise given her that a good Christian lady
would call that evening.

So perhaps our catalogue of nationalities at the Exhibition ought to be
somewhat abridged, and not wholly founded upon the variety it presents to
the eye; especially as in London, too, we may remember Punch's
crossing-sweeper, who, being dressed in Hindoo garb, begged from a
passer-by with, "Take pity on the poor Irishman--Injun, I mane."

On the Sunday the little dingey had its usual cargo, and the bargemen on
the Seine, in the heart of Paris, were just as glad as others elsewhere
to get something to read.

Among the curiosities exhibited in the English Naval Architecture
building here was a very beautiful model of the Rob Roy canoe, presented
to its owner by the builders, Messrs. Searle, who have already built some
hundreds of s