his, and adjust their lives to it,
but all classes of public and domestic servants--indeed, all men are
subject to it, whether servants or barristers, lawmakers or kings.

Emerging from his hotel for a walk in the street, the tourist, even tho
his visit be not the first, will note the ancient look of things. Here are
buildings that have survived for two, or even five, hundred years, and yet
they are still found fit for the purposes to which they are put. Few
buildings are tall, the "skyscraper" being undiscoverable. On great and
crowded thoroughfares one may find buildings in plenty that have only two,
or at most three, stories, and their windows small, with panes of glass
scarcely more than eight by ten. The great wall mass and dome of St.
Paul's, the roof and towers of Westminster Abbey, unlike the lone spire of
old Trinity in New York, still rise above all the buildings around them as
far as the eye can reach, just about as they did in the days of Sir
Christopher Wren.

Leaving a great thoroughfare for a side street, a stone's throw may bring
one to a friend's office, in one of those little squares so common in the
older parts of London. How ancient all things here may seem to him, the
very street doorway an antiquity, and so the fireplace within, the hinges
and handles of the doors. From some upper rear window he may look out on
an extension roof of solid lead, that has survived, sound and good, after
the storms of several generations, and beyond may look into an ancient
burial ground, or down upon the grass-plots and ample walks around a
church (perchance the Temple Church), and again may see below him the tomb
of Oliver Goldsmith.

In America we look for antiquities to Boston, with her Long Wharf, or
Faneuil Hall; to New York, with her Fraunccs Tavern and Van Cortlandt
Manor House; to Jamestown with her lone, crumbling church tower; to the
Pacific coast with her Franciscan mission houses; to St. Augustine with
her Spanish gates; but all these are young and blushing things compared
with the historic places of the British Isles. None of them, save one, is
of greater age than a century and a half. Even the exception (St.
Augustine) is a child in arms compared with Westminster Hall, the Tower of
London, St. Martin's of Canterbury, the ruined abbey of Glastonbury, the
remains of churches on the island of Iona, or the oldest ruins found in
Ireland.

What to an American is ancient history, to an Englishman is an affai