ndow! Can
it be a matter of surprise that, in countries where it is not
permitted to women to look at the show in this way, or even to appear
at the window, a substitute should be found by so arranging mirrors as
to represent within their very bed-chambers whatever happens in the
street below?

But the business of the day is nearly over. The chief thoroughfare is
well nigh deserted and we may now begin to dwell upon the
peculiarities of here and there one, as the laggards go loitering by,
some nearer and some further off, but all with a look of independence
and leisure not to be mistaken. And why? They have money in their
purses--the happy dogs--or what is better than money, character and
credit, or experience, or health and strength, and a willingness to
oblige.

Not so fast, if you please. What say you to that man with the pale
face and coal-black hair?

Let me see. What do I say of that man? Do you observe that slouched
hat, and old coat buttoned up to the chin?--the dangling of that old
beaver glove, and the huge twisted club--the slow and stately pace,
and the close fitting trowsers carefully strapped down over a pair of
well blacked shoes without heels, and therefore incapable of being
mistaken for boots.

There is no mistaking that man. He has seen better days; the world has
gone hard with him of late, and he is a--Ah! that lifting of the head
as he turns the corner! that gleam of sunshine, as he recovers and
touches his hat, after bowing to that fine woman who just brushed him
in passing, shows that he is still a gentleman; and, of course, can
have nothing to fear, whatever may happen to the rest of the world.
Fifty to one, if you dare, that he has just bethought himself of the
bankrupt law, of a bad debt which he begins to have some hope of, or
of the possibility of making up by his knowledge of the world for what
he wants in youth, should he think it worth his while to follow up the
acquaintance. Ah!--gone! He disappeared, adjusting his neckcloth, and
smiling and looking after the handsome widow, as if debating within
himself whether the advantage he had obtained by that one look were
really worth pursuing.

What ho! another! A vulgar phantom this--a fellow that has nothing to
do. After hurrying past a couple of women, hideously wrapped up, and
beyond all doubt, therefore, uglier than the witches of Macbeth, he
stops and leers after them--not stopping altogether, but just enough
to keep his head turned