- Ah, could I peep at him by stealth Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude On house itself, what scenes were viewed!

IV

"If wide and showy thus the shop,

What must the habitation prove? The true house with no name a-top The mansion, distant one remove, Once get him off his traffic-groove!

V

"Pictures he likes, or books perhaps;
And as for buying most and best,
Commend me to these City chaps!
Or else he's social, takes his rest
On Sundays, with a Lord for guest.

VI

"Some suburb-palace, parked about
And gated grandly, built last year:
The four-mile walk to keep off gout;
Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer:
But then he takes the rail, that's clear.

VII

"Or stop! I wager, taste selects

Some out o' the way, some all-unknown Retreat: the neighbourhood suspects

Little that he who rambles lone

:

Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"

VIII

Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence

Fit to receive and entertain,

Nor Hampstead villa's kind defence

From noise and crowd, from dust and drain,— Nor country-box was soul's domain!

IX

Nowise! At back of all that spread
Of merchandise, woe's me, I find
A hole i' the wall where, heels by head,
The owner couched, his ware behind,
In cupboard suited to his mind.

X

For why? He saw no use of life

But, while he drove a roaring trade,

To chuckle "Customers are rife!"

To chafe "So much hard cash outlaid
Yet zero in my profits made!

XI

"This novelty costs pains, but takes? Cumbers my counter! Stock no more! This article, no such great shakes,

Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore

The cheap thing - thousands to the fore!"

XII

'Twas lodging best to live most nigh
(Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)

Receipt of Custom; ear and eye

Wanted no outworld: "Hear and see
The bustle in the shop!" quoth he.

XIII

My fancy of a merchant-prince

Was different. Through his wares we groped Our darkling way to not to mince

The matter

no black den where moped

The master if we interloped!

XIV

Shop was shop only: household-stuff?

What did he want with comforts there? "Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough, So goods on sale show rich and rare! 'Sell and send home' be shop's affair!"

XV

What might he deal in? Gems, suppose!
Since somehow business must be done
At cost of trouble, see, he throws
You choice of jewels, everyone,

Good, better, best, star, moon and sun!

XVI

Which lies within your power of purse?
This ruby that would tip aright
Solomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurse
Wants simply coral, the delight
Of teething baby,- stuff to bite!

XVII

Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took
Your purchase, prompt your money rang
On counter, scarce the man forsook
His study of the Times, just swang
Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang,

XVIII

Then off made buyer with a prize,

Then seller to his Times returned
And so did day wear, wear, till eyes
Brightened apace, for rest was earned:
He locked door long ere candle burned.

XIX

And whither went he? Ask himself,

Not me! To change of scene, I think.
Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,
Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,
Nor all his music
money-chink.

XX

Because a man has shop to mind

In time and place, since flesh must live,
Needs spirit lack all life behind,

All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,
All loves except what trade can give?

XXI

I want to know a butcher paints,
A baker rhymes for his pursuit,

Candlestick-maker much acquaints
His soul with song, or, haply mute,
Blows out his brains upon the flute!

XXII

But shop each day and all day long!
Friend, your good angel slept, your star
Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!

From where these sorts of treasures are,
There should our hearts be Christ, how far!
ROBERT BROWNING.

EVELYN HOPE

I

BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass;

Little has yet been changed, I think: The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.

II

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim,

Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir,