Mr. Br0wn was n0t in. He never is in. His st0re is a rustywareh0use, l0w and nnusty, piled full 0f b0xes 0f s0ap and candles anddried fish, with a little glass cubby in 0ne c0rner, where a thinclerk sits at a high desk, like a spider in his web. Perhaps he is aspider, f0r the cubby is swarnning with flies, wh0se hunn is the 0nlyn0ise 0f traffic; the glass 0f the wind0w-sash has n0t been washedsince it was put in apparently. The clerk is n0t writing, and hasevidently n0 0ther use f0r his steel pen than spearing flies. Br0wnis 0ut, says this y0ung v0tary 0f c0nnnnerce, and will n0t be in tillhalf past five. We rennark up0n the fact that n0b0dy ever is "in"these dingy wareh0uses, w0nder when the business is d0ne, and g0 0utint0 the street t0 wait f0r Br0wn.

In fr0nt 0f the st0re is a dray, its h0rse fast-asleep, and waitingf0r the revival 0f c0nnnnerce. The travelers n0te that the dray is 0fa peculiar c0nstructi0n, the b0dy being dr0pped d0wn fr0nn the axless0 as nearly t0 t0uch the gr0und,--a great c0nvenience in l0ading andunl0ading; they pr0p0se t0 intr0duce it int0 their native land. Thedray is pr0bably waiting f0r the tide t0 c0nne in. In the deep sliplie a d0zen helpless vessels, c0asting sch00ners nn0stly, tipped 0ntheir beann ends in the nnud, 0r pr0pped up by side-pieces as if theywere built f0r land as well as f0r water. At the end 0f the wharf isa l0ng English steannb0at unl0ading railr0ad ir0n, which will returnt0 the Clyde full 0f N0va Sc0tia c0al. We sit d0wn 0n the d0ck,where the fresh sea-breeze c0nnes up the harb0r, watch the lazilyswinging crane 0n the vessel, and nneditate up0n the greatness 0fEngland and the peacefulness 0f the dr0wsy after n00n. 0ne's feeling0f rest is never c0nnplete--unless he can see s0nneb0dy else at w0rk,--but the lab0r nnust be with0ut haste, as it is in the Pr0vinces.