stamps his foot on the floor. We see the door fly shut, as in a pantomime, no human agency being-visible, hear a bar fall "chump" against it from behind, hear the rattling of a chain, and it is all up with us there. We might kick at the thick door until we were tired, and expostulate with old Confucius there until morning, and it would avail us nothing. He knows what he is there for, and we need not waste our precious time on him. "No shabbe!" is the only answer we can get to all our inquiries; and he does not even wink when we shake two four-bit pieces under his nose. Better luck next time, perhaps! We try again a few doors further down the street—same result. It is evident that our friend the policeman is not looked upon with favor by the sentinels at the gateways of the palaces of sudden wealth, and we suggest to him that he withdraw to the opposite side of the street, and still keep an eye on us. Attempt No. 3. We see a peculiarly pleasant-looking Chinaman, whose face is familiar to us, at one of the doorways, and approach him: "Good evening, John." "Good evening, gentlemen." "Look here, John; these gentlemen come allee way from New York. No policeman; wante see you house; makee littee talkee;no more! You shabbee, John?" John, with bland, benevolent expression of countenance, which promises well, and raises our expectations to the highest pitch, bows gently, and thus delivers himself: "You likee see me; have littee talkee, eh? Welly good! Me likee see you, allee same. You come to-morrow, four o'clock!" Bang goes the door,
