ABSTRACT
As you walk along the deserted streets, and glance up at each floor, you never see a human head at the windows ; nothing, indeed, but p ies of goods, as if the shops had started to the upper stories as in a pantomime trick. The iron venetian-blind-like shutters are down before every shop-window, ribbed as the sail of a Chinese junk, while before them slants the daylight reflector, casting its patch of brilliance vainly on the closed shop fronts.
