these sounds are produced by the aid of the calls, but are simply the
fruit of long and assiduous practice on the part of the gifted
performer.

On, on, still up the Bowery, of which the end is not yet. Great numbers
of people are passing to and fro, an excess of the feminine element
being generally observable. The sidewalks are cumbered with rough wooden
cases. As in Chatham Street, the shop-keepers--or "merchants," if they
insist on being so designated--are sitting, mostly, outside their doors.
Garlands of hosiery and forests of hoop-skirts wave beneath the
awnings,--for most of the Bowery shops have awnings,--making the
sidewalk in front of them a sort of arcade for the display of their
goods. But the time has come now for taking in all these waving things
for the night, and the young men and girls of the shops are unhooking
them with long poles, or handing them down from step-ladders planted in
the middle of the sidewalk. Ranged outside the larger establishments
are rows of headless dummies, intended to represent the female form
divine, and to show off on their inanimate busts and shoulders the
sweetest assortments ever seen of new things in summer fashions. These
headless dummies of the Bowery have a very ghastly look at night. They
suggest a procession of the ghosts of Bluebeard's wives, who, true to
their instincts while in life, nightly revisit the "ladies' furnishing
establishments" here, to rummage among scarfs and ribbons, and don for
the brief hour before cock-crow the valuable stuffs and stuffings that
are yet so dear to them.

Yonder is a group curious for color, and one well worth the
consideration of a painter who has a fancy for striking effects. A negro
girl with hot corn for sale stands just outside the reflection from a
druggist's window, the bars of red and green light from the colored jars
in which fall weirdly on the faces of two men who are buying from her.
The trade in boots and shoes is briskly carried on, even at this late
hour of the night. In the Bowery this trade is very extensive. Long
strings of boots and shoes hang from the door-posts. Trays of the same
articles are displayed outside, and it seems an easy matter for any
nocturnal prowler to help himself, _en passant_, from the boxes full of
cordwainers' work that stand on the edge of the footway next the street.
On the eastern side of the way, there are fewer lights to be seen now
than there were an hour ago. The tradespeople over ther