* * * * * THE GAME OF DRAUGHTS. (_By One who has Played it._) Assume that I am living in Yokohama Gardens (before the pleasant change from winter to spring), and that I am conscious of the near approach of the North Pole. The fires in the grates seem to be lukewarm, and even the coals are frozen. My servants have told me that the milk had to be melted before it could adorn the breakfast-table; and as for the butter, it is as hard as marble. There is only one thing to do, to send for that worthy creature Mr. LOPSIDE, an individual "who can turn his hand to anything." "Well Sir," Mr. LOPSIDE arrives and observes after a few moments spent in careful consideration of the subject from various points of view, "of course you feel the cold because there is five-and-twenty degrees of frost just outside." I admit that Mr. LOPSIDE'S opinion is reasonable; and call his attention to the fact that a newspaper which is lying on the floor some five yards from a closed door is violently agitated. "I see Sir," says he promptly. "If you will wait a moment I will tell you more about it." He takes off his coat, throws down a bag of tools (his chronic companion), and lies flat on the floor. Then he places his right ear to the ground and listens intently, pointing the while to the newspaper that has now ceased to suffer from agitation. "There you are, Sir!" he exclaims triumphantly. "There's a draught there. I could feel it distinctly." He rises from the ground, reassumes his overcoat, and once more possesses himself of his bag of useful instruments. "Well, what shall I do?" I ask. "Well, you see Sir, it's not for the likes of me to advise gentry folk like you. I wouldn't think of presuming upon such a liberty." "Not at all, Mr. LOPSIDE," I explain with some anxiety. "Then Sir--mind you, if it's not taking too much of a liberty--I would, having draughts, get rid of them. And you have draughts about, now haven't you?" I hasten to assure him that I am convinced that my house is a perfect nest of draughts. "Don't you be too sure until I have tested them," advises Mr. LOPSIDE. Then the ingenious creature again divests himself of his overcoat and workman's bag and commences his labours. He visits every door in the house and tries it. He assumes all sorts of attitudes. Now he appears like JESSIE BROWN at Lucknow listening to the distant slogan of the coming Highlanders. Now like a colleague of GUY FAWKES noting the tread of Lord MONTEAGLE on the road to the gunpowder cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament. His attitudes, if not exactly graceful, are full of character. "There are draughts everywhere," says Mr. LOPSIDE, having come to the end of his investigations. "And what shall I do?" I ask for the second time. Again my worthy inspector spends a few minutes in self-communing.