of
self-complacency, amounting almost to impertinence, practised by this
class, cannot fail to surprise persons accustomed to the civility and
assiduity of those in London, who, whether the purchases made in their
shops be large or small, evince an equal politeness to the buyers.

In Paris, the tradesman assumes the right of dictating to the taste of
his customers; in London, he only administers to it. Enter a Parisian
shop, and ask to be shewn velvet, silk, or riband, to assort with a
pattern you have brought of some particular colour or quality, and the
mercer, having glanced at it somewhat contemptuously, places before you
six or eight pieces of a different tint and texture.

You tell him that they are not similar to the pattern, and he answers,
"That may be; nevertheless, his goods are of the newest fashion, and
infinitely superior to your model." You say, "You prefer the colour of
your pattern, and must match it." He produces half-a-dozen pieces still
more unlike what you require; and to your renewed assertion that no
colour but the one similar to your pattern will suit you, he assures
you, that his goods are superior to all others, and that what you
require is out of fashion, and a very bad article, and, consequently,
that you had much better abandon your taste and adopt his. This counsel
is given without any attempt at concealing the contempt the giver of it
entertains for your opinion, and the perfect satisfaction he indulges
for his own.

You once more ask, "If he has got nothing to match the colour you
require?" and he shrugs his shoulders and answers, "_Pourtant_, madame,
what I have shewn you is much superior," "Very possible; but no colour
will suit me but this one," holding up the pattern; "for I want to
replace a breadth of a new dress to which an accident has occurred."

"_Pourtant_, madame, my colours are precisely the same, but the quality
of the materials is infinitely better!" and with this answer, after
having lost half an hour--if not double that time--you are compelled to
be satisfied, and leave the shop, its owner looking as if he considered
you a person of decidedly bad taste, and very troublesome into the
bargain.

Similar treatment awaits you in every shop; the owners having, as it
appears to me, decided on shewing you only what _they_ approve, and not
what you seek. The women of high rank in France seldom, if ever, enter
any shop except that of Herbault, who is esteemed the _modiste, par