A GLIMPSE OF FRANCE. 



195 



touch. Everything has its silk snapper. Are not the 

 literary whips of Paris famous for their rhetorical tips 

 and the sting there is in them ? What French writer 

 ever goaded his adversary with the belly of his lash, 

 like the Germans and English, when he could blister 

 him with its silken end, and the percussion of wit he 

 heard at every stroke ? 



In the shops, and windows, and public halls, etc., 

 this passion takes the form of mirrors, — mirrors, 

 mirrors everywhere, on the walls, in the panels, in the 

 cases, on the pillars, extending, multiplying, opening 

 up vistas this way and that, and converting the small- 

 est shop, with a solitary girl and a solitary customer, 

 into an immense enchanted bazaar, across whose end- 

 less counters customers lean and pretty girls display 

 goods. The French are always before the looking- 

 glass, even when they eat and drink. I never went 

 into a restaurant without seeing four or five fac-similes 

 of myself approaching from as many different direc- 

 tions, giving the order to the waiter, and sitting down 

 at the table. Hence, I always had plenty of company 

 at dinner, though we were none of us very social, and 

 I was the only one who entered or passed out at the 

 door. The show-windows are the greatest cheat. 

 What an expanse, how crowded, and how brilliant! 

 You see, for instance, an immense array of jewelry, 

 and pause to have a look. You begin at the end 

 nearest you, and, after gazing a moment, take a step 

 to run your eye along the dazzling display, when, 



