natives of France come to London, they appear in all public
places, with cloaths made according to the fashion of their own
country, and this fashion is generally admired by the English.
Why, therefore, don't we follow it implicitly? No, we pique
ourselves upon a most ridiculous deviation from the very modes we
admire, and please ourselves with thinking this deviation is a
mark of our spirit and liberty. But, we have not spirit enough to
persist in this deviation, when we visit their country:
otherwise, perhaps, they would come to admire and follow our
example: for, certainly, in point of true taste, the fashions of
both countries are equally absurd. At present, the skirts of the
English descend from the fifth rib to the calf of the leg, and
give the coat the form of a Jewish gaberdine; and our hats seem
to be modelled after that which Pistol wears upon the stage. In
France, the haunch buttons and pocketholes are within half a foot
of the coat's extremity: their hats look as if they had been
pared round the brims, and the crown is covered with a kind of
cordage, which, in my opinion, produces a very beggarly effect.
In every other circumstance of dress, male and female, the
contrast between the two nations, appears equally glaring. What
is the consequence? when an Englishman comes to Paris, he cannot
appear until he has undergone a total metamorphosis. At his first
arrival he finds it necessary to send for the taylor, perruquier,
hatter, shoemaker, and every other tradesman concerned in the
equipment of the human body. He must even change his buckles, and
the form of his ruffles; and, though at the risque of his life,
suit his cloaths to the mode of the season. For example, though
the weather should be never so cold, he must wear his habit
d'ete, or demi-saison. without presuming to put on a warm dress
before the day which fashion has fixed for that purpose; and