comical; and the shopkeeper proceeded to look for what was required
with a superb carelessness, and an air of utter weariness and disgust
of this incessant doing of favors to the most undeserving and
insignificant people. It was plainly an act of pure grace that the
Easy Chair was not instantly shot into the street as rubbish, or given
in charge to the police as a common vagabond.

This worthy attendant--doubtless very estimable in his private
capacity--is a serious injury to the business which he is supposed to
help. He does not in the least understand his profession. Let an Easy
Chair advise him to run over the sea to Paris, and observe how they
keep shop in that capital. Does he want a cravat? Here is a houri,
neatly dressed, evidently long waiting for him especially, and eager
to serve him. "Is it a cravat that Monsieur wishes? Charming! The most
ravishing styles are just ready! Is it blue, or this, or that, that
Monsieur prefers? Monsieur's taste is perfect. Look! It is a miracle
of beauty that he selects. Will he permit?" And before you know it,
you foolish fellow, who don't understand the first principle of your
calling--before you know it, she has thrown it around your neck, she
has tied it deftly under your chin, and that pretty face is looking
into yours, and that pleasant voice is saying, "Nothing could be
better. It is the most smiling effect possible!" You might as well
hope to escape the sirens, as to go from under those hands without
buying that cravat.

This is shopkeeping, and a little study of the art, as thus practised,
would be of the utmost service to the Easy Chair's friend in Maiden
Lane. The shops there are pretty, and especially during the holidays
they are glittering, but they are a little cold and formal. The air of
the Boulevards is to be detected only in the neighborhood of Corporal