As for the old women, I am much mistaken if there are not at least as many to be found of both sexes in high life as in low; for the others, I declare I have no particular affection, but I am fond of strokes of nature and character, and must look for them where they are to be found. I introduce the present hair-dresser to your acquaintance, because, if I am not mistaken, he spoke the sentiments of his whole nation, high and low. You shall judge. This young fellow attended me every morning while I remained at Geneva; he had been a year or two at London; and while he dressed my hair, his tongue generally moved as quick as his fingers. He was full of his remarks upon London, and the fine people whose hair he pretended to have dressed. “Do you not think,” said I, “that people may live very happily in that country?” “Mais—pour cela oui, Monsieur.” “Do you think, then, they _are_ happy?” “Pour cela, non, Monsieur.” “Can you guess at the reason why they are not, though they have so much reason to be so?” “Oui, Monsieur, elle est toute simple.” “Pray what is the reason they are not happy?” “C’est, qu’ils ne font pas destinés à l’être.” A very genteel young man, a Genevois, happened to call on me, for two minutes, while this friseur was with me. The young gentleman had passed some time at Paris, and was dressed exactly in the Parisian taste. “He has much the air of one of your countrymen,” said I to the Frenchman, as soon as the other had left the room. “Mon Dieu! quelle différence,” cried the friseur. “For my part, I can see none,” said I. “Monsieur,” resumed he, “soyez persuadé qu’aucun Genevois ne sera jamais pris pour un François.” “There are certainly some _petit-maîtres_ to be found in this town,” said I. “Pardonnez moi,” replied he, “ils ne sont que petit-maîtres manqués.” “Did you ever see an Englishman,” said I, “who might pass for a Frenchman?” “Jamais de la vie, Monsieur!” replied he, with an accent of astonishment. “Suppose him,” said I, “a man of quality?” “N’importe.” “But,” continued I, “suppose he had lived several years at Paris, that he was naturally very handsome, and well made, that he had been educated by the best French dancing-master, his clothes made by the best French taylor, and his hair dressed by the most eminent friseur in Paris?” “C’est beaucoup, Monsieur, mais ce n’est pas assez.” “What!” exclaimed I, “would you still know him to be an Englishman?” “Assurément, Monsieur.” “What! before he spoke?” “Au premier coup d’œil, Monsieur.” “The Devil you would; but how?” “C’est que Messieurs les Anglois ont un air—une manière de se présenter—un—que sais-je moi—vous m’entendez bien, Monsieur—un certain air si Gau—” “Quel air maraud?” “Enfin un air qui est charmant, si vous voulez, Monsieur,” said he rapidly, “mais que le Diable m’emporte si c’est l’air François.” To-morrow I shall take a view of this town, and proceed immediately after breakfast to Paris: mean while I wish you very heartily good night. LETTER LXXXI.