Rose at eight. After breakfast, dawdled about till near one o'clock: got into a hackney coach[16] with D----, and returned all manner of cards. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Went into a shop to order a pair of shoes. The shopkeepers in this place, with whom I have hitherto had to deal, are either condescendingly familiar, or insolently indifferent in their manner. Your washer woman sits down before you, while you are _standing_ speaking to her; and a shop-boy bringing things for your inspection not only sits down, but keeps his hat on in your drawing-room. The worthy man to whom I went for my shoes was so amazingly ungracious, that at first I thought I would go out of the shop; but recollecting that I should probably only go farther and fare worse, I gulped, sat down, and was measured. All this is bad: it has its origin in a vulgar misapprehension, which confounds ill-breeding with independence, and leads people to fancy that they elevate themselves above their condition by discharging its duties and obligations discourteously.[17] * * * * * Came home: wrote journal, practised, dressed for dinner. At five, went into our neighbour's: Dr. ----, the rector of Grace Church, was the only stranger. I liked him extremely: he sat by me at dinner, and I thought his conversation sufficiently clever, with an abundance of goodness, and liberal benevolent feeling shining through it. We retired to our room, where Mrs. ---- made me laugh extremely with sundry passages of her American experiences. I was particularly amused with her account of their stopping, after a long day's journey, at an inn somewhere, when the hostess, who remained in the room the whole time, addressed her as follows: "D'ye play?" pointing to an open piano-forte. Mrs. ---- replied that she did so sometimes; whereupon the free-and-easy landlady ordered candles, and added, "Come, sit down and give us a tune, then;" to which courteous and becoming invitation Mrs. ---- replied by taking up her candle, and walking out of the room. The pendant to this is Mr. ----'s story. He sent a die of his crest to a manufacturer, to have it put upon his gig harness. The man sent home the harness, when it was finished, but without the die; after sending for which sundry times, Mr. ---- called to enquire after it himself, when the reply was:-- "Lord! why I didn't know you wanted it." "I tell you, I wish to have it back." "Oh, pooh! you can't want it much, now--do you?" "I tell you, sir, I desire to have the die back immediately." "Ah well, come now, what'll you take for it?" "D'ye think I mean to sell my crest? why you might as well ask me to sell my name." "Why, you see, a good many folks have seen it, and want to have it on their harness, as it's a pretty looking concern enough." So much for their ideas of a crest. This though, by the by, happened some years ago.