Two great and ineradicable defects underlie the brightness and fascination of the external part of French character--namely, selfishness and insincerity. Perfect in manner, in dress, in grace, in suavity, in sweetness it may be, the French are utterly and wholly unreliable. They resemble the phantom woman in the story told by Leigh Hunt, that was only a suit of clothes, with no face beneath the hood and no body inside of the robes; or rather those malignant spirits that look like fair women when seen in front, but when seen from behind show only as hollow shells. And the tradespeople, the bourgeoisie--your dressmaker, your milliner, your tailor, your butcher and baker and candlestick-maker--skilled and suave and generally charming--O heaven and earth! how they do lie! Not occasionally, not when hard-pressed, not when truth will not do as well, but persistently, calmly, eternally. "I swear to you, monsieur," will your Parisian say, "that your work shall be done in two hours," Esteem yourself fortunate if it is finished in two days: very probably two weeks will see it still uncompleted. Send for a workman to execute some little job about your house. "He will come at once--yes, at once." Days roll round, and he never comes at all. Your dressmaker agrees to make you a dress for a certain price: your bill comes home for half as much again. An American in Paris ordered an extra door-key, giving the original key as a pattern. The key was to cost four francs. Here is a copy of the bill as presented: Francs. For taking off lock (a process wholly unnecessary, by the by), 1-1/2 For putting it on again, 1-1/2 Workman's time, 1 Journey from shop (about half a square), 1 Key, 4 ____ Total 9 Another American sent for a bell-hanger to inspect an electric bell which was thought to be out of order, but which proved on inspection to be all right. He got a bill of five francs, whereof one item ran thus: "_For looking at the bell_, 2 francs." He had not touched the thing, be it borne in mind.