You remember, I am quite sure, that pretty chapter consecrated by Sterne, in his /Sentimental Journey/, to the beautiful Grisette who sold Gloves, into whose shop he entered to ask his way. The pretty Glove-seller coquets with the stranger, shows herself extremely complaisant, and the sentimental traveller, to prove his gratitude for her kindness, asks for some Gloves, and tries on several pairs without finding one to suit him. But he takes two or three pairs all the same before he goes. The story leaves a fresh feature in the mind: an English artist has fixed it with much delicacy on a remarkable canvas, which figures in the National Gallery. The authors of the /Vie Parisienne/ were surely inspired by it a little later in their joyous libretto, when they wrote the well-known couplets of the lady who sold Gloves and the Brazilian. Permit me also to relate to you an anecdote, rather slight in texture, of which Duclos is the hero, and which has all the flavour of his roguish age:-- The author of /Manners/ was bathing on the flowery borders of the Seine, and giving himself up to skilled /hand-over-hand/, when he suddenly heard piercing cries of distress. He rushes out of the water, runs up the bank without taking time to slip on his "indispensables," and finds a young and charming woman, whose carriage had just been overturned in a rut. He hastens to beauty in tears, lying on the ground, and making a gracious bow, in his academic nudity, "Madam," says he, in offering her his hand to assist her to rise, "pardon my want of Gloves."