After shopping abroad, the good, square, solid honesty of the London shopmen is more fully appreciated, and especially do Americans see here that there is an effort by the tradesman who has gained any celebrity for a specialty—the tailor, boot maker, the umbrella maker, or even a mutton pie vender, to keep his articles up to the original standard, that they may be always reliable, and become a proverb among purchasers. This is in contrast with many of our American dealers, who, after "getting a run" on goods, endeavor to realize a larger and more immediate profit by adroitly lowering the standard of quality, or by skilful adulteration.
But we must pack our trunks for the homeward voyage. A very large portion of this preparation I had done in Paris by a professional packer, styled an emballeur, an individual so skilled in folding ladies' voluminous dresses and gentlemen's coats, that they come forth without a wrinkle, and who stows away in one of your trunks almost double the amount that you think it could possibly be made to contain—a service, the expense of which is trifling, but which saves the tourist a vast amount of-time, as well as vexatious and tedious labor.
More than six months of "living in a trunk," and a constant succession of novelty, and continuous travel from one point to another, living at hotels, "grand" good, indifferent, and bad, naturally incline one to long for rest and quiet; and, passionately fond of travel as one may be, there are but few I have ever encountered, who devoted half a year constantly and faithfully to it, but were willing to acknowledge sight-seeing to be some of the hardest labor they ever performed.
There is one thing that also tends to give the student or lover of travel something of an unsatisfied feeling, as his journey draws near its close, especially if he has been limited as to time; and that is, the thought of how much there is in Europe to study and to see, and how little, comparatively, he has accomplished. Yet, even with this feeling, the author could not help hugging to his heart the real, solid enjoyment that had been experienced in visiting those scenes hallowed in dreams of youthful imagination, in realizing the hopes—and anticipations of years, and also the thought of what a pleasure the memory of these sights and scenes in foreign lands would be, in years to come, as they were recalled to mind.
"But the ship it is ready,
And the wind it is fair,"
and O, how far our home does seem from us over the ocean, now that we have had practical experience upon its broad billows. But this thought is lost in the anticipation of meeting friends and loved ones whom we have not looked upon for six long months, and a return to familiar scenes of home, for which the heart yearns, notwithstanding the attractions by which we may be surrounded.
A last shopping in London for English umbrellas, ladies' water-proofs, French dog-skin gloves (made in England), English walking shoes, Cartwright & Warner's under clothing, sole leather trunks, furs, which you can buy so very much cheaper than in America; books, such as you think you can get through the custom-house; a few comforts for the voyage, which former experience has taught you that you will require, and you are ready.
Down to the office of the Cunard steamers, in London, we went, to learn at what hour the ship would leave Liverpool, and other particulars. This office we found to be in one of those buildings which your genuine Londoner so delights in for a place of business. The greater the magnitude of a merchant's or banker's business, and the wealthier he is, the more dingy, contracted, dark, and inconvenient he seems to like to have his counting-house or business quarters. There is nothing the old-fashioned London millionnaire seems to have such a horror of, as a bright, fresh office, with plate glass, oak or marble counters, plenty of light, broad mahogany desks, and spacious counting-house. He seems to delight in a dingy old building, down in the depths of the city, with walls thick enough for a fortification; built, perhaps, in Queen Elizabeth's time, and so smoke-begrimed that you can't tell the original color of the stones. A narrow, squat doorway, over which an almost obliterated sign-board bears the name of the firm,—the original members of which have been dead a century, and not one of the present members bears it,—is an indication of the Englishman's substantial character, and how averse he is to change,—knowing that with his countrymen, the knowledge that the firm of "Fogy Brothers" has been known all over the world for a century as responsible merchants, is capital in itself, and one worth having.