But what is in other shops?
O, everything; elegant displays of gentlemen's furnishing goods, of shirts, under-clothing, socks and gloves, of a variety, fineness, and beauty I had never seen before; gloves, fans, fancy goods, China ware; toy shops, shops of English games, cricket furniture, bats, balls, &c.; elegant wine and preserve magazines—where were conserves, preserves, condiments, pickles, cheeses, dried fruits, dried meats, and appetizing delicacies from every part of the globe, enough to drive an epicure crazy. At these great establishments are put up the "hampers" that go to supply parties who go to the races or picnics. You order a five-shilling or five-pound hamper, and are supplied accordingly—meat-pies, cold tongues, fowls, game, wines, ales, pickles. There are English pickles, Dutch saur krout, French pâte de foie gras, Finnian haddock, German sausages, Italian macaroni, American buffalo tongues, and Swiss cheeses, in stacks. That is what astonishes the American—the enormous stock in these retail establishments, and the immense variety of styles of each article; but it should be remembered that this is the market of the world, and the competition here is sharp. Go into a store for a pair of gloves, even, mention the size you desire, and the salesman will show you every variety in kid, French dogskin, cloth, and leather; for soiree, promenade, driving, travelling, and every species of use, and different styles and kinds for each use. The salesmen understand their business, which is to sell goods; they are polite, they suggest wants, they humor your merest whim in hue, pattern, style, or fancy; they make no rude endeavor to force goods upon you, but are determined you shall have just what you want; wait upon you with assiduous politeness, and seem to have been taught their occupation.
One misses that sort of independent nonchalance with which an American retail salesman throws out one article at a time, talking politics or of the weather to you, while you yourself turn over the goods, place them, and adjust them for the effect of light or shade, as he indolently looks on, or persistently battles in argument with you, that what he has shown you is what you ought to have, instead of what you demand and want; also that American style of indifference, or independence, as to whether you purchase or not, and the making of you—as you ascertain after shopping in London—do half the salesman's work. The London shopman understands that deference is the best card in the pack, and plays it skilfully. He attends to you assiduously; he is untiring to suit your taste. If he sells you a ribbon, the chances are that you find, before leaving, you have purchased gloves, fan, and kerchief besides, and it is not until you finally take your departure that he ventures to remark that "it is a very fine day."
Many of the London first-class establishments, such as tailors, furnishing-goods dealers, umbrella stores, shoemakers, cheesemongers, or fancy-grocery stores, have two stores, one in Regent Street, the fashionable quarter, and one in the city, say down towards the Bank, in Threadneedle Street, Poultry, Cheapside, &c. The "city" or down-town store of the same firm, it is well known to Londoners, will sell the same goods and same articles at least five per cent. cheaper than the up-town Regent or Oxford Street one will.
Besides serviceable boots and shoes, gentlemen's wearing apparel, and under-clothing, buy your umbrellas in England. They make this article splendidly, doubtless from its being an article of such prime necessity. The English umbrella is made light, shapely, and strong, of the best materials,—if you get them of a dealer of reputation, Sangster's, for instance,—they will keep their shape until completely worn out.
While in London, purchase whatever trunks, portmanteaus, or valises you may need for your continental tour. London is the paradise of this species of merchandise, and in Paris you will learn too late that trunk-making is not a Frenchman's art, though if you reach Vienna, the headquarters of the elegant Russia leather work, you will find articles there in the travelling-bag line, at very moderate prices, that will enable you to make the most distinguished carpet-bagger in your own country die of envy.
It is said that London is headquarters for gentlemen's clothing, and Paris for ladies'. London sets the fashion for gentlemen in dress, and Paris that for the gentler sex, although in the article of men's hats, gloves, and dress boots, I believe the Frenchman has "the inside of the track." A French boot is made for grace and beauty, an English one for service and comfort. An English hat, like an English dog-cart, has too much "timber" in it, and a French glove is unapproachable. Many Americans leave their measure, and now order their clothes of Poole & Co., Sackville Street, or Creed & Co., Conduit Street, Bond Street, both crack West End tailors. Others order of some of the city tailors down town, who, doubtless, suit them equally well, and use just as good materials, having the custom of some of the old particular London merchants, who like to step into a solid, old-fashioned, down-in-the-city store, where their predecessors traded,—like Sam Hodgkinson's, in Threadneedle Street, opposite Merchant Tailors' Hall,—and buy at an old established stand, a place that has the aroma of age about it. The older a business stand, the more value it seems to possess in customers' eyes; and there is something in it. For a store that has built up a reputation, and been known as a good boot, tailor's, or hat store, with that stamp of indorsement, "established in 1798," or eighteen hundred and something, more than forty years ago, is about as good an indorsement as "bootmaker to the Duke of Cambridge," or Lord Stuckup, and a reputation which the occupant of said establishment does not trifle with, but labors to preserve and increase, as a part of his capital and stock in trade.
Your English tailor of reputation is rather more careful than the American one. He makes an appointment, and tries the garment on you after it is cut out, comes to your hotel, if you are a stranger and cannot come to him, to do so, and his two workmen who wait upon you, measure, snip, mould, and adapt their work, appear to take as much pride in their occupation as a sculptor or artist. Indeed, they consider themselves "artists" in their line; for Creed & Co's card, which lies before me as I write, announces "H. Creed & Co." to be "Artistes in Draping the Real Figure," and gives the cash-on-delivery purchaser ten per cent. advantage over the credit customer.
Furs are another article that can be bought very cheap in London. But I must not devote too much space to shopping; suffice it to say that the windows of the great magazines of merchandise in Oxford and Regent Streets form in themselves a perfect museum of the products of the world,—and I have spent hours in gazing in at them,—for the art of window-dressing is one which is well understood by their proprietors.
A volume might be written—in fact, volumes have been written—about London streets, and the sights seen in them. It seemed so odd to be standing opposite old Temple Bar, on the Strand, to see really those names we had so often read of, to wonder how long the spirit of American improvement would suffer such a barrier as that Bar to interrupt the tremendous rush of travel that jams, and crowds, and surges through and around it. Here is Prout's tooth-brush store close at hand. Everybody knows that Prout's brushes are celebrated. We step in to price some. "One shilling each, sir." You select twelve, give him a sovereign. He takes out ten shillings. "The price, sir, at wholesale." The reputation of that place would suffer, in the proprietor's opinion, if he had allowed a stranger to have gone, even if satisfied, away, and that stranger had afterwards ascertained that the price per dozen was less, and that any one could purchase less than he. So much for the honor of "old-established" places.