cted.
Everything throughout the Fatherland is homely and friendly. The German
has no costly sports to pay for, no showy establishment to maintain, no
purse-proud circle to dress for. His chief pleasure, a seat at the opera
or concert, can be had for a few marks; and his wife and daughters walk
there in home-made dresses, with shawls over their heads. Indeed,
throughout the country the absence of all ostentation is to English eyes
quite refreshing. Private carriages are few and far between, and even
the droschke is made use of only when the quicker and cleaner electric
car is not available.

By such means the German retains his independence. The shopkeeper in
Germany does not fawn upon his customers. I accompanied an English lady
once on a shopping excursion in Munich. She had been accustomed to
shopping in London and New York, and she grumbled at everything the man
showed her. It was not that she was really dissatisfied; this was her
method. She explained that she could get most things cheaper and better
elsewhere; not that she really thought she could, merely she held it good
for the shopkeeper to say this. She told him that his stock lacked
taste--she did not mean to be offensive; as I have explained, it was her
method;--that there was no variety about it; that it was not up to date;
that it was commonplace; that it looked as if it would not wear. He did
not argue with her; he did not contradict her. He put the things back
into their respective boxes, replaced the boxes on their respective
shelves, walked into the little parlour behind the shop, and closed the
door.

"Isn't he ever coming back?" asked the lady, after a couple of minutes
had elapsed.

Her tone did not imply a question, so much as an exclamation of mere
impatience.

"I doubt it," I replied.

"Why not?" she asked, much astonished.

"I expect," I answered, "you have bored him. In all probability he is at
this moment behind that door smoking a pipe and reading the paper."

"What an extraordinary shopkeeper!" said my friend, as she gathered her
parcels together and indignantly walked out.

"It is their way," I explained. "There are the goods; if you want them,
you can have them. If you do not want them, they would almost rather
that you did not come and talk about them."

On another occasion I listened in the smoke-room of a German hotel to a
small Englishman telling a tale which, had I been in his place, I should
have kept to mys