as a store, a laboratory, or a dining-room; the gallery is, properly speaking, nothing more than a warehouse for the shop, containing a reserve of the articles sold, which are arranged in it with great order; the two little rooms adjoining, usually encumbered with chests and bales, afford an asylum during the night to two or three shopmen, while the terrace is used for airing goods that have been a long time warehoused, to beat stuffs, and, in the case of the druggists, to dry plants.
As I have already said, the shop-fronts are encircled outside by magnificent signs, admirably varnished, and having gilt characters; those which are placed vertically present a double front, forming an angle towards the street, so that you perceive them from whichever side you come. You enter the shop by a broad opening, destitute of anything like windows or doors. To the left, on the threshold itself, you perceive in the wall, a small niche consecrated to the Chinese Mercury, the God of Riches, before whom chips of wood, more or less odoriferous, are burning incessantly.
The jolly little god is seated, with his legs crossed; he has got a pot-belly, and smiles, as though he meant to say: "Of all the gods, I am the most honoured," and, upon my word, he is right. His little cell is most carefully attended to; the roof of his small temple is always smoked by the offerings; and, on a little red tablet, is traced
