ut of
the commonplace and familiar regions of our experience: we are in the
Court of the Great Khan, we are pitching tents under the shadows of
the ruined temples of Tadmor, we are sitting on a fallen block of the
Pyramids, or a fragment of the broken nose of the Sphynx, dickering
with Arab Shieks, opposing Yankee shrewdness to Ishmaelitish greed
and cunning: we are shooting crocodiles on the white Nile, unearthing
the winged lions of Ezekiel's vision on the Tigris--watching the
night-dance of the Devil-worshipers on their mountains, negotiating
with the shrewd penny-turning patriarch of Armenia for a sample from
his holy-oil manufactory at Erivan, drinking coffee at Damascus, and
sherbet at Constantinople, lunching in the vale of Chaumorng, taking
part in a holy _fete_ at Rome, and a merry Christmas at Berlin. We
look into the happiness of traveling through the eyes of others, and,
for the miseries of it, we enjoy _them_ exceedingly. Very cool and
comfortable are we while reading the poor author's account of his
mishaps, hair-breadth escapes, hunger, cold, and nakedness. We take
a deal of satisfaction in his moscheto persecutions and night-long
battles with sanguinary fleas. The discomforts and grievances of his
palate under the ordeal of foreign cooking were a real relish for us.
On a hot morning in the tropics, we see him pulling on his stocking
with a scorpion in it, and dancing in involuntary joy under the
effects of the sting. Let him dance; it is all for our amusement. Let
him meet with what he will--robbers, cannibals, jungle-tigers, and
rattlesnakes, the more the better--since we know that he will get
off alive, and come to regard them so many god-sends in the way of
book-making.

The volumes now before us are not only seasonable as respects the
world-wide curiosity in regard to California--the new-risen empire on
the Pacific--abounding, as they do, in valuable facts and statistics,
but they have in a high degree that charm of personal adventure and
experience to which we have referred. Bayard Taylor is a born tourist.
He has eyes to see, skill to make the most of whatever opens before
him under the ever-shifting horizon of the traveler. He takes us along
with him, and lets us into the secret of his own hearty enjoyment.
Much of what he describes has already become familiar to us from the
notes of a thousand gold-seekers, who have sent home such records as
they could of their experiences in a strange land. Yet