burg. When we had got through with the British isles, the
antiquities of which seemed flat and uninteresting to me, after having
seen those that were so much more _antique_, we returned to Paris, in
order that I might become a man of the world, if possible, by rubbing
off the provincial specks that had unavoidably adhered to the American
diamond while in its obscurity.

My uncle Ro was fond of Paris, and he had actually become the owner of a
small hotel in the faubourg, in which he retained a handsome furnished
apartment for his own use. The remainder of the house was let to
permanent tenants; but the whole of the first floor, and of the
_entresol_, remained in his hands. As a special favour, he would allow
some American family to occupy even his own apartment--or rather
_appartement_, for the words are not exactly synonymous--when he
intended to be absent for a term exceeding six months, using the money
thus obtained in keeping the furniture in repair, and his handsome suite
of rooms, including a _salon_, _salle a manger_, _ante-chambre_,
_cabinet_, several _chambres a coucher_, and a _boudoir_--yes, a male
_boudoir_! for so he affected to call it--in a condition to please even
his fastidiousness.

On our arrival from England, we remained an entire season at Paris, all
that time rubbing the specks off the diamond, when my uncle suddenly
took it into his head that we ought to see the East. He had never been
further than Greece, himself; and he now took a fancy to be my companion
in such an excursion. We were gone two years and a half, visiting
Greece, Constantinople, Asia Minor, the Holy Land, Petra, the Red Sea,
Egypt quite to the second cataracts, and nearly the whole of Barbary.
The latter region we threw in, by way of seeing something out of the
common track. But so many hats and travelling-caps are to be met with,
now-a-days, among the turbans, that a well-mannered Christian may get
along almost anywhere without being spit upon. This is a great
inducement for travelling generally, and ought to be so especially to an
American, who, on the whole, incurs rather more risk now of suffering
this humiliation at home, than he would even in Algiers. But the animus
is everything in morals.

We had, then, been absent two years and a half from Paris, and had not
seen a paper or received a letter from America in eighteen months, when
we drove through the barrier. Even the letters and papers received or
seen previously to thi