them--at least some of it; and in any case should not regret an
opportunity again to see standard descriptions of world-famed scenes and
historic monuments. Of the other class, it may be said that, in any
profitable trip to Europe, an indispensable thing is to go there possest
of a large stock of historical knowledge, not to say with some distinct
understanding of the profound significance to our American civilization,
past, present, and future, of the things to be seen there. As has so often
been said, one finds in Europe what one takes there--that is, we recognize
there exactly those things which we have learned to understand at home.
Without an equipment of this kind, the trip will mean little more than a
sea-voyage, good or bad, a few rides on railroads somewhat different from
our own, meals and beds in hotels not quite like ours, and opportunities
to shop in places where a few real novelties may be found if one searches
for them long enough.

No sooner has an American tourist found himself on board a ship, bound for
Europe, than he is conscious of a social system quite unlike the one in
which he was born and reared. On French ships he may well think himself
already in France. The manners of sailors, no less than those of officers,
proclaim it, the furniture proclaims it, and so do woodwork, wall
decorations, the dinner gong (which seems to have come out of a chateau in
old Touraine), and the free wine at every meal. The same is quite as true
of ships bound for English and German ports; on these are splendid order,
sober taste, efficiency in servants, and calls for dinner that start
reminiscences of hunting horns.

The order and system impress one everywhere on these ships. Things are all
in their proper place, employees are at their proper posts, doing their
work, or alert to do it when the need comes. Here the utmost quiet
prevails. Each part of the great organization is so well adjusted to other