112 
A CRUSADE IN THE EAST. 
and this was partly the occasion of his present visit. As to 
wines, it was nonsense to undertake to drink any hut the pure 
Johannisberg; which he generally saw bottled on the Rhine 
every summer, in order to avoid imposition. His winters he 
spent chiefly in Spain ; it was the only country where good 
cream was to he had ; hut the coffee was inferior, and he 
sometimes had to cross the Pyrenees for want of a good cup 
of coffee. No mode of traveling suited him exactly—in fact, 
he disliked traveling. Riding he hated, because it jolted him; 
walking, because it tired him; the snow, because it was cold; 
the sun, because it was warm; Rome, because it was damp; 
Nice, because it was dry; Athens, because it was dusty. (By 
the way, I disliked Athens myself, chiefly on that account; 
Bimby was right there.) But it was impossible for him to 
live in America again. What could any man of taste do there ? 
No pictures, no ruins, no society, no opera, no classical asso¬ 
ciations—nothing at all, except business; and all sorts of 
business he despised. It was a ridiculous as well as a vulgar 
way of spending life. In fact, the only decent people he had 
met with were the French; a man might contrive to exist 
a while in Paris. Not that he approved altogether of the 
French language ; it wanted depth and richness ; the only 
language worthy a man of sense was the Sanscrit. As soon 
as he had suited himself in boots at Leipsic, he was going to 
perfect himself in Sanscrit at the University of Berlin ; after 
which he hoped to recover the effects of hard study by a tour 
through Bavaria, which was the only country on the face of 
the earth where the beer was fit to drink. 
Unhappy Bimby ! miserable Bimby ! Man wants but lit¬ 
tle here below, as a general rule ; but there are exceptions. 
Bimby will be the victim of want to the last day of his life. 
If not born in him, it was bred in him by bad training, or no 
training at all. 
But enough of human frailties. Bimby has a kind heart, 
and really wants nothing to make him a very good fellow, 
except ten hours a day of useful employment. 
The next steamer for Constantinople was fortunate enough 
to escape the vexations of quarantine. I got my ticket duly 
