I suppose it must be a part of that perversity that pertains to human nature in everything, but now that I have determined on going home again, I fancy I can detect a hundred advantages to be derived from foreign travel and foreign residence. You will, of course, meet me by saying, "What are your own experiences, Kenny Dodd? Do they serve to confirm this impression? Have you the evidences of such within the narrow circle of your own family?" No, Tom, I must freely own I have not But I am, perhaps, able to say why it has been so, and even that same is something. You can scarcely take up a number of the "Times" without reading of some newly arrived provincial in London being "done" by sharpers, through the devices of a very stale piece of roguery; his appearance, his dress, and his general air being the signs which have proclaimed him a fit subject for deception. So it is abroad; a certain class of travellers, the "Dodds" for instance, ramble about Switzerland and the Rhine country, John Murray in hand, speaking unintelligible French, and poking their noses everywhere. So long as they are migratory, they form the prey of innkeepers and the harvest of _laquais de place_; but when they settle and domesticate, they become the mark for ridicule for some, and for robbery from others. If they be wealthy, much is conceded to them for their money,--that is, their house will be frequented, their dinners eaten, their balls danced at; but as to any admission into "the society" of the place, they have no chance of it. Some Lord George of their acquaintance, cut by his equals, and shunned by his own set, will undertake to provide them guests; and so far as their own hospitalities extend, they will be "in the world," but not one jot further. The illustrious company that honors your _soirée_ amuses itself with racy stories of your bad French, or flippant descriptions of your wife's "toilette;" nor is it enough that they ridicule these, but they will even make laughing matter of your homely notions of right and wrong, and scoff at what you know and feel to be the very best things in your nature. Your "noble friend," or somebody else's "noble friend," has said in public that you are "nobody;" and every marquis in his garret, and every count with half the income of your cook, despises as he dines with you. And you deserve it too; richly deserve it, I say. Had you come on the Continent to be abroad what you were well contented to be at home,--had you abstained from the mockery of a class you never belonged to,--had you settled down amidst those your equals in rank, and often much more than your equals in knowledge and acquirement,--your journey would not have been a series of disappointments. You would have seen much to delight and interest, and much to improve you. You would have educated your minds while richly enjoying yourselves; and while forming pleasant intimacies, and even friendships, widened the sphere of your