Travelling brings the past back, don't you think?
There at that restaurant, where we stopped for dinner--" "Yes, it was charming! Just as it used to be! With that white cloth, and those tall shining bottles of wine, and the fruit in the centre, and the dinner in courses, and that young waiter who spoke English, and was so nice! I'm never going home; you may, if you like." "You bragged to those ladies about our dining-cars; and you said that our railroad restaurants were quite as good as the European." "I had to do that.

But I knew better; they don't begin to be." "Perhaps not; but I've been thinking that travel is a good deal alike everywhere.

It's the expression of the common civilization of the world.
When I came out of that restaurant and ran the train down, and then found that it didn't start for fifteen minutes, I wasn't sure whether I was at home or abroad.

And when we changed cars at Eger, and got into this train which had been baking in the sun for us outside the station, I didn't know but I was back in the good old Fitchburg depot.

To be sure, Wallenstein wasn't assassinated at Boston, but I forgot his murder at Eger, and so that came to the same thing.