It was not an excitement or a perplexity; it was a placid, fathomless sense of diversion.
He encountered by chance in Holland a young American, with whom, for a time, he formed a sort of traveler's partnership.

They were men of a very different cast, but each, in his way, was so good a fellow that, for a few weeks at least, it seemed something of a pleasure to share the chances of the road.

Newman's comrade, whose name was Babcock, was a young Unitarian minister, a small, spare, neatly-attired man, with a strikingly candid physiognomy.

He was a native of Dorchester, Massachusetts, and had spiritual charge of a small congregation in another suburb of the New England metropolis.

His digestion was weak and he lived chiefly on Graham bread and hominy--a regimen to which he was so much attached that his tour seemed to him destined to be blighted when, on landing on the Continent, he found that these delicacies did not flourish under the table d'hote system.