Sometimes it seems to me, somehow, that there must be a difference between Parisian French and Quaker City French.
The people stared at us every where, and we stared at them.

We generally made them feel rather small, too, before we got done with them, because we bore down on them with America's greatness until we crushed them.

And yet we took kindly to the manners and customs, and especially to the fashions of the various people we visited.
When we left the Azores, we wore awful capotes and used fine tooth combs--successfully.

When we came back from Tangier, in Africa, we were topped with fezzes of the bloodiest hue, hung with tassels like an Indian's scalp-lock.

In France and Spain we attracted some attention in these costumes.