"So this is Paris," said Frank to himself, as he rode into the court-yard of the Hotel de Rivoli, situated on the fine street of the same name.

He had already, from the carriage window, obtained a good view of the palace of the Tuileries, occupied at that time by Louis Napoleon, in the plentitude of his power, and of the large garden which it faces. The sun was shining brightly, and as he glanced at the signs on either side of the streets through which he passed, he realized, even more clearly than on English soil, that he was in a foreign country.

"What a beautiful city!" he exclaimed, turning to his companion.

"Humph! so, so," said Sharpley, in a tone quite devoid of enthusiasm.

"I suppose you have been here before, Colonel Sharpley?"

"Often."

"But it is new to me; so I suppose it strikes me more."

"It is always enjoyed best the first time. Can you speak French?"

"A little. I can read the language pretty well. Shall we stay here long?"

"I can't tell yet."

The exhibition was open, and the city was full to overflowing. They were compelled to take rooms high up, the most desirable being already occupied. But for this Frank cared little. He was in Paris; he was going to see its wonders, and this thought filled him with happiness.

The next day they went to the exhibition together, but Colonel Sharpley soon tired of it. After an hour, he turned to Frank, saying:

"Do you want to stay longer?"

"Yes; I have scarcely seen anything yet."

"I suppose you can find your way back to the hotel?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then I will go out. I don't care much for this sort of thing."

So Frank wandered on alone—alone, but surrounded by a crowd of all nationalities, visitors like himself to the great exhibition. On all sides he was surrounded by triumphs of art and skill gathered from all parts of the world.

"I wish I had some friend with me," he thought. "It's a splendid sight, but I should enjoy it better if I had somebody I liked to talk to. Wouldn't it be jolly if Ben Cameron were here! How he would enjoy it! Poor fellow! he's got his own way to make in the world—though I don't know as that is much of a misfortune, after all. I don't think I would mind it, though, of course, it's pleasant to have money."

As these thoughts passed through our hero's mind, he suddenly heard his name called in a loud voice, whose nasal twang could not be mistaken.

Turning in the direction from which it came, his face lighted up with pleasure as he recognized his fellow-passenger, Jonathan Tarbox.

The Yankee, looking as countrified as ever in the midst of the brilliant scene, was standing guard over his plow, which had been put together, and was occupying a place assigned it by the Committee of Arrangements.

"Why, Mr. Tarbox, I'm glad to see you!" said Frank, heartily, hurrying through the crowd and offering his hand, which was seized in a tight grip. "How long have you been here?"

"Three days," said Jonathan, "and I'm eenamost tired to death, standin' here, with nobody to talk to."

"I should think you would be lonely. I have only just come. Where are you staying?"

"I put up over to the Latin Quarter," said Mr. Tarbox; "though why they call it Latin, when they don't talk Latin there, I don't know. It's cheap livin' there, and I don't want to spend too much. There was a feller on the cars took me in when I jest come. As I heard him talk English, I asked him if he could recommend a good, cheap tavern for me to stop at. He told me the best he knew for a cheap one was the Hotel de Villy. So I hired a boy to lead me there. It was a big walk, and when I got there I found the scamp had sent me to the town hall of Paris. I'd like to give him a lickin'! But I met another chap that was more polite, and he directed me to where I am. He lives there himself. He is a poor artist, and I've took the room jest opposite to his. Where are you stoppin'?"

"At the Hotel Rivoli."

"That's a hotel where the big-bugs stop, ain't it—near Lewis Napoleon's house."

"Yes, I believe so," said Frank, smiling; "but I don't claim to be a big-bug."

"That colonel you're traveling with sets up for one. Is he here?"

"He is in the city. He came to the exhibition with me, but he didn't stop long. How do you like Paris, Mr. Tarbox?"

"I really don't know, Frank. The streets and buildin's are pooty handsome, but they do talk the most outlandish stuff I ever heerd. They rattle off jest like parrots, and I can't understand a word."

"I suppose you have not studied the French language," said Frank, smiling.

"No, and I don't want to. I'd be ashamed o' myself to talk like them. Why in thunder don't they talk English?" asked Jonathan, with an expression of disgust.

"I suppose they wonder that Americans don't speak French."

"Why, they do say that young ones call their mothers a mare," continued Mr. Tarbox. "That's what I call sassy. Ef I'd called my mother a mare when I was a youngster, she'd have keeled me over quicker'n a wink. Then a gal is called a filly. That's most as bad. And what do you think I saw on the programme at the restorant where I go to get dinner?"

"What was it?" asked Frank, amused.

"It was poison, only it wasn't spelled right. The ignorant critters spelled it with a double s. I say they'd ought to be indicted for keepin' p'ison among their vittles."

"You have made a little mistake, Mr. Tarbox. The word you refer to—poisson—is the French word for fish."

"By gracious!" ejaculated Jonathan; "you don't say so! Then it's a mighty queer language, that's all I've got to say. But speakin' of eatin', I ain't had a decent meal of vittles since I came here."

"I am surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Tarbox. The French have a high reputation for their cookery."

"I can't help that. I haven't lived so mean since I was born."

"Perhaps it is because you don't know the names of the dishes you want."

"Wall, there may be somethin' in that. Why, the first day I p'inted to the first thing in the programme. It was among the pottages. They brought me some thin, watery stuff that would turn a pig sick. Somebody told me it was meant for soup. When my mother made soup, she put potatoes and meat in it, and carrots and turnips. Her soup was satisfying and would stay a feller's stummick. It wa'n't like this thin stuff. It would take a hogshead of it to keep a baby alive till night."

"What else did you get, Mr. Tarbox," asked Frank.

"I looked all through the programme for baked beans, and, would you believe it, they didn't have it at all."

"I believe it is not a French dish."

"Then the French don't know what's good, I can tell 'em that. Folks say they eat frogs, and it stands to reason if they like frogs, and don't like baked beans, they must be an ignorant set. I didn't understand any of the darned names, but I come across pommy de terry, and I thought that might be somethin' solid, so I told the gossoon to bring it. What do you think he brought?"

"Potatoes."

"Yes; I was so wild I come near flinging 'em in his face, but I concluded to keep 'em, and happened to see some mutton put down on the bill, though they didn't spell it right, so I pointed it out to the gossoon, and he brought it. It was pretty fair, but I tell you my mother can beat all the French cooks that's goin'. I jest wish she was here."

"We must go together some time, Mr. Tarbox. I know some French, and I can tell you the names of some things you like, though I am afraid you will have to do without baked beans."

"I wish you would go with me, Frank. May be I can get along better with you."

"How about your invention, Mr. Tarbox? Is it attracting attention?"

"Nobody looks at it," said Jonathan, a little depressed. "The ladies turn up their noses, as if it wa'n't worth lookin' at. One old Frenchman come up and began to ask me about it, but I couldn't make head or tail of what he said. Then he offered me a pinch of snuff. I saw he meant to be polite, so I took a good dose, and 'most sneezed my head off. But about the plow; I've been thinkin' whether Lewis Napoleon would let me plow a few furrers in his garden, jest to let the French see how it works. Do you think he would?"

"I hardly think he would."

"You see, folks can't get much idea about it, jest lookin' at it here."

"You don't have to stay by it all the time, do you?"

"No."

"Then suppose you take a little walk with me round the buildings."

Being socially disposed, Mr. Tarbox accepted the proposal, and the two sauntered about together, Frank being continually amused by the unconsciously droll remarks of his countryman.