As long as the American is in the United Kingdom he finds no trouble in making himself understood, but when he crosses the channel and lands on the Continent, the situation changes. Strange languages assail his ears, and the farther he goes the more languages he finds. If he has never studied any tongue save his mother one, he will often find himself helpless, and he execrates the memory of the man who first proposed the erection of the tower of Babel, and thereby brought trouble on the whole human race. He wishes he had studied some of the foreign lingo before he left home, and vows that before he comes again he will be able to make himself understood in French and German. An excellent resolution this is, and, like most good resolves, it is rarely kept.

An American who is entirely ignorant of any language beyond the vernacular of his own land may travel from one end of Europe to the other without any very serious trouble. But he will pay dear for his lack of lingual accomplishments, as he will be regarded as a fair subject for exploitation by the inn-keepers, guides, and others with whom he is brought in contact, and he cannot go out of the beaten track of tourists. In the principal hotels throughout Europe there are English-speaking clerks and servants, and it is usually easy to find guides and valets who are able to get on in the language of the British Isles. Those with deep and well-lined purses may employ a courier who will look after everything—engage rooms at hotels, buy railway tickets, attend to the luggage, and in various ways relieve the traveler from a great deal of perplexity. But he is a luxury that only the affluent can afford, as he not only has his wages and traveling expenses, but he obtains a commission, or "squeeze," on nearly every disbursement in your behalf. He takes you to the best hotels and secures the best rooms in them, and he leads you to the shops where the prices are highest, with correspondingly large commissions. He is generally honest so far as actual plunder of your money is concerned, and he takes care that no one but himself fleeces you, unless he can have a share of the spoil. His operations are conducted upon well understood principles, and he regards the taking of a commission as entirely compatible with rigid integrity. Now and then a courier can be found who disdains commissions, and faithfully watches the interest of his employer, and when such a man is obtained he may be regarded as a treasure.

Be very particular in employing a courier, as your happiness or misery will depend in great measure upon his goodness or badness. Your banker in London or Paris can generally recommend a trustworthy man, and there is a couriers' association in London that is well spoken of. The association is responsible for the honesty of each member, and also for his sobriety and general good conduct, but in any event the credentials of the man you are considering should be carefully examined. Especially should this be done with a courier who seeks you and offers his services, and if he cannot produce good references he should be rejected at once. The genuineness of the testimonials should also be investigated, as there have been instances where these documents were mostly imaginary, and written to order.

A courier should be familiar with English, French, German, and Italian, and if you are going to Spain, Russia, or the Scandinavian countries, you should seek for one who knows the languages along your intended route of travel. You can hire a good courier for fifty or sixty dollars a month, though he will frequently ask more, and you must pay extra for one who speaks Russian, Scandinavian, or Spanish. Whenever there are second-class carriages on the train he will travel in them, but it often happens that the express trains have none but first-class coaches, and in that event you must provide him with a first-class ticket. He should be called by his surname, without any preliminary "mister," and, if he understands his business, you can be perfectly free with him without fear that he will overstep the proper bounds. Don't invite him to sit with you at table or to ride with you in a carriage, as he does not expect anything of the sort; if you do, you will encourage him to undue familiarity, which may result in his assuming the air of a gentleman who is permitting you to travel with him for companionship.

In your financial relations with him, do exactly as you would with a clerk or cashier in business affairs. Have the contract carefully drawn in writing so as to avoid misunderstandings, and examine his accounts frequently and thoroughly, going over every item, whether small or large. It is well to arrange beforehand that he shall bring the accounts to you every second or third morning, and if he neglects to do so, and shows a persistence in the neglect, you will have reason to believe he is not honest. When you start on a journey give him money enough to pay the various items of expenditure to your first stopping-place. It is not good policy to be "close " with him, and, on the other hand, it is very impolitic to be careless of his accounts.

The courier is supposed to pay his own hotel bill, or to be boarded free of charge by the establishment. The real fact is that your own bill is sufficiently augmented to cover the courier's expenses, and in some instances he has been known to receive a commission in money in addition to his free living. Make it a part of your contract that he is to act as local guide in the cities you visit; otherwise you will be compelled to employ a guide in each place in addition to your courier. Some of the grand ones refuse to do so, and it is for you to determine whether to engage a man of high notions, or another who is not so exacting.

If not disposed to incur the expense of a courier you can hire a traveling servant for about half the price you will pay for the more distinguished attachÉ. These servants are not generally satisfactory, for the reason that they do not claim to understand all about the cities, routes, etc., and cannot speak the continental languages. Very often they are quite as helpless as the traveler himself, if not more so, and some of them are continually getting lost and giving no end of trouble to their employers to find them.

If you undertake to get along without any assistance, it is advisable to learn something of the language of the country you are to travel in. Ever so little is better than none at all, and you will be surprised to find how much you can accomplish with a very limited capital of words. Learn to count in French; you can do so in a few hours if you give your mind to it, and you will never regret the time you have devoted to the accomplishment of enumeration. Commit to memory a few phrases, such as "where is?" "how much?" and the like, and make yourself able to understand the bills of fare in restaurants and hotels. When you have done this you can look proudly down on the unfortunate wretch who knows nothing, and cannot help himself. After being thus perfected in French, you can attack German in the same way, and afterwards Italian; if you are to be ten days or more in a country it is worth your while to learn to count in its language, and when you have acquired the numerals you will want to know something more.

Don't practice your lingual acquirements on your friends if you can find anybody else to try them on. But don't be afraid to talk when on shopping excursions, or in other places where your French can be used; the continental people are polite, and will help you out of difficulty when you lose your footing, and they never smile at your most awkward blunders.

Books of the sentences and phrases in most frequent use are abundant and cheap. They are given in English, French, German, and Italian, in parallel columns, and are generally divided according to the subjects of conversation. They are excellent in theory, but it is generally discovered in practice that you can rarely find the sentence you wish to use, and may turn the leaves over and over again to no purpose.

If you find that you are not understood in your native language, and know no other, remember that it will not help the listener's understanding if you shout into his ear, or repeat a question over and over again with an increased emphasis each time.

Many laughable mistakes will occur in your efforts to get on in a country where you do not know the language, but they are part of the experiences of travel, and a good deal of instruction can be obtained from them. Sometimes a slight change in the pronunciation of a single word or syllable, or the incorrect use of an article, causes an awkward misunderstanding, but all such accidents should be taken good-humoredly and made the subject of merriment rather than of vexation. An American one day, in a Paris restaurant, wished to call for bread, and was astonished when the waiter after some delay brought him stewed rabbit. He pondered over the subject, and finally remembered that instead of saying "du pain," he had made it "le pain," which was naturally supposed to be "lapin," the French word for rabbit or hare. He ate the stew in silence, and never allowed the waiter to understand that a mistake had been made.

A story is told of a party of Americans taking a ride in the Bois du Boulogne, and they wished to induce the driver to go faster, but the more they urged, the more angry he became, and their attempts at the French for "go faster, driver," seemed to set him wild. At last he stopped and wanted to fight, and when they refused to indulge in a trial of muscular capacity, he called a policeman. Some one happened along at this juncture who could act as interpreter, and it was discovered that they had been addressing the jehu as "cochon" (pig) instead of "cocher" (driver). An explanation was made, the driver received a franc as a salve to his wounded dignity, and the drive was continued at a more satisfactory speed.

Many things may be said in pantomime where you are ignorant of the words that are needed. If you wish to employ a carriage by the hour, and cannot grapple with "a l'heure," you can show the face of your watch to the driver and point to the time; he will understand your meaning at once, and will indicate his comprehension of it by a nod. If you wish the carriage for only a single course you do not show your watch at all, but simply give or show the address to which you want to go. A desire for food or drink may be manifested by the conveyance of imaginary viands or liquids to the mouth, and following the said conveyance with equally imaginary mastication or deglutition. Mistakes will occur in pantomime as well as in spoken words, and the traveler should be prepared for them. An Englishman at a German inn endeavored to show that he wished to go to bed, and did it by commencing the removal of his clothing, and making a motion with his arms, as if he would spread himself over the invisible couch. The inn-keeper nodded, and disappeared; and he soon returned, followed by the servants, bringing a large tub and some water, under the impression that the stranger wished to take a bath. The latter made himself understood by resting his head on his hand and closing his eyes, whereupon there was a laugh all around, and he was shown to his sleeping-room.

Not infrequently you will throw yourself into a condition of exhaustion by mustering all your French for an effort; after it is made, and you are at your wit's end, you are answered in English, and find that your mental struggle has been thrown away. During the last Paris exposition one of the hotels imported a lot of waiters from London for the benefit of their English patrons. A Briton arrived at this house one morning, unaware of the importation, and after making himself presentable he proceeded to the breakfast-room. Beckoning to a waiter, he gave his order.

"Donnez moi du biftek, du pomme de terre, et du cafe au lait." (Give me a beefsteak, potatoes, and coffee with milk.)

He was at the end of his French, and drew a long breath as he finished the sentence. The waiter listened attentively, with a blank expression on his face, and replied:—

"If it's all the same, sir, couldn't you just as well do it in English? I've only been here three days."

Whether you can speak the continental languages or not, you must put yourself into the hands of a dragoman when you go to the Orient and endeavor to make a journey into the interior. The dragoman differs from the courier in being a contractor who undertakes to manage your journey for a fixed sum per day, or for the entire trip, and he makes a margin sufficiently large to include the compensation for his own services. He combines the services of courier, butler, and maitre d'hotel all in one, and a good dragoman is able to relieve the traveler of all trouble by attending to every kind of petty detail, and managing the journey so that the tourist has nothing to think of beyond enjoying himself.

Dragomen are of all kinds, from the worst to the best; most of them bring recommendations from former employers, and, while these should have due weight, it is best not to rely on them implicitly. There are some of the profession who enjoy a high reputation, and their prices are fixed accordingly; a cheap dragoman is almost sure to be a poor one, but not all high-priced ones are necessarily good. If possible, when starting for a journey in Syria and Egypt, get a friend who has been there before you to recommend a dragoman, and make a careful note of the name and address, so that there can be no mistake. Good ones may also be heard of around the consulate of your country, and in whatever bargain you make you should have the consular approval. The dragomen who hang about the hotels are not to be relied on, as they are often in league with the establishments to make something out of the stranger, or have agreed to pay a commission to whoever can get them an engagement.

George William Curtis, in his Nile Notes, says, "The dragoman is of four species; the Maltese, or able knave; the Greek, or the cunning knave; the Syrian, or the active knave; and the Egyptian, or the stupid knave." The description is by no means inaccurate, but it gives the impression that all are knaves, whatever their race or nationality. There is little to choose between them, and whatever kind you employ it is quite possible you may wish you had taken another. There are honest and efficient ones among all the different races, and also a liberal allowance of those who are worthless, or even worse.

Detailed directions for engaging dragomen, and the forms of contracts to be made with them, can be found in the guide-books of Murray and Baedeker, to which the reader is referred. Never trust yourself to draw a contract that will be "iron-clad," but go to your consulate and have the matter attended to there, at a cost of five dollars. Then, in case of trouble, the consul can be called to arbitrate the matter, and his decision will be final. As you are required to pay half, or more, of the engagement-money at the time of making the contract, you thus place yourself at the mercy of the man you are engaging, and it is worth while to be cautious.

If a particular dragoman has been recommended to you by some friend at home, you will very likely be told on enquiring for him that he died a few months ago. Of course, it is just possible that he is no longer alive, as drago—like other men—are but mortal, but his death at that time is by no means a certainty. His rivals have a convenient way of ridding themselves of his competition by killing him metaphorically, and they are particular to state time, place, and circumstances with great minuteness. Bayard Taylor became much attached to his dragoman in his journey up the Nile in 1852, and recommended him, a few years afterwards, to some friends. They brought back the information of the man's death, but on visiting Cairo in 1874 Taylor found his old companion alive and well, and very much chagrined at the announcement of his demise. "He is dead," or "He has just left with a party," is the stereotyped answer of the dragomen you encounter around the hotels when you ask for one whose name has been given to you by a friend at home, although it is well known by them that the man in question is within a dozen blocks of them, and waiting for a job.

It is the custom at the end of a journey in the Holy Land, or on the Nile, to make a present to the servants in addition to the contract-price agreed upon with the dragoman or manager of the party. The dragoman is always ready to attend to the distribution of this gratuity, and shows great activity in looking after it. Verdant travelers are apt to place the affair and the money in his hands with the expectation that he will carry out their wishes; the only distribution he makes, in nine cases out of ten, is to distribute the cash around the pockets of his own garments, and leave the other servants without a penny. Unless you give the money to the waiters with your own hands the chances are ten to one they will get nothing, and the whole amount will go to enrich the dragoman; it will not even answer to allow that worthy to distribute it to them in your presence, as he will manage by certain dexterous turns of the wrist to retain the larger portion for himself. Complaints of his misconduct are unlikely to reach your ears, as the servants are his subordinates, and liable to lose their places if they incur his displeasure. The writer was once a member of a party on a Nile steamboat that made up a purse for the servants; while the money was being raised two or three of the cabin-waiters intimated privately that if the money was put in the hands of the dragoman they would get nothing, since he always kept the whole of it. "Whatever you give us," said they, "please put in our own hands," and we acted on the hint to the great disgust of the dragoman.