There is a proverb which affirms that in order to know a man you have only to travelwith him for a week. Almost all of us have had experiences, sometimes happy andsometimes the reverse, which seem to confirm this saying.A journey in common is a sort of involuntary confessional. There is a certainexcitement, a confusion and quickening of perceptions and sensations, in the adventures,the sudden changes, the new and striking scenes of travel. The bonds of habit are loosened.Impulses of pleasure and of displeasure, suddenly felt, make themselves surprisinglyvisible. Wishes and appetites and prejudices which are usually dressed in a costume ofwords so conventional as to amount to a disguise now appear unmasked, and often in veryscanty costume, as if they had been suddenly called from their beds by an alarm of fire on asteamboat, or, to use a more agreeable figure, by the announcement in a hotel on the Righiof approaching sunrise.