sham, the base counterfeit of that meal; but that would do him no good, and money could not buy the reality.
To particularize: the average American's simplest and commonest form of breakfast consists of coffee and beefsteak; well, in Europe, coffee is an unknown beverage. You can get what the European hotel keeper thinks is coffee, but it resembles the real thing as hypocrisy resembles holiness. It is a feeble, characterless, uninspiring sort of stuff, and almost as undrinkable as if it had been made in
A PRIVATE FAMILY BREAKFAST.
an American hotel. The milk used for it is what the French call "Christian" milk,—milk which has been baptized.
After a few months' acquaintance with European "coffee," one's mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to wonder if the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow cream on top of it is not a mere dream, after all, and a thing which never existed.
Next comes the European bread,—fair enough, good enough, after a fashion, but cold; cold and tough, and unsympathetic; and never any change, never any variety,—always the same tiresome thing.
Next, the butter,—the sham and tasteless butter; no salt in it, and made of goodness knows what.
