to trust to first impressions, and even more on the
moral than on the material side. He recognized a truth in the first
touch--the first thought--which he was wary of meddling with afterwards,
contenting himself with slightly developing it now and then, and
smoothing a little the form and manner of its presentation. The finest
art is nearest to the most veritable nature--to such as have the eye to
see the latter aright. Rome, like other ancient cities which have fallen
from the positive activity of their original estate, has one great
advantage over other places which one wishes to see (like London, for
instance), that the whole business of whoever goes there, who has any
business whatever, is to see it; and when the duty-sights have been
duly done, the sight-seer then first begins to live his true life in
independence and happiness, going where he lists, staying no longer than
he pleases, and never knowing, when he sallies forth in the morning,
what, or how many, or how few things he will have accomplished by
nightfall.

The duty to see is indeed the death of real vision; the official
cicerone leads you anywhere but to the place or thing that you are in
the mood to behold or understand. But with his disappearance the fun
and the pageant begin; one's eyes are at last opened, and beauty and
significance flow in through every pore of the senses. It is in this
better phase of his Roman sojourn that I picture my father; he trudges
tranquilly and happily to and fro, with no programme and no obligations,
absorbing all things with that quiet, omnivorous glance of his; pausing
whenever he takes the fancy, and contemplating for moments or minutes
whatever strikes his fancy; often turning aside from egregious
spectacles and giving his attention to apparent trifles, to the mere
passing show; pondering on the tuft of flowers in a cranny of the
Coliseum wall, on the azure silhouette of the Alban Mountains, on the
moss collected on the pavement beneath the aperture in the roof of the
Pantheon, on the picturesque deformity of old, begging Beppo on the
steps of the Piazza, d' Espagna. I am trudging joyously beside
him, hanging on to his left hand (the other being occupied with his
hook-headed cane), asking him innumerable questions, to which he
comfortably, or abstractedly, or with humorous impatience, replies; or
I run on before him, or lag behind, busy with my endless occupation of
picking up things to me curious and valuable, and fi