a fifteen-minutes' observation in
the galleries of the Louvre. His mind, almost orbicular in its various
capacity, took in the scene at a glance. There were pictures from almost
every country, statues from almost every age, representations of the
finest imaginations of the mind and of the noblest labors of history. He
was not a barbarian with respect to the Louvre, but understood all about
it, and knew its excellence and value; yet he mingled his sentiment
and common-sense well together, and took a rapid walk from chamber to
chamber. He probably entertained large views of Art during his impetuous
progress through the ages, from battle-field to battle-field, from saint
to saint, from philosopher, poet, and hero, to landscape, shepherdess,
and domestic scene. He took in thought with lightning swiftness, and
lived for fifteen minutes amid statues and paintings which collected
scenes from all the universe. He went forth, satisfied that the Louvre
was a fine gallery of Art, that Art was a very fine thing, that painters
and sculptors ought to be encouraged, and that he had been looking at
many things which were worthy a man's consideration. If he had been
called upon at once to preach a sermon, there is no doubt that he would
have made very judicious reflections upon the spectacle which he had
beheld.

Charles Lamb, too, visited Paris, and though it is not recorded that he
went into the Louvre, yet we can hardly be mistaken in conjecturing that
he did, and the thoughts with which he went. He would have entered those
galleries with timid ecstasy. He would at first have shrunk away from
the full splendor, and made acquaintance with some modest painting in
a corner. Happy would some friend near him be to hear the half-tender,
half-witty, yet most appreciative conceit which should first come
stammering from his lips. He would have advanced slowly, and only after
much delay would have ventured to stand before the great masters, and
to look up eye to eye at the spirit of the Louvre. After taking his
departure, he would never have thought familiarly of the scene, but it
would have remained in his mind as terrible and sacred an episode as was
the descent into Hades to Virgil's hero.

Not only in the Louvre, but in the world, Charles Lamb was the more
timid worshipper. The whole character of his mind, the intensity of his
thought within a narrow sphere, made him reverent of the Infinite. The
thought of departure from the life which h