byways of serious and fruitful thought. Especially valuable
and helpful have we found his _obiter dicta_ on the arts of painting,
sculpture, and architecture; for example, when he says of the Tuscan
palaces that "in their large dependence on pure symmetry for beauty of
effect, [they] reproduce more than other modern styles the simple
nobleness of Greek architecture." And we would note also what he says of
the Albani Antinoues. It must be a nimble wit that can keep pace with Mr.
James's logic in his aesthetic criticism. It is apt to spring airily
over the middle term to the conclusion, leaving something in the
likeness of a ditch across the path of our slower intelligences, which
look about them and think twice before taking the leap. Courage! there
are always fresh woods and pastures new on the other side. A curious
reflection has more than once flashed upon our minds as we lingered with
Mr. James over his complex and refined sensations: we mean the very
striking contrast between the ancient and modern traveller. The former
saw with his bodily eyes, and reported accordingly, catering for the
curiosity of homely wits as to the outsides and appearances of things.
Even Montaigne, habitually introspective as he was, sticks to the old
method in his travels. The modern traveller, on the other hand,
superseded by the guide-book, travels in himself, and records for us the
scenery of his own mind as it is affected by change of sky and the
various weather of temperament.

Mr. James, in his sketches, frankly acknowledges his preference of the
Old World. Life--which here seems all drab to him, without due lights
and shades of social contrast, without that indefinable suggestion of
immemorial antiquity which has so large a share in picturesque
impression--is there a dome of many-colored glass irradiating both
senses and imagination. We shall not blame him too gravely for this, as
if an American had not as good a right as any ancient of them all to
say, _Ubi libertas, ibi patria_. It is no real paradox to affirm that a
man's love of his country may often be gauged by his disgust at it. But
we think it might fairly be argued against him that the very absence of
that distracting complexity of associations might help to produce that
solitude which is the main feeder of imagination. Certainly, Hawthorne,
with whom no modern European can be matched for the subtlety and power
of this marvellous quality, is a strong case on the American side