was familiar and sincere; that it was the old, eternal fact I had met already in so many forms, — unto which I lived; that it was the plain you and me I knew so well, — had left at home in so many conversations.

I had the same experience already in a church at Naples. There I saw that nothing was changed with me but the place, and said to myself — ’Thou foolish child, hast thou come out hither, over four thousand miles of salt water, to find that which was perfect to thee there at home?’ That fact I saw again in the Academmia at Naples, in the chambers of sculpture, and yet again when I came to Rome and to the paintings of Raphael, Angelo, Sacchi, Titian, and Leonardo da Vinci. “What, old mole! workest thou in the earth so fast?” It had travelled by my side; that which I fancied I