188 LETTER-FILES OF S. W. JOHNSON 



coffee, where conversation kept the party together for nearly 

 an hour. 



. . . The Madeleine is the only church I have been in during 

 service. Today I went with Mr. Pacheco to the Louvre. . . . 

 Here and now, as of old in Germany, I find more pleasure, 

 with few exceptions, in modern w^orks, both paintings and 

 sculpture, than in antiques. It's very stupid, doubtless, but 

 I can't help it, and I also enjoy seeing men and women more 

 than looking at monkeys. Perhaps that argues for Darwin- 

 ianism? The galleries of the Louvre are very fine, good 

 light, — warmed, most of them, — the rooms themselves are often 

 more elegant and interesting than the objects they contain. 

 This morning we walked for nearly two hours through modern 

 sculpture — none less than 100 years old ; paintings, from those 

 like the Jarves collection down to French work of the last 

 century, room after room; vases and small sculptures in 

 agate, quartz and semi-precious stones; and finally splendid 

 Egyptian and Assyrian monuments, sarcophagi, etc. Quite 

 instructive and very fatiguing after the second hour. 



I now think I shall move towards Italy in a few days. I 

 begin to think I should enjoy traveling and I have almost 

 decided upon a definite plan as follows: In three days one 

 of "Cook's personally conducted parties" leaves here for a 

 30 days Italian tour under the guidance of an Italian who 

 attends to all the business of the party according to a definite 

 printed programme. . . . Railroaded, coached, lodged, fed 

 and shown to all the noteworthy objects in the route, and duly 

 returned safe and sound! There are objections to this mode 

 of travel. In fact it is a humbug of the most stupidly infantile 

 and imbecile sort, but I am in just the mood for it. It gives 

 me an occupation without care. I will try it. If I thrive 

 under it, I will try travel on my own account, if not, I will 

 go home, buy a horse and carriage and a boat, and devote 

 myself to my family and my muscle. . . . 



March 14, Venice. ... I arrived at Turin at 8 o'clock. 

 There I found Mr. Giglioli at the hotel, having apprised him 



