In the first period of his travels, the point most deserving notice is the exciting and enlarging effect of novelty and beauty on a mind, which had hitherto been cooped up within narrow limits, and had lacked its own congenial food. The change was infinite, after the narrowness of home experience, and the depression of all artistic and scientific energy in England by the long war. It seemed to be the entrance on a new life, one day of which (to use his own constant expression) was “worth a year at home.” His frank and buoyant spirit, his love of adventure, and good-humoured determination in all his purposes, answered readily to its call. There is little at first in his journals of a strictly professional character; the architect is merged in the artist; and even the artistic element has by no means an exclusive dominion; observations of all kinds throng his journals, as impressions of all kinds evidently crowded on his mind. The external aspect of the country, both as to its scenery and its life, social peculiarities, and differences from English customs,[3] political feelings and tendencies, aspects of individual life and character--all claim their place, side by side with the records of sketches taken and buildings criticized. Such a process, as it was the most natural, was also probably the most beneficial, if travel was really to enlarge his mind and to educate his whole nature. The work of life would soon narrow, and so deepen, the stream of thought and observation; and, indeed, at all times, he possessed the power of subordinating all his various interests and enjoyments to his one important business. He always liked the greater freedom of foreign life and foreign society, as compared with the conventions and formality which, then especially, clung to the social system of England. But Paris and Rome, with all their various enchantments fully appreciated and enjoyed, never drew him away from the hard work which was the real object of his travels. At first, of course, all study was devoted to classical architecture alone. It is curiously characteristic of the time, that at Rouen, while he thought it worth while to sketch and criticize a small Corinthian church, all the glories of the cathedral and of St. Ouen are dismissed in one line, as being “examples of a rich florid Gothic;” and at Paris, the cathedral of Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle are noticed in the same spirit, as having an antiquarian interest, and a certain irregular beauty of their own; but not as deserving any high admiration or study. Milan Cathedral is noted for its grandeur and richness, but with no criticism as to its architectural details. All this gradually changed as the revival of mediæval architecture began. On his return over the same ground the contrast seen in his journals is remarkable; and Gothic, though not studied or understood as it would be now, was regarded by him with keen interest and deep respect.