of Saxony
sweeping around like an amphitheatre, and the craggy peaks of the
Highlands looking at it from afar. The domes and spires at a distance
give it a rich Italian look, which is heightened by the white villas,
embowered in trees, gleaming on the hills around. In the streets there
is no bustle of business--nothing of the din and confusion of traffic
which mark most cities; it seems like a place for study and quiet
enjoyment.

The railroad brought us in three hours from Leipsic, over the eighty
miles of plain that intervene. We came from the station through the
_Neustadt_, passing the Japanese Palace and the equestrian statue of
Augustus the Strong, The magnificent bridge over the Elbe was so much
injured by the late inundation as to be impassable; we worn obliged to
go some distance up the river bank and cross on a bridge of boats. Next
morning my first search was for the picture gallery. We set off at
random, and after passing the Church of Our Lady, with its lofty dome of
solid stone, which withstood the heaviest bombs during the war with
Frederick the Great, came to an open square, one side of which was
occupied by an old, brown, red-roofed building, which I at once
recognized, from pictures, as the object of our search.

I have just taken a last look at the gallery this morning, and left it
with real regret; for, during the two visits, Raphael's heavenly picture
of the Madonna and child had so grown into my love and admiration, that
it was painful to think I should never see it again. There are many more
which clung so strongly to my imagination, gratifying in the highest
degree the love for the Beautiful, that I left them with sadness, and
the thought that I would now only have the memory. I can see the
inspired eye and god-like brow of the Jesus-child, as if I were still
standing before the picture, and the sweet, holy countenance of the
Madonna still looks upon me. Yet, though this picture is a miracle of
art, the first glance filled me with disappointment. It has somewhat
faded, during the three hundred years that have rolled away since the
hand of Raphael worked on the canvass, and the glass with which it is
covered for better preservation, injures the effect. After I had gazed
on it awhile, every thought of this vanished. The figure of the virgin
seemed to soar in the air, and it was difficult to think the clouds were
not in motion. An aerial lightness clothes her form, and it is
perfectly natural for