ing, a third
of a mile long; the sides are covered for a great distance with
inscriptions of every kind, divided into compartments according to the
era of the empire to which they refer. One which I examined, appeared to
be a kind of index of the roads in Italy, with the towns on them; and we
could decipher on that time-worn block, the very route I had followed
from Florence hither.

Then came the statues, and here I am bewildered, how to describe them.
Hundreds upon hundreds of figures--statues of citizens, generals,
emperors and gods--fauns, satyrs and nymphs--children, cupids and
tritons--in fact, it seemed inexhaustible. Many of them, too, were forms
of matchless beauty; there were Venuses and nymphs, born of the loftiest
dreams of grace; fauns on whose faces shone the very soul of humor, and
heroes and divinities with an air of majesty worthy the "land of lost
gods and godlike men!"

I am lost in astonishment at the perfection of art attained by the
Greeks and Romans. There is scarcely a form of beauty, that has ever met
my eye, which is not to be found in this gallery. I should almost
despair of such another blaze of glory on the world, were it not my
devout belief that what has been done may be done again, and had I not
faith that the dawn in which we live will bring another day equally
glorious. And why should not America, with the experience and added
wisdom which three thousand years have slowly yielded to the old world,
joined to the giant energy of her youth and freedom, re-bestow on the
world the divine creations of art? Let Powers answer!

But let us step on to the hemicycle of the Belvidere, and view some
works greater than any we have yet seen, or even imagined. The adjoining
gallery is filled with masterpieces of sculpture, but we will keep our
eyes unwearied and merely glance along the rows. At length we reach a
circular court with a fountain flinging up its waters in the centre.
Before us is an open cabinet; there is a beautiful, manly form within,
but you would not for an instant take it for the Apollo. By the Gorgon
head it holds aloft, we recognize Canova's Perseus--he has copied the
form and attitude of the Apollo, but he could not breathe into it the
same warming fire. It seemed to me particularly lifeless, and I greatly
preferred his Boxers, who stand on either side of it. One, who has drawn
back in the attitude of striking, looks as if he could fell an ox with a
single blow of his powerful a