e three niches
in the front, containing on one side Pericles, Phidias and Vulcan; on
the other, Hadrian, Prometheus and Daedalus. The whole building forms a
hollow square and is lighted entirely from the inner side. There are in
all twelve halls, each containing the remains of a particular era in the
art, and arranged according to time; so that, beginning with the clumsy
productions of the ancient Egyptians, one passes through the different
stages of Grecian art, afterward that of Rome, and finally ends with the
works of our own times--the almost Grecian perfection of Thorwaldsen and
Canova. These halls are worthy to hold such treasures, and what more
could be said of them? The floors are of marble mosaic, the sides of
green or purple scagliola and the vaulted ceilings covered with raised
ornaments on a ground of gold. No two are alike in color and decoration,
and yet there is a unity of taste and design in the whole which renders
the variety delightful.

From the Egyptian Hall we enter one containing the oldest remains of
Grecian sculpture, before the artists won power to mold the marble to
their conceptions. Then follow the celebrated Aegina marbles, from the
temple of Jupiter Panhellenius, on the island of Aegina. They formerly
stood in the two porticoes, the one group representing the fight for the
body of Laomedon, the other the struggle for the dead Patroclus. The
parts wanting have been admirably restored by Thorwaldsen. They form
almost the only existing specimens of the Aeginetan school. Passing
through the Apollo Hall, we enter the large Hall of Bacchus, in which
the progress of the art is distinctly apparent. A satyr lying asleep on
a goatskin which he has thrown over a rock is believed to be the work of
Praxiteles. The relaxation of the figure and perfect repose of every
limb is wonderful. The countenance has traits of individuality which led
me to think it might have been a portrait, perhaps of some rude country
swain.

In the Hall of Niobe, which follows, is one of the most perfect works
that ever grew into life under a sculptor's chisel. Mutilated as it is,
without head and arms, I never saw a more expressive figure. Ilioneus,
the son of Niobe, is represented as kneeling, apparently in the moment
in which Apollo raises his arrow, and there is an imploring
supplication in his attitude which is touching in the highest degree.
His beautiful young limbs seem to shrink involuntarily from the deadly
shaft; th