t the disembodied
souls that hover above that battlefield strewn with the dead. "The
Destruction of Jerusalem" is a fine composition, tho somewhat too
theatrical. It resembles a "close of the fifth act" much more than
beseems the serious character of fresco painting. In the panel which
represents Hellenic civilization, Homer is the central figure; this
composition pleased me least of all. Other paintings as yet unfinished
present the climacteric epochs of humanity. The last of these will be
almost contemporary, for when a German begins to paint, universal
history comes under review; the great Italian painters did not need so
much in achieving their master-pieces. But each civilization has its
peculiar tendencies, and this encyclopedic painting is a characteristic
of the present time. It would seem that, before flinging itself into its
new career, the world has felt the necessity of making a synthesis of
its past....

This staircase, which is of colossal size, is ornamented with casts from
the finest antiques. Copies of the metopes of the Pantheon and friezes
from the temple of Theseus are set into its walls, and upon one of the
landings stands the Pandrosion, with all the strong and tranquil beauty
of its Caryatides. The effect of the whole is very grand. At the present
day there is no longer any visible difference between the people of one
country and of another. The uniform domino of civilization is worn
everywhere, and no difference in color, no special cut of the garment,
notifies you that you are away from home. The men and women whom I met
in the street escape description; the flaneurs of the Unter den Linden
are exactly like the flaneurs of the Boulevard des Italiens. This
avenue, bordered by splendid houses, is planted, as its name indicates,
with lindens; trees "whose leaf is shaped like a heart," as Heinrich
Heine remarks--a peculiarity which makes Unter den Linden dear to
lovers, and eminently suited for sentimental interviews. At its entrance
stands the equestrian statue of Frederick the Great. Like the
Champs-Elysees in Paris, this avenue terminates at a triumphal arch,
surmounted by a chariot with four bronze horses. Passing under the arch,
we come out into a park in some degrees resembling the Bois de Boulogne.

Along the edge of this park, which is shadowed by great trees having all
the intensity of northern verdure, and freshened by a little winding
stream, open flower-crowded gardens, in whose depths