From the Egyptian Hall, we enter one containing the oldest remains of Grecian sculpture, before the artists won power to mould the marble to their conceptions.  Then follow the celebrated Egina marbles, from the temple of Jupiter Panhellenius, on the island of Egina.  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 Eginetan 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 goat-skin 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; there is an expression of prayer, almost of agony, in the position of his body.  It should be left untouched.  No head could be added, which would equal that one pictures to himself, while gazing upon it.

The Pinacothek is a magnificent building of yellow sandstone, five hundred and thirty feet long, containing thirteen hundred pictures, selected with great care from the whole private collection of the king, which amounts to nine thousand.  Above the cornice on the southern side, stand twenty-five colossal statues of celebrated painters, by Schwanthaler.  As we approached, the tall bronze door was opened by a servant in the Bavarian livery, whose size harmonized so well with the giant proportions of the building, that, until I stood beside him and could mark the contrast, I did not notice his enormous frame.  I saw then that he must be near eight feet high, and stout in proportion.  He reminded me of the great “Baver of Trient,” in Vienna.  The Pinacothek contains the most complete collection of works by old German artists, anywhere to be found.  There are in the hall of the Spanish masters, half a dozen of Murillo’s inimitable beggar groups.  It was a relief, after looking upon the distressingly stiff figures of the old German school, to view these fresh, natural countenances.  One little black-eyed boy has just cut a slice out of a melon and turns with a full mouth to his companion, who is busy eating a bunch of grapes.  The simple, contented expression on the faces of the beggars is