was something about these moss-grown gardens that seemed so rural and pastoral, that I at once preferred them to all I had seen in Europe.  Choice flowers are planted in knots, here and there, in sheltered nooks, as if they had grown by accident:  and an air of sweet, natural wildness is left amid the most careful cultivation.  The people seemed to be enjoying themselves less demonstratively and with less vivacity than in France, but with a calm inwardness.  Each nation has its own way of being happy, and the style of life in each bears a certain relation of appropriateness to character.  The trim, dressy, animated air of the Tuileries suits admirably with the mobile, sprightly vivacity of society there.  Both, in their way, are beautiful; but this seems less formal, and more according to nature.

[Footnote A:  From “Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands.”]

[Footnote B:  King Frederick William III. and Queen Louise are here referred to.  Since Mrs. Stowe’s visit (1854) the Emperor William I. and the Empress Augusta have been buried in this mausoleum.]

LEIPSIC AND DRESDEN[A]

BY BAYARD TAYLOR

I have now been nearly two days in wide-famed Leipsic, and the more I see of it, the better I like it.  It is a pleasant, friendly town, old enough to be interesting and new enough to be comfortable.  There is much active business-life, through which it is fast increasing in size and beauty.  Its publishing establishments are the largest in the world, and its annual fairs attended by people from all parts of Europe.  This is much for a city to accomplish situated alone in the middle of a great plain, with no natural charms of scenery or treasures of art to attract strangers.  The energy and enterprise of its merchants have accomplished all this, and it now stands in importance among the first cities of Europe.

On my first walk around the city, yesterday morning, I passed the Augustus Platz—­a broad green lawn on which front the university and several other public buildings.  A chain of beautiful promenades encircles the city on the site of its old fortifications.  Following their course through walks shaded by large trees and bordered with flowering shrubs, I passed a small but chaste monument to Sebastian Bach, the composer, which was erected almost entirely at the private cost of Mendelssohn, and stands opposite the building in which Bach once directed the choirs.  As I was standing beside it a glorious choral swelled by a hundred voices came through the open windows like a tribute to the genius of the great master.