and here too the whole story of Greece.  Passing through these wonderful halls, you reviewed a thousand years and more, almost from the epoch of Cadmus, through the vicissitudes of empire and servitude, until Constantinople was sacked by the Turks.  The rude Pelasgic altar, the sculptured god of Praxiteles, then down through the ages of decay to the ugly painting of the Byzantine monk in the Dark Ages.  So too the whole history of Rome; the long heave of the wave from Romulus until it becomes crested with the might and beauty of the Augustan age; the sad subsidence from that summit to Goth and Hun.  There was architecture which the eyes of the Tarquins saw, there were statues of the great consuls of the Republic, the luxury of the later Empire.  You saw it not only in models, but sometimes in actual relics.  One’s blood thrilled when he stood before a statue of Julius Caesar, whose sculptor, it is reasonable to believe, wrought from the life.  It was broken and discoloured, as it came from the Italian ruin where it had lain since the barbarian raids.  But the grace had not left the toga folded across the breast, nor was the fine Roman majesty gone from the head and face,—­a head small, but high, with a full and ample brow, a nose with the true eagle curve, and thin, firm lips formed to command; a statue most subduing in its simple dignity and pathetic in its partial ruin.  And all this was free to the world as the air of heaven almost.  No fee for admission; the only requisitions, not to handle, orderly behaviour, and decent neatness in attire.  Here I saw too, when I ascended the steps between the great bronze groups of statuary as I entered, and again the last thing as I left, the spiked helmet on the head of the stiff sentinel always posted at the door.

The German home was affectionate and genial.  The American, properly introduced, was sure of a generous welcome, for it was hard to find a German who had not many relatives beyond the Atlantic.  There were courteous observances which at first put one a little aback.  Sneezing, for instance, was not a thing that could be done in a corner.  If the family were a bit old-fashioned, you would be startled and abashed by hearing the “prosits” and “Gesundheits” from the company, wishes that it might be for your advantage and health sonorously given, with much friendly nodding in your direction.  This is a curious survival of an old superstition that sneezing perhaps opened a passage through which an evil spirit might enter the body.  As you rose from the table it was the old-fashioned way, too, to go through with a general hand-shaking, and a wish to every one that the supper might set well.  The Germans are long-lived, and almost every domestic hearthstone supports the easy-chairs of grandparents.  Grandfather was often fresh and cheerful, the oracle and comforter of the children, treated with deference by those grown up, and presented to the guest as the central figure of the home.  As the younger ones