You see how far imitation of the classic and Italian is carried here in Munich; so, as I said, the buildings need the southern sunlight.  Fortunately, they get the right quality much of the time.  The Glyptothek, a Grecian structure of one story, erected to hold the treasures of classic sculpture that King Ludwig collected, has a beautiful Ionic porch and pediment.  On the outside are niches filled with statues.  In the pure sunshine and under a deep blue sky, its white marble glows with an almost ethereal beauty.  Opposite stands another successful imitation of the Grecian style of architecture,—­a building with a Corinthian porch, also of white marble.  These, with the Propylaeum, before mentioned, come out wonderfully against a blue sky.  A few squares distant is the Pinakothek, with its treasures of old pictures, and beyond it the New Pinakothek, containing works of modern artists.  Its exterior is decorated with frescoes, from designs by Kaulbach:  these certainly appear best in a sparkling light; though I am bound to say that no light can make very much of them.

Yet Munich is not all imitation.  Its finest street, the Maximilian, built by the late king of that name, is of a novel and wholly modern style of architecture, not an imitation, though it may remind some of the new portions of Paris.  It runs for three quarters of a mile, beginning with the postoffice and its colonnades, with frescoes on one side, and the Hof Theater, with its pediment frescoes, the largest opera-house in Germany, I believe; with stately buildings adorned with statues, and elegant shops, down to the swift-flowing Isar, which is spanned by a handsome bridge; or rather by two bridges, for the Isar is partly turned from its bed above, and made to turn wheels, and drive machinery.  At the lower end the street expands into a handsome platz, with young shade trees, plats of grass, and gay beds of flowers.  I look out on it as I write; and I see across the Isar the college building begun by Maximilian for the education of government officers; and I see that it is still unfinished, indeed, a staring mass of brick, with unsightly scaffolding and gaping windows.  Money was left to complete it; but the young king, who does not care for architecture, keeps only a mason or two on the brick-work, and an artist on the exterior frescoes.  At this rate, the Cologne Cathedral will be finished and decay before this is built.  On either side of it, on the elevated bank of the river, stretch beautiful grounds, with green lawns, fine trees, and well-kept walks.

Not to mention the English Garden, in speaking of the outside aspects of the city, would be a great oversight.  It was laid out originally by the munificent American, Count Rumford, and is called English, I suppose, because it is not in the artificial Continental style.  Paris has nothing to compare with it for natural beauty,—­Paris, which cannot let a tree grow, but must clip it down to suit French taste.  It is a noble park four miles in length,