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The entrance to this court is guarded by recumbent lions, and we proceed through corridors lined with massive pillars of every kind of Egyptian architecture, crowned with capitals of characteristic device, among which the lotus leaf figures prominently. Sphinxes, memnons, monarchs, deities, or idols of various kinds, ranged beneath the cornices, rest upright against the walls, or seated or couchant on slabs, greet the eye.

On the right hand-side of the court is seen a reproduction-little more than onethird of the height of the original-of part of the entrance-hall of columns of the palace at Karnak, the ruins of which are the most ancient and at the same time the most gigantic and most splendid in the world. They stand on a portion of the site, and formed a part of the ancient city of Thebes, and date from at least fifteen hundred years before the Christian era. The portion of the temple at Karnak here represented is not the most colossal part of that structure. The largest columns among these prodigious ruins are sixty-six feet in height and of the diameter of twelve feet, and they are inclosed between rows of columns forty-two feet high, and little more than nine feet in diameter. It is these smaller columns, reproduced upon a scale little more than one-third of the size of the originals, which represent Karnak in the Egyptian Court of the Sydenham Palace. Too much praise cannot be bestowed upon the manner in which this magnificent assemblage of ponderous pillars has been reared and elaborately finished off on every portion of their surface. Though so small, relatively to their originals, they are yet vast enough to symbolize strongly the ideas of strength and durability. The columns, as well as the walls, are covered profusely with hieroglyphics, also reduced to the same scale, and colored with bright tints of red, green, blue, yellow, and black. If the coloring of these columns be as faithfully reproduced as the forms-and we have no ground for questioning that it is so-it is very certain that the ancient Egyptians knew but little of the art of the colorist, and were infinitely behind the lowest of civilized moderns in that respect. We must pass the rock tombs of Aboosimbel, the columns from the temple of Denderah, and fifty other things which the visitor will pause to examine for himself, and

must hasten on to the Greek Court-the next on our route.

It is an assemblage of the most marvelous productions of human genius. Here are the matchlesss sculptures from the pediments of the Parthenon; the Theseus, the idol of artists and sculptors, old and young; the Ceres and Proserpine, with their inimitable draperies; the Ilissus, and the famous head of the horse from the chariot of the goddess Nox. Here also is the Niobe group, the Farnese Hercules and Flora, the Wrestlers, the Farnese Juno, the Dying Gladiator, and a number of other unrivaled works copied from the originals in the various museums and private galleries of Europe, which men in all countries have undertaken pilgrimages to see, and which have revived the arts of nations. Turning our eyes aloft, we see the noble frieze of the Parthenon elevated to an appropriate height; but we are puzzled to account for the strange tricks which some whimsical personage has been playing with the famous basso relievos. It would appear as though carte blanche had been given to some traveling showman to do his best to improve them, and that he had painted them as near as he could guess in the colors of life. The result has been the transformation of the works of the old Greek Phidiases into the works of Mrs. Glass or Mrs. Grundy, molded in colored sugar to ornament the top of a twelfth-cake. Others of the figures, not colored, are stuck into a bright blue background, with a result so utterly and instantaneously destructive of the delicate effect of this species of sculpture, that the only wonder is, that the hand which held the brush with the blue paint in it did not drop it instinctively after the first touch. This experiment, we should hope, will be conclusive as to the propriety of coloring the works of the sculptor, whether ancient or modern.

In the Roman Court is given the idea of Roman palatial luxury at its greatest height. The style of architecture is gorgeous and solid, the ornamentation of the most elaborate, and most expensive kind; but all without heaviness. The Roman sculpture differs from that of the Greek, much to the advantage of the latter. It is less graceful in design, less truthful in form, less poetical in conception; but is more practically useful, being confined very much to mythology, portraiture, and the

emblematizing of historical events. Among the chief sculptures to be found here are the Young Hercules, the Apollo Belvidere, the Diana with the Fawn, the Tortonia Hercules, together with a number of colossal busts, among which is the Jupiter Serapis, and a collection of Borghese and Vatican vases. There are also some fine bassi-relievi, including those from the Arch of Titus, which represent the leading of the Jews into captivity. There are also models of the Roman Forum, of the Colosseum in its perfect state, and of the celebrated temple of Neptune at Pæstum.

room.

From the Roman Court we pass on to the court of the Alhambra, which constitutes the extreme northern refreshmentThe Alhambra, the ancient palace of the Moorish kings of Granada, is the most marvelous specimen extant of Moorish architecture. The portion here represented consists of the Court of Lions and the Hall of Justice. In the center of the Court of Lions stands the fountain, supported upon the backs of twelve of those royal animals. It is impossible to give an idea by mere description of the amount of manual labor bestowed upon the gettingup of this fac-simile of Moorish architecture. The whole erection from roof to floor is a real mechanical wonder, the ceiling of the hall forming especially a puzzle not easily solved. Here and there, on the walls and cornices, checkered with minute patterns in gold and vivid color, are Arabic characters and mottoes. It is well situated for a refreshment-room, standing at the end of the nave, out of the way of the stream of visitors, and, being free from sculptures and statuary, affords ample room for hungry and thirsty guests.

Before crossing the building to the courts on the other side of the nave, we spend a few moments in the Assyrian Court, where, under the direction of Mr. Fergusson, assisted, it is said, by suggestions from Mr. Layard, has been reproduced the audiencechamber of an Assyrian monarch, such as it appeared in its bold and primitive grandeur three thousand five hundred years ago. Enormous eagle-winged and humanheaded bulls stand guarding the entrance; they appear to have been modeled exactly after the originals. The audience-chamber measures one hundred feet in length by fifty in width, and around the walls are displayed the history of the first empire at the period when Sennacherib ruled and

Ezekiel prophesied a history written in pictures of stone, which, after being buried beneath the dust of thirty centuries, are drawn forth in our day to attest the vigor and greatness of the world's youth, and the truth of prophecy. In point of artistic merit, the productions of the Assyrian chisel stand midway between those of Egypt and those of the early Greeks. In correctness of form, and in breadth and boldness of outline, with which mere size has nothing to do, they are many of them infinitely superior to the best of the Egyptian sculptures; and here and there we see evidences of a lofty intellect striving not always in vain-struggling, as it were, in spite of its unacquaintance with the true principles of art, toward the imbodiment of really grand and noble ideas. Had the Assyrian empire survived a few centuries longer, it might have boasted its Praxiteles and its Apelles, and perhaps its Socrates too, and an earlier Greece had changed the destinies of nations.

We pass into the Byzantine Court. Byzantine art may be regarded as the production of a semi-barbaric people, working upon the basis of the Greeks. The Greek simplicity they did not understand

the Greek outline they were incapable of producing; they overloaded the one with an eccentric kind of ornament, and substituted for the poetical idealism of the other a stiff, pedantic, and literal fidelity, which, wanting in the higher elements of art, has yet its historical and practical value. With all its defects, however, and its utter absence of the truly graceful, Byzantine architecture is imposing from a certain truthfulness of detail, and its suggestiveness of a kind of wild power tamed, as it were, to sacrifice to the beautiful. This court contains restorations of the cloister of St. Mary in the capitol of Cologne, and a portion of St. John the Lateran, with its gold mosaics. The fountain of Heislerback stands in the center, and remains of Romanesque art, collected from various countries, adorn the walls.

The Medieval Court is the repository of a series of fac-similes of the most beautiful forms of early ecclesiastical architecture, and consists of various departments illustrative of the French, German, Italian, and English schools, all of which are characterized by their use of the pointed arch. The examples of German gothic are selected from the works of Peter

ence.

Vischer and Adam Krafft, including, besides, the great Nuremberg door and the effigies of the archbishop electors of MayAmong the French examples are the bas-reliefs from the choir of Nôtre Dame. Among the samples of Italian art are selections from the works of Pisani, and the great altar of the church of Or San Michell, the celebrated work of Andrea Orcagna. Besides these, there are selections from the architectural and monumental remains of England; altogether the most comprehensive and valuable collection of the kind ever brought beneath a single roof.

the preponderance of Egyptian materialenough to give an old-world aspect to what we may call the court end of the edifice. There is a sphinx, which may almost vie in dimensions with the great Sphinx of the Desert; and a brick throne is erected in front of the grand entrance, for a couple of Egyptian colossi, who confront the visitor on his entering from the gardens-their motionless forms towering above him to the height of some fifty or sixty feet.

Besides the courts we have visited, there is a Sculpture Court, containing the works of Thorwalsden, Canova, Gibson, Wyatt, M'Dowell, Lough, Rauch, Tieck, Tenerani, Benzoni, Rimaldi, Marshall, and numerous other celebrated men. Then we also have a Walhalla, or Temple of Fame, containing the busts and statues of the greatest men of every age and country-heroes, statesmen, and warriors, popes, philosophers, and savans, architects, poets, dramatists, and musicians, from all parts of the

The Renaissance or Elizabethan Court presents the greatest novelty to the mass of visitors. The façade is a restoration of the Hô Bourgtherould at Rouen, with the basso-relievos of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, representing the meeting of Francis and Henry in 1520. Here also are the celebrated Florentine gates, by Ghiberti, said by Michael Angelo to be worthy to be the gates of Paradise; the famous win-world-forming a school for the student dow of the Cortosa, of Pavia, and the of biography and a shrine for the aspirant elaborate alti-relievi, accounted the most for fame. marvelous works of the kind in existence, sculptured by Bambeya to adorn the entrance of the Cortosa; the monument of John Galeazzo Visconti; and the entire frieze of the Hospital of Pistojia. The Nymph of Fontainebleau stands over the entrance from the garden; the great Caryatides of Jean Gougon, the finest productions of modern art, stand on each side of the door-way; and Germain Pilon's exquisite group of the Graces takes its place in the center of the court. The Elizabethan specimens consist of such examples as the tomb of Henry VII. by Torregiano, that of Queen Elizabeth in Westminster Abbey, and select specimens of carving in various kinds of material.

In the Italian Court are found specimens of the works of the revived classical period. The architectural details are founded on the Cortile of the Farnese Palace at Rome. In the center is seen the Fountain of the Tortoises, with statues in bronze, and around the fountain the reclining statues of Morning, Noon, Twilight, and Night, the great masterpieces of Michael Angelo for the Medici Chapel; the group of the Pieta by Bernini; also the Pieta of Angelo.

While wandering about in this huge wilderness, we cannot help being struck with

The profusion of statuary, both in the building and in the grounds, forms a marked feature of the People's Palace, and we know no more agreeable and striking contrast which the combination of art and nature can produce. It must be remembered that the palace itself is a garden; the whole of the sides of the nave, the transepts, and the divisions between the several courts on either side being filled with plants, shrubs, and trees from every clime, interspersed with animals, statues, fountains, and works of art. As any required temperature may be maintained within the building through the whole year, the vegetable productions of any latitude may be preserved in all their native vigor, and exotics which perish beneath the rigor of winter, will continue to flourish from year to year.

Looking at the People's Palace in the light of an educational institution, we are justified in regarding it as one of no trifling value. It will offer, as we have seen, unprecedented facilities for the study of the arts in all their industrial applications-of geology—of natural history-of botany-of mechanics-of manufactures— and of many things more which are scarcely of less importance. It is worth a passage across the Atlantic to see.

L

SLEEPERS AWAKENED.

dence once more dawning on his mind. We do not pretend to interpret what they whispered; but it is certain that, soothed by the chimes, he yielded to a gentle and profound slumber, in which his wife found him shortly afterward.

Care was at first taken not to break this desired repose; but as noon, evening, night, nay, a second day passed, and still it continued, his family became alarmed, and tried to rouse him. In vain! The awful slumber was as inexorable as that of death itself. It bound his senses in an iron forgetfulness. He could not be awakened by sound or touch. Sun after sun rose and set, and still the deep sleep continued. Meantime the evils he had dreaded gathered round his family. physical condition preserved his personal freedom; but an execution was put in his house, and his wife and daughters were exposed to the direst evils of poverty. The rumor, however, of his trance-like slumber was noised abroad, and reached the lordly dwelling of a nobleman who re

His

ET us introduce our reader to a small chamber in a country parsonage. The room presented a perfect picture of neatness, quiet, and repose. It was very plainly furnished, but manifested a certain elegance and refinement in the arrangement of the few simple ornaments on the chimney-piece, the flowers and books, and the old china cup of cooling drink that stood on a small round table by the open window, through which the warm air of summer stole softly, laden with perfume from the mignonette and stocks that flourished in the little garden beneath it. The sun's rays, broken by the fresh green leaves of a large walnut-tree, cast a clear, pleasant light through the snowy dimitycurtains of the bed on the face of an invalid who lay there, gazing, with the listlessness of weakness, on the glimpse of blue sky visible from the open casement. It was a countenance that sunlight might be imagined to love, so good and gentle was it. Nor did its expression belie the heart with-sided near the spot, though he was not one in. A holy, charitable, unselfish man was that village pastor; but with the resemblance he bore-and it was a strong oneto Goldsmith's portrait of his brother, there mingled much of the thoughtlessness and improvidence of the poet himself; and the consequence of his boundless charities, and of his ignorance of money-matters, had led him into embarrassments, from which he saw no escape. He would have cared little had his difficulties affected his own comfort only; but they fell likewise on those dearest to him, and anxiety for their sakes preying on his affectionate and rather timid spirit, the probable shame of an execution in his house, and the nervous horror he felt at the idea of being consigned to a prison, had brought on his present illness, and haunted his thoughts as he lay there in solitude after many restless nights of agonized and perplexed reflection, listening to the church-bells ringing for Sunday service, at which a stranger was to fill his place. From the days of Whitting-E shook his head, as she told him of ton to the present, the imagination has fre- it. She bent eagerly over the pillow : quently given a language to those airy there was a slight flutter of the eyelids ; voices; and the poor pastor, as he lay she held her breath, and clasped her hands overpowered and exhausted by long hours in an agony of expectation and dawning of painful and fruitless meditation, felt the hope. nightmare, like a load of care which oppressed him, pass off as he listened, and a childlike faith in the goodness of ProviVOL. V.-35

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of the clergyman's parishioners. Being much given to the study of physical science, he visited the parsonage to request permission to see the sleeper, and thus learned the varied sorrow that had fallen on its gentle inmates. With equal delicacy and generosity, he proffered as a loan the means of paying the harsh creditors, assuring the poor wife that if her husband should ever wake, he would give him the means of repaying the pecuniary obligation. The offer was thankfully accepted, and the debt discharged. For the following two days, Lord E- was a regular visitor at the parsonage.

Sunday morning again dawned-once more the sunlight fell on the sleeper's pillow, and the bells called men to pray. Beside the couch were seated the miserable wife and her noble friend. The faint, regular breathing of the trance-chained man deepened and to her anxious ear the difference was perceptible, though Lord

The hand so long motionless, stirred; the eyes opened: she could not speak for overpowering joy. The sleeper raised his head, slightly smiled on her, and

observed: "I thought I had slept longer -the bell has not yet ceased ringing!" He was unconscious that a whole week had elapsed since its tones had soothed him to rest. The wife fainted, and was conveyed from the chamber. The doctor was summoned; he found his patient weak, but not otherwise ill. A still more extraordinary mental cure had been effected by the genius of Sleep: he had totally forgotten his threatened difficulties, and from that hour recovered rapidly. Lord Econferred a living of some value on him;

and when he was strong enough to bear the disclosure, his wife informed him of the loan so nobly. bestowed on them, and the suffering from which he had been so marvelously preserved. The lesson was not lost. The new rector henceforward strove to unite prudence with generosity; and a career of worldly prosperity, as well as the far greater blessing of an implicit and cheerful faith in Providence, attended the renewed life of the sleeper awakened. In this instance the sleep or trance was dreamless and unconscious. But there is one remarkable case on record,* in which the body only of the sleeper was subject to this deathlike thraldom of slumber, the mind remaining awake; and the account given by the individual who endured this interval of life in death, is very singular and interesting. She was an attendant on a German princess; and after being confined to her bed for a great length of time with a nervous disorder, to all appearance died. She was laid in a coffin, and the day fixed for her interment arrived. In accordance with the custom of the place, funeral songs and hymns were sung outside the door of the chamber in which the fair corpse lay. Within they were preparing to nail on the lid of the coffin, when a slight moisture was observed on the brow of the dead. The supposed corpse was of course immediately removed to a different couch, and every means used to restore suspended vitality. She recovered, and gave the following singular account of her sensations:

"She was perfectly conscious of all that passed around her; she distinctly heard her friends speaking and lamenting her death; she felt them clothe her in the garments of the grave, and place her in the coffin. This knowledge produced a mental anxiety she could not

* In an old Magazine, dating 1798; and also in Dr. Crichton's Essays.

describe. She tried to speak or cry, but vainly-she had no power of utterance; it was equally impossible for her to raise her hand or open her eyes, as she vainly endeavored to do. She felt as if she were imprisoned in a dead body. But when she heard them talk of nailing the lid on her, and the mournful music of the funeral-hymns reached her ear, the anguish of her mind attained its height and agony, mastering that awful spell of unnatural slumber, and producing the moisture on her brow which saved her from being entombed alive."

One more little anecdote of a somewhat similar kind, which was related to us on the authority of a Hastings fisherman, and we will close our paper. It occurred during the cholera. The people of England have an especial horror of this terrible scourge, and nothing will induce them to believe that the infection is in the air, and not in the person affected by the complaint; consequently it was difficult, in some places, to persuade them to perform the last offices for the dead, and they hurried the interment of the victims of the pestilence with unseemly precipitation. A poor seafaring-man, who had been long absent from his native land, returning home at the time it was raging, found that his wife had been dead about three days, and that her coffin had been placed in a room with those of others, who, lodging in the same dwelling, had also perished of the disease. Greatly afflicted, the sailor insisted on The neighbors seeing his dead wife. would have dissuaded him; but his affection and grief disdained all fear, and he rushed into the chamber of death. There, forcing open the lid of the coffin, and bending over the beloved corpse, the rude mariner shed tears, which fell fast upon the pallid face, when suddenly a sound, something like a sigh, was emitted from the white lips, and the next instant the exhausted and deathlike sleeper opened her eyes, and gazed up in his face! The joy of the fellow poor may be well imagined.

THERE are two processes of civilization which go on, sometimes in conjunction, sometimes separately: one is moral civilization, that is, beliefs, laws, and the customs and virtues of a people; the other is material civilization, that is to say, the more or less progressive development of the purely manual or industrial trades and arts. When, by the term civilization, we compound these two processes, we render our meaning obscure.-Lamartine.

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