The Vatican is only open twice a week, on days which are not festas; most fortunately, to-day happened to be one of these, and we took a run through its endless halls.  The extent and magnificence of the gallery of sculpture is perfectly amazing.  The halls, which are filled to overflowing with the finest works of ancient art, would, if placed side by side, make a row more than two miles in length!  You enter at once into a hall of marble, with a magnificent arched ceiling, a third of a mile long; the sides are covered for a great distance with inscriptions of every kind, divided into compartments according to the era of the empire to which they refer.  One which I examined, appeared to be a kind of index of the roads in Italy, with the towns on them; and we could decipher on that time-worn block, the very route I had followed from Florence hither.

Then came the statues, and here I am bewildered, how to describe them.  Hundreds upon hundreds of figures—­statues of citizens, generals, emperors and gods—­fauns, satyrs and nymphs—­children, cupids and tritons—­in fact, it seemed inexhaustible.  Many of them, too, were forms of matchless beauty; there were Venuses and nymphs, born of the loftiest dreams of grace; fauns on whose faces shone the very soul of humor, and heroes and divinities with an air of majesty worthy the “land of lost gods and godlike men!”

I am lost in astonishment at the perfection of art attained by the Greeks and Romans.  There is scarcely a form of beauty, that has ever met my eye, which is not to be found in this gallery.  I should almost despair of such another blaze of glory on the world, were it not my devout belief that what has been done may be done again, and had I not faith that the dawn in which we live will bring another day equally glorious.  And why should not America, with the experience and added wisdom which three thousand years have slowly yielded to the old world, joined to the giant energy of her youth and freedom, re-bestow on the world the divine creations of art?  Let Powers answer!

But let us step on to the hemicycle of the Belvidere, and view some works greater than any we have yet seen, or even imagined.  The adjoining gallery is filled with masterpieces of sculpture, but we will keep our eyes unwearied and merely glance along the rows.  At length we reach a circular court with a fountain flinging up its waters in the centre.  Before us is an open cabinet; there is a beautiful, manly form within, but you would not for an instant take it for the Apollo.  By the Gorgon head it holds aloft, we recognize Canova’s Perseus—­he has copied the form and attitude of the Apollo, but he could not breathe into it the same warming fire.  It seemed to me particularly lifeless, and I greatly preferred his Boxers, who stand on either side of it.  One, who has drawn back in the attitude of striking, looks as if he could fell an ox with a single blow of his powerful arm.  The other is a more lithe and agile figure, and there is a quick fire in his countenance which might overbalance the massive strength of his opponent.