opportunity to display in a very striking manner his knowledge of horses and of their make and movements.
Now, it is Tischbein's wish to have these sketches (and a series of others to follow, or to be intercalated between them) connected together by a poem, which may serve to explain the drawings, and, by giving them a definite context, may lend to them both a body and a charm.
The idea is beautiful; only the artist and the poet must be many years together in order to carry out and to execute such a work.
The Loggie of Raphael, and the great pictures of the School of Athens, etc., I have now seen for the first and only time; so that for me to judge of them at present is like having to make out and to judge of Homer from some half-obliterated and much-injured manuscript. The gratification of the first impression is incomplete: it is only when they have been carefully studied and examined, one by one, that the enjoyment becomes perfect. The best preserved are the paintings on the ceilings of the Loggie. They are as fresh as if painted yesterday. The subjects are symbolical. Very few, however, are by Raphael's own hand; but they are excellently executed, after his designs and under his eye.
Many a time, in years past, did I entertain the strange whim, ardently to wish that I might one day be taken to Italy by some well-educated man,—by some Englishman well learned in art and in history. And now it all has been brought about much better than I could have anticipated. Tischbein has been living here long as a sincere friend to me, and during his stay has always cherished the wish of being able to show me Rome one day. Our intimacy is old by letter, though new by presence. Where could I have met with a worthier guide? And, if my time is limited, I will at least learn and enjoy as much as
