with which I afterward examined the cathedral at Cologne, and that at Freiburg, and more and more felt the value of these buildings, I could even blame myself for having afterward lost sight of them altogether,—nay, for having left them completely in the background, being attracted by a more developed art. But when now, in the latest times, I see attention again turned to those objects; when I see affection, and even passion, for them appearing and flourishing; when I see able young persons seized with this passion, recklessly devoting powers, time, care, and property to these memorials of a past world,—then am I reminded with pleasure that what I formerly would and wished had a value. With satisfaction I see that they not only know how to prize what was done by our forefathers, but that, from existing unfinished beginnings, they try to represent, in pictures at least, the original design, so as thus to make us acquainted with the thought, which is ever the beginning and end of all undertakings; and that they strive with considerate zeal to clear up and vivify what seems to be a confused past. Here I especially applaud the brave Sulpiz Boisserée, who is indefatigably employed in a magnificent series of copperplates to exhibit the cathedral of Cologne as the model of those vast conceptions, the spirit of which, like that of Babel, strove up to heaven, and which were so out of proportion to earthly means that they were necessarily stopped fast in their execution. If we have been hitherto astonished that such buildings proceeded only so far, we shall learn with the greatest admiration what was really designed to be done.
Would that literary-artistical undertakings of this kind were duly patronised by all who have power, wealth, and influence; that the great and gigantic views of our forefathers may be presented to our contemplation; and that we may be able to form a conception of what they dared to desire. The insight
