selves, though short as the history of the dynasty which he founded. How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people!' While many walls of the palace of Xerxes yet stand, whilst sculptures from Nimroud, of far earlier date, are still perfect as the day they were first carved, one capital alone, doubtfully ascribed to the age of Herod, remains to attest the glory of those sacred buildings which once crowned the Hill of Sion.

Lycia is the next point on the panorama. The oldest structures are the tumuli of Tantalais, which, though wholly of stone, bear so strong a family likeness to those of Magna Græcia, that they seem as if left there most opportunely to authen'ticate the tradition of the Etruscans having sailed from this port 'for Italy.' Next in age, follow a remarkable series of monuments, which, whether rock-cut, or constructed, indicate distinctly a wooden origin';' in one instance all the mortices and framing, even to the pins that held them together, being literally rendered in the stonework.' Sometimes these tombs are surmounted with a curvilinear roof of pointed form, also in all its parts a copy of an original in wood.' Sometimes a flat roof is substituted, nearly similar to those common in the 'country at the present day, consisting of beams of unsquared 'timber, laid side by side as close as they can be laid, and over 'these a mass of concrete, or clay, sufficiently thick to prevent 'the rain from penetrating through,' but all hewn in the living rock. No other architecture of the Western world exhibits such distinct instances of petrified carpentry.

We are then conducted to Egypt. Mr. Fergusson, finding that the best authorities for the date of the great Pyramid differ between themselves for the trifling period of 2,400 years, wisely avoids the useless controversy, and contents himself with stating facts which can really be seen, and inferences which may fairly be drawn. He seems, however, bent on striking another of the prized wonders of the world off the list.

The early Egyptians built neither for beauty nor for use, but for eternity. To this last they sacrificed every other feeling. In itself nothing can be less artistic than a pyramid. A tower, either round or square, or of any other form, and of the same dimensions, would have been far more imposing; and if of sufficient height, the mass being the same, might almost attain to sublimity; but a pyramid never looks as large as it is, and not till you almost touch it can you be brought to believe that its dimensions are so great as they are. This is owing principally to all its parts sloping away from the eye, instead of boldly challenging observation; but on the other hand, no form is so stable, none so capable of resisting the injuries of time or force, and none, consequently, so well calculated to attain the object for which the Pyramids were erected. As examples of technic art, they are unrivalled among the works of men, but they rank among the lowest if judged by the æsthetic rules of architectural art.'

The further Mr. Fergusson voyages up the Nile, the warmer, as it is to be expected, his feelings become. Though he sees little to admire in the gigantic structures of Memphis, he makes up for this hardness of judgment by devout admiration in the shrines of Thebes. The Rhamession receives much praise, but he fairly bows down and worships in the hypostyle hall, at Karnac. There are great outworks of colonnades; the hall itself is 340 feet by 170, and with its two pylons covers more 'than 88,000 square feet, a greater area than Cologne, the 'largest of all our northern cathedrals.' The general arrangement consists of enormous rows of columns, dividing the building into many aisles.

'But no language can convey an idea of its beauty, and no artist has yet been able to reproduce its form so as to convey, to those who have not seen it, an idea of its grandeur. The mass of its central piers, illumined by a flood of light from the clerestory, and the smaller pillars of the wings gradually fading into obscurity, are so arranged and so lighted, as to convey an idea of infinite space; at the same time, the beauty and massiveness of the forms, and the brilliancy of their coloured decorations, all combine to stamp this as the greatest of man's architectural works.'

If the earlier works of Egypt have a stronger hold on our author's admiration, the later structures appear to possess a greater claim on his sympathies. In describing the Ptolemaic temple on the island of Phylæ, he says:—

'No Gothic architect, in his wildest moments, ever played so freely with his lines or dimensions, and none, it must be added, ever produced any thing so beautifully picturesque as this. It contains all the play of light and shade, all the variety of Gothic art, with the massiveness and grandeur of the Egyptian style. It is true, it is far less sublime than many, but hardly one can be quoted as more beautiful than it is.'

Before bidding the Egyptians farewell, Mr. Fergusson vindicates their character from the imputation of ignorance of the use of the arch in construction. The strong desire that they and their works should last to the latest posterity, exemplified alike in their mode of sepulture and their tombs, appears to have caused them to decline to use this method of construction in all cases where, by so doing, the security of the building was rendered in the slightest degree doubtful.

From Egypt, Mr. Fergusson sails with the stream of architecture to Greece; and thenceforward with only a few short excursions, he abides in Europe altogether. The scanty relics of Pelasgic art proper are considered first. To attempt any argument from drawings merely, is alike difficult and extra liable to error; and the materials in this case are very scanty. But there appears to be a decided family likeness between the lions at Mycenæ, and their celebrated brethren who grimly

guard the entrance to the arsenal at Venice; the fiercest of whom bears those celebrated Runic carvings, the admiration and the despair of successive generations of inquirers. There likewise appears a decided generic resemblance between the decoration of the broken pillar in front of the Tomb of Atreus, and the recognised forms of Runic carving. What, if all these should really be contemporary? What if they should be the sole surviving relics in evidence of a time when the Scandinavian races dominated in the sunny regions of the south?

It is strange, yet a source of hope, to find that the style with which the Greeks started on that race which they ran with such pre-eminent skill and success, was an imported, we may truly say, a borrowed style. Strange, because at first sight one would conclude that those who could employ the style so powerfully must have been more than mere copyists; a source of hope to those who, like us, have to be content with borrowing, when we see to what glories of perfection even imitators may rise, when they consult precedents, not to fetter themselves with their weight, but simply and earnestly to employ those riches of the accumulations of ages the best way they can.

Mr. Fergusson proceeds to instance the models followed. In the history of architecture, as of other things—

-All experience is the arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever as we move.'

The origin of the style of the Doric temple at Corinth is referred to the rock-cut shrine at Beni-Hassan; what future Bruce or Fergusson shall discover for us the source whence that also is most indisputably copied?' The history of the various 'orders' follows, clear, concise, and intelligible. We miss, however, the braids of hair,' and the charming story of the basket and acanthus leaf. When we opened on the early Corinthian capital, entwined also with the honeysuckle ornament, we had hoped there might have been at least some delightful story to account for that elegant device; but no; 'Les plus belles choses ont le pire destin.' All these cherished traditions are summarily knocked on the head by the announcement that the Corinthian 'order is as essentially borrowed from the bell-shaped capitals of Egypt, as the Doric is from their oldest pillars.' However ruthless in this way Mr. Fergusson may be, he deserves the highest praise for the common sense with which he names his examples from the source whence they come, as, order of the choragic monument of Lysicrates,' order of the Tower of the Winds, Athens; the fact being, we believe, as we shall see more clearly with the help of the greater number of examples extant at Rome,

that no two examples exactly correspond. The architect, dealing with a living style, in fact moulded each 'order' with reference to the individual requirements of the position and entourage of the site, or else invented what appears to us a caprice, to avoid monotony. Was it likely that a race of men who could devise a convex profile, of a very delicate hyperbolic curve, to the extent of of the whole height of the pillars of the Parthenon-who could carry the architrave 'upwards, so as to form a very flat arch, just sufficient to correct the optical delusion ' arising from the interference of the sloping lines of the pediment-would confine themselves within the formal etiquette of a rigid mannerism? The want of these delicate attentions, it is most justly observed, cause that rigidity and poverty observable in all modern copies from these styles. Mr. Fergusson's hypothesis as to the manner of lighting the Grecian temples by a kind of clerestory, obtained by countersinking into the roof, so as in fact to form three ridges, appears to us ingenious as well as probable.

În Hellas, as well as in Egypt, the age of picturesqueness appears to have succeeded the age of grandeur. One of the latest works,

the Erechtheium, consisted, properly speaking, of three temples grouped together, and it is astonishing what pains the architect took to prevent their being mistaken for one. The porticos of two of them are on different levels, and the third or caryatide porch is of a different height and different style. Every one of these features is perfectly symmetrical in itself, and the group is beautifully balanced and arranged; and yet no Gothic architect in his wildest moments could have conceived anything more picturesquely irregular than the whole becomes.'

With regard to the palatial and domestic architecture of Greece we can only join our regret to Mr. Fergusson's, that so few specimens of the manner in which they were treated remain. But the gap in the links of the chain is here utterly irreparable.

Mr. Fergusson approaches Roman architecture through the porch of Etruria. And very justly; for the influence that power exercised over the empire which subjugated and assimilated everything within the limits of its sway is most remarkable. To Etruscan architects the first buildings in Rome which aspired to be more than the hut of Romulus must be ascribed. The skill with which they constructed is attested by the fact that the Cloaca Maxima still ably performs the functions for which it was originally designed. And if, at this very day, you climb the long slope of the Aventine hill, and seek out the Vigna del Collegio Romano, and pass beneath the trellised vines, beneath whose shade the students and fathers

every Thursday take their weekly recreation, you may see, on the brow of the declivity which overlooks the Monte Testaccio and the pyramid of Caius Sestius, the stones of the walls, perfect as when first imbedded in the mortar, which were compacted into the form they still hold in the days of monarchical Rome. One thing is to be observed in all their early arches: the voussoirs were curved equally on both sides: as if these primitive builders thought there was some spell in the arch form, which could not hold good unless both sides of the stone were served alike. Though in Rome the orders' were a step further from their primary source, they were applied with the same dashing originality as in Greece. Mr. Fergusson appears almost bewildered by the embarras de richesses of his details. After speaking of the Corinthian order, and naming many buildings constructed in it, he continues

Besides these, there are at least fifty varieties of Corinthian capitals, either in Rome or in various parts of the Roman empire.'

The real explanation of which we take to be, simply, that so many more examples of Roman work being preserved than of earlier styles, we have exactly so many more modifications according to the requirement of each building. Every architect, in fact, varied his arrangements according to his own individual views-keeping just that general agreement to the required outlines of the style which was requisite to enable the building to be considered within its limits-to be ranked as the offspring of a free, not of a licentious architecture. Compare the portico of the Maison Carrée with that of the Pantheon, and scarce two details will be found to correspond. Compare again the proportions of the temple at Tivoli with the temple of Vesta at Rome. The one contains the stoutest' and the other the slenderest example of a Corinthian column known.' It may be, however, that this difference of style has no connexion with the relative age of the two buildings, but is merely an instance of the good taste of the age to which they belong. The Roman example, being placed in a low and flat situation, required all the height that could be given it; that at Tivoli, being placed on the edge of a rock, required as much solidity as the order would admit of, to prevent its looking poor and insecure. A Gothic or a Greek architect would certainly have made this distinction.'

Had we written the passage, we should have been inclined to substitute we cannot doubt' for 'it may be.'

We must, however, dissent from Mr. Fergusson's theory about the relative ages of the two portions of the Pantheon, and agree with those who believe that the portico was added by Agrippa to the pre-existing rotunda.' It is scarcely possible to believe that that stately porch, roofed with enormous