simplicity instead of being, as is thought by some, inimical to beauty, constitutes its very essence; and twenty simple but imposing structures might be reared for the price of one gaudy and tasteless production.

The most celebrated Basilics of Europe, St. Peter's at Rome and St. Paul's at London, however admirable as constructions, are, to our taste, wanting in the means of inspiring that feeling with which, in our opinion, the Creator should be approached. Sir Christopher Wren has erected a masterpiece of masonry, but had he lived in the glorious days of Greece he would have produced a masterpiece of architec

ture.

Gothic cathedrals, particularly in their interior, always invite meditation. We do not at first sight perceive the uncouth ornaments which are heaped together, they are lost in the general effect. We experience a certain vague, undefinable abstraction, analogous to the uncertain light which prevails; the past recurs rapidly to the mind; we remember that ages roll on, and that we ourselves pass away with them; the heart feels oppressed, images of death spring up, we humble ourselves, we kneel, we pray. To explain the relation which this effect bears to its cause is foreign to our object, but that such effect is generally produced on entering gothic cathedrals, though with greater or less intensity according to the natural disposition of different individuals, cannot be denied, and if we seek not to explain it, neither do we think it that which should be produced by a temple consecrated to the adoration of God. We have ever thought that a God of infinite goodness should be approached with a feeling of confidence rather than of fear; with a sentiment of joy, not one of despair; the greater the Supreme Being, so much the more are we ennobled in approaching him, and the more we feel this approach the more the soul becomes elevated, and the more capable we feel ourselves of all that is great, generous and sublime. But leaving these speculations let us keep to our strictly architectural considerations.

Gothic architecture is remarkable not only for its pointed arches; a character it enjoys in common with the Saracenic, but also for its vertical lines which greatly predominate over the horizontal lines, and the generally slender, aspiring, and pinnacled forms of the principle masses and of the minor details. It is a style too well known however to need description. We will here remark that, contrary to the very

prevalent opinion, that it had no principles, and that its architects abandoned themselves to all the fancies of arbitrary caprice, we are convinced, that gothic architecture had its definite principles, and that these were in many points peculiarly excellent. At all events it cannot be denied, that no buildings display so perfect a knowledge of the very mathematical science of arching and abutment as gothic cathedrals. The traveller then, on the subject of these buildings will do well, if he has time and opportunity, to measure all the parts of the plan and elevation of such edifices, when it will be found that some of their dimensions, are aliquot parts of others, as of the length or breadth, or of half the length, &c., by means of which a scale may be constructed, serving to discover the module employed by the architect, at least for each separate building; and by the comparison of several buildings, the universal principles which prevailed in the construction of such edifices may be ultimately discovered. The works of Cæsar Casarianus, one of the commentators of Vetruvius, contains observations regarding the cathedral of Milan, tending to show that the gothic architects worked upon principle, ✓and that this principle was the triangle and its subdivisions. An attempt has also been lately made to discover the principle upon which the cathedral of Carlisle was built, the result of which has been to show, that the circle and its subdivisions were the principle here employed. But as a triangle may be inscribed in, or circumscribed about every circle, it is not improbable that the triangle was the fundamental figure, as in the case of Milan. Why either should have been chosen is not clear unless as symbolical figures. The circle has been often the symbol of the Divinity, but the triangle is more appropriate to the Triune God of the Christians. We leave these matters, however, to the city of our traveller.

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Different styles of architecture and different arrangements and combinations of parts, in the same style, have different characters, and by an analogy or secret sympathy, always felt though difficultly explained, awaken corresponding sentiments. Every well organised mind feels the difference between the little and the great; the pretty, the beautiful, and the sublime; the cheerful, the melancholy, the severe and the gloomy. We also know from experience, what are, in general, the forms, the colours, the dimensions and the arrangement which are the best fitted to produce the sentiments we have enumerated; and this knowledge is suffi

cient for practical purposes without diving into the metaphysics of the subject. Applying these considerations then, to architecture, we are enabled to judge with tolerable accuracy from their public buildings, whether a people are influenced by any exclusive sentiment or taste in architecture, and whether or not their judgment in this matter be sound.

Whenever a nation is influenced by a particular sentiment of the little or the fantastical, we find in its architectural monuments, nakedness in the place of simplicity, or tawdriness in lieu of beauty. A frivolous people would have prettiness even in architecture. The really beautiful and the sublime point out a people advanced in real greatness; the former belongs to the peaceful virtues, the latter to the severe and heroic virtues. A cruel and splenetic people would have the gloomy and the melancholy, like the dungeons of the inquisition, or the cloisters of the trappists. An economical and calculating people, will have nothing but what is strictly necessary; they are sparing of monuments, and such as they have will be plain and solid. A really civilized people, with a sound judgment and purified taste, will have edifices of every character according to fitness for their respective objects.

In connexion with the beauty of public edifices themselves, the choice of their situation is not to be neglected, nor the harmony or contrast of their architectural lines, with the vegetable forms of the country. The harmony of form is observable for instance in the aspiring minarets of the Turkish mosques and the pointed cypress trees planted around them, while the horizontal roofs of Italian edifices form a contrast with the vertical stems of the Lombardy poplar, as do also the pointed steeples of our own country with the rounded summits of our oaks and elms, &c. In general, contrast in this respect is more pleasing than harmony, though both may be blended, as at Constantinople, where the flat roof and rounded dome contrast with both the vertical minar and upright cypress. Nor is colour to be overlooked: much of the beautiful effect of buildings is derived from the contrast of their fine stone colour, with the azure of the sky or the green foliage of the trees; while the harmonious keeping of our grey gothic piles with our cloudy sky and its fitful play of light, has charms peculiar to itself.

These hints, it is hoped, will suffice to direct the traveller in his observations of architecture as a fine art, and in its connexion with the taste and disposition of a people. We

shall therefore close this subject by merely remarking, that though building is one of the arts most necessary to man, and contemporaneous with the settlement of society, still architecture, properly so called, is only to be found in nations rich and civilized.

SECTION II.

PAINTING.

Painting as an art, should be studied in the celebrated schools of Europe, for it is there alone that we can hope to find the truly beautiful or a perfect imitation of nature; and it is, in fact, to the Florentine, Roman, Lombard, French, Flemish, Dutch or English schools, that young artists, desirous of attaining excellence, go to acquire the principles of their art. Each, according to his taste or circumstances, makes choice of one or other of these schools, or studies in his own country such of their productions as he can have access to. When launched into practice, he paints such subjects as accord best with his own particular taste, or lends his genius to the production of such pictures as will bring the greatest profit and reputation by reason of the demand; but whatever style or subject he adopts, his manner will partake of the school which supplied his first models.

Paintings are a language, and those who contemplate them, read. There should therefore be as perfect an agreement between the subjects of pictures and the taste of those who possess them, as between the books in a library and the disposition of its proprietor. But pictures are objects of luxury, and the wealthy alone can have extensive galleries. The greater the number of originals of celebrated masters of different countries which these collections contain, so much the more are they esteemed; national productions, forming, generally, but a small proportion in any gallery. Now from the heterogenous nature of the paintings in such a gallery it is impossible to discover any feature on which to found a

judgment, either of the taste of the country or of that of the proprietor of the pictures. It is not therefore in the galleries of princes and of the rich, that we are to seek for harmony between the pictorial productions of a country and its mind, but rather in the small collections which adorn the apartments of private individuals: such persons, unable to go to the expense of having foreign paintings, are under the necessity of satisfying themselves with native productions, and the prevailing nature of these will be found more or less characteristic of the prevalent taste, passions, and moral disposition.

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Portraits. In all countries vanity is a common failing, but it assumes different features in different individuals, and in different countries. In some cases it is personal, direct, and undisguised; in others it is diffusive, indirect and veiled. In countries despotically governed the dignities and honours conferred by the prince are the chief titles to consideration and respect; in old monarchies, where the aristocratic families of the country have played important parts in the history of by-gone times, genealogy and high descent are objects of pride in republics, places of trust, denoting eminence, are also enviable distinctions; in mixed governments the wealthy ape the great, hence the general prevalence of portraits. In some cases the portraits, displaying with undisguised affectation, the rank, the orders, and other honorific badges conferred on the original, are exposed in the most conspicuous place, proclaiming a greater desire of exacting respect than of deserving it. Not that we would insinuate that we should blush at such well-merited honours as a just, munificent, and enlightened prince may confer, on the contrary, we may reasonably be proud of them; but at the same time it should be remembered, that modesty is the chief decoration of true merit, and a vain display creates a suspicion that more is owing to chance or intrigue than to honour or virtue.

A less immediately personal vanity, and one which, in some cases, is more excusable, is that which makes an exhibition of ancestral dignity. Not that we are for a moment to imagine that we owe these uncouth collections of wigs and conical bodies, of armour and hoops, to filial piety,—that the son delights in contemplating the beloved features of an indulgent father or of a tender mother; for, if such were the motives, these portraits would be confined to the private apartments, whither, accompanied only by recollections and