being projected inside or outside, in the manner shown at figure 9, Plate B, we should probably stand less in need of registered stoves, or of modern scientific ventilation. The corbelling out on the one side, and the intake on the other, here represented, would be necessary to suit internal requirements; for unless by increasing the width of the projected part at the ground, and carrying it up all the height, suitable fire-places could not be constructed in the three apartments for which the chimney is intended.

These five windows, fig. 10, Plate A, and the one above the oriel window, are all stone, and of course cannot be otherwise than useless as windows. These string courses or drip mouldings, fig. 11, A, somewhat resemble old examples in form, but do not serve the same useful purpose. Ancient drip mouldings were placed over windows, doors, and other openings or recesses, in the manner shown on Plate B, fig. 11, and for the purpose, as the name implies, of carrying the drip over parts requiring protection from the weather, such as moulded and carved mullions, &c. Those shown at fig. 11, A, are placed, as in many modern buildings, merely to break the surface of the small space of plain wall between the upper and the lower windows. The ancient use or origin of the corner ornament, fig. 12, A, is almost lost sight of in the change of form. When houses came to be built with stone, and gable boards were no longer necessary for sheltering the ends of roofbeams, thatch, or shingles, gable walls were raised higher than the side walls at each end, so as to cover in the roof timbers and the material above, whether thatch or slates. The parts of the gable wall so raised were generally corbelled out a little beyond the surface of the wall underneath, and frequently ingeniously and appropriately ornamented. I may here take occasion to remark in passing, that this practice

of decorating the exposed terminations of upright walls is of very ancient origin; for instance the antæ-the prototype of the modern pilaster-was simply the finish given to the end of a useful wall; but these ancient antæ were not placed in any other position, neither had they mouldings the same as the columns used in the same building, or belonging to the same order as the modern imitation. But to return; ornamented gable ends or skew stones, were usually finished by the gable cope moulding, and occasionally contained armorial or other carved ornaments, but I have never seen an ancient example resembling the present absurd form, which appears to be the result of an idle attempt to combine the Elizabethan skew stone with the FrancoScottish corner turret. Now, although I need scarcely say, that all these useless parts add vastly to the cost of modern buildings, I would ask, why do we rest satisfied with the idea that this practice of constructing mere idle imitations of ancient useful forms will lead us to greatness in Architecture? We do not consider conventionalism evidence of talent on the part of those who profess to be learned in other arts. In music, we hesitate not to prefer genuine feeling to the drawing-room thunderings of some semi-grand Maestro, of whose power our ears alone are sensible. We have ceased to consider conventional compositions of brown foregrounds and blue hills proofs of excellence in landscape painting; and we now hear less of style and noble rules from those who no longer feel their dignity offended, or their genius questioned, when told their works look like simple transcripts of nature. And why? Because landscape painters have got beyond that conventionally noble stage whereat we are still standing in Architecture, and where, I fear, we are doomed to remain, until such time as we can make up our minds to allow a little more scope to our common sense, when endeavouring

to determine between reality and pretension in constructive art. I say this much, believing that unless a work of art, no matter whether of architecture or painting, can bear the test of reason and common sense, no great amount of that quality of mind correctly denominated genius, can have been employed in its production. The young and enthusiastic artist may deem this a grovelling mode of ascertaining the extent of his powers. It may be so. Still I am disposed to maintain, notwithstanding, that were we to insist on having every part of our buildings made reasonably useful, we should be infinitely nearer arriving at the knowledge of what really and truly constitutes a work of architectural genius, and towards making the discovery, that ancient Gothic art owed its existence, not to a love for idle decoration, but to that feeling for constructive fitness and grandeur of form possessed by those who were indeed men of genius, ever actuated by simple honesty of purpose. Could we but follow their example even in truthfulness of material in individual forms or features, we should possibly come to consider the present practice of supporting heavy stone walls on rods of iron, enclosed and concealed by mock columns, composed of thin wooden boards and plaster capitals, scarcely consistent with the dignity of true constructive science. We admire old stone pillars: those in Roslyn Chapel, for example; and are not church restorers busily employed everywhere at present in taking plaster and paint from off old Gothic columns? Therefore, when thus showing our anxiety for the re-appearance of ancient forms in all their original honesty of material, why should we object to place a veritable stone pillar under a stone wall in a modern building, and to let it appear as such? I know it will be said in answer to this, Provided the required degree of strength is obtained by an “iron core," why object to its being encircled with wood, and

thereby made to assume a massive appearance? Now I object for two reasons: If there is room for a massively got up column, there will be space for a suitable stone pillar; and by constructing the latter, we will show a greater regard for truth-a great desideratum in modern Architecture.

But lest my having confined these remarks hitherto to the consideration of usefulness as a controlling principle, should have led you to suppose I wish to deny that we derive pleasure from viewing columns, arches, or other forms, either singly or in combination, altogether irrespective of constructive fitness, I beg to state, that so far from disputing this fact, I unhesitatingly assert, that but for our innate liking for pleasing forms, purely as such, we should not have so long remained satisfied with the shadow for the substance of constructive architecture; nor so long continued to act as if architectural excellence could only be attained by a servile repetition of the five orders. We admire the columnar form, for instance, whether in art or nature, whether in the tree of the forest or in the Gothic or the Grecian column; and when columns are arranged, as they usually are, on the exteriors of classical edifices, few, I should think, will feel disposed to deny, that a pleasing effect is produced. But this gives rise to other questions, Does the pleasure then and there experienced, arise in our minds in consequence of each and all of those columns having been made coldly correct, according to the latest measurements; or from their having been placed just so far and no farther apart; or because there are just so many and no more on one or on both sides of the building? I cannot believe so. A sense of fitness for constructive purposes demands, certainly, that all the columns employed in supporting one and the same line of entablature should be of a uniform height, and for this very obvious reason, that an

uneven or broken entablature would produce an appearance of instability. This fitness, arising from a uniformity of height in that particular part, cannot, however, be the cause of our general admiration of the columnar form, otherwise we should not derive the pleasure we do when viewing either a lengthened avenue or the nave of a Gothic cathedral. And where columns are used, where no necessity is supposed to exist for sameness in height or girth in Gothic construction, the eye, so far from feeling offended, is gratified by the variety produced. Pursuing this question of beauty as arising out of exactness in form and measurements a little further, do we not derive as much pleasure when looking on a long line of Gothic pillars, having all their mouldings varied in size and form, as we do when viewing a Grecian colonnade or portico, where the slightest variation either in size or form of these minor parts is considered an unpardonable offence against correctness in taste? Therefore, why should the precise proportions of columns, entablatures, and other parts used originally in constructing Grecian temples (and no two authorities agree entirely as to these proportions), be considered an unalterable standard of excellence, any more than that accurate measurements taken from one or two Gothic churches, should be implicitly followed as unerring guides to architectural design? We have no greater reason for believing that Ictinus, Callicrates, or Phidias, formed the model for the Doric column of the Parthenon, according to measured proportions, than that the latter created his statue of the goddess Minerva, by obeying the arbitrary rules of a previously recognized standard of beauty. Measurements being only necessary for the workman and the plagiarist, we may, I think, safely conclude, that architects placed their faith in measured greatness only when invention ended.