of the bold acutely pointed roof. The oriels, no longer carelessly and fearlessly protruded anywhere, according to the fancy of the moment are made to occupy the central position, and there are two or more of them, one above another, of a uniform pattern, sometimes extending down the whole side of a house. One instance of this may be seen in the gable wall, represented in Plate V. where three such superimposed oriels communicate with the ground by a pillar, and are surmounted by a Renaissance capping. Various other examples will be found among the aristocratic mansions of the Adlerstrasse. I particularize but one (represented in Plate VI.) in which the Gothic and classical elements are strangely jumbled together, yet not without a certain degree of pleasing effect. At each angle is an octagonal turret of the old fashion, from which a round shaft descends to the ground, terminating in a thoroughly Gothic base. The storeys are divided by strings, which are carried in bands round these shafts. So far we have a Gothic front, but down the middle of it is a suite of oriels, one above another, in each of which Gothic shafts support a classical pediment, the whole being surmounted by a dormer of thoroughly Gothic character, but with three Renaissance brackets supporting its shafts. The lowest of the oriels terminates beneath in a mask at the head of the round arched doorway, which latter is furnished with a porch, wherein two banded Gothic pillars sustain a classical pediment. This vertical line of dormers, oriels, and porches, divides the front into two equal portions, of which the one is the precise counterpart of the other. The most scrupulous regularity is also preserved in the arrangement of the windows.

One more Nuremberg house and I have done. We have reached the beginning of the seventeenth century, when revived classicism had long reigned supreme in Italy, and

had nearly attained its climax throughout northern Europe. As a specimen of the mansion of a Nuremberg patrician of that date, I shall take the Pellersche Haus in the Egidienplatz. The front bears a few lingering traces of the old architecture, all but overpowered in the struggle with the new. St. Martin sharing his cloak with the beggar, is allowed to adorn the second storey, though cast into the shade by Jupiter, who, with his crown, his sceptre, his thunderbolt, and his eagle, stands on the summit. The gable is cut up by frizzled scrolls, and a half circle is taken out of each side, in the most approved Italian fashion. An abortive attempt at tracery, and two or three pyramidal roofs look as much out of their place as St. Martin himself. Within the court we see no further attempt to keep up the pretence of Gothic Architecture. All reminds us of Venice; not however of the real glories of Venice, but of her later palaces. Every thing is gorgeous. A spiral stair, enriched in the most costly manner, leads to a saloon, profusely decorated with elaborate carvings in oak. With all this there is nothing markedly offensive to good taste, yet one cannot help feeling, that the architect had attempted to make up by splendour and show for the want of an instinctive feeling of beauty.

I have several times alluded to the Rathhaus, and one would naturally expect to find in Nuremberg a town hall in some degree worthy of the first city of the empire. But alas, with the exception of a few beautiful fragments, the Rathhaus of former days has disappeared; on its site we have a Tuscan palace, erected in 1616, whose façade however, presents none of the glaring outrages on taste current at that period, and on the whole reflects credit on its designer, Karl Holzschuher, a member of one of those families which, from an early period in the annals of Nuremberg, have produced men of eminence in a variety of departments.