grandeur suitable to the capital of the British Empire. But since the rage for building spread itself in this quarter, the liveliness and splendour of the late extensive plain, and all that was grand and impressive in the prospect, are blotted from the picture by an heterogeneous mass of contemptible dwellings, erected without taste, and disposed without design and arrangement. A few tolerable houses, indeed, and here and there a chapel, or a place of public entertain. ment, present themselves; but these only make the meanness of the surrounding objects more striking; and the eye, in search of picturesque beauty, scarcely finds any thing worthy of attention, where a few years past it received the highest gratification. Such is the general style of what are called improvements, when conducted by interest alone, without any presiding taste or authority to direct and control it.'

After having described all that is worthy of observation in passing on from the spot whence he set out, he thus leads us into the chapel of Henry VII. in Westminster Abbey:

The light which bursts from the east end on our entrance into the chapel, for some moments prevents the spectator from contem plating the beauties of this admirable fabric. The ceiling chiefly engages his attention; a work that, for elegance of form, and profu sion of decoration, is unrivalled among the remains of gothic architecture. The pendent parts are equally uncommon and beau tiful. We have few examples of them in antient buildings, and no, thing of similar effect in the architecture of modern times. As the eye descends to the windows and piers, and to the walls and arches, which connect the aisles with the nave or central area of the chapel, it is delighted to find every part like the ceiling, enriched in the highest degree; and yet with such exquisite judgment, that the principal lines resulting from the plan are never obscured or injured; a beauty essential to good architecture of every style and kind.

But the effect of this structure, as a whole, is greatly injured by the stalls and gaudy banners of the Knights of the Bath; which, by obstructing the prospect of the aisles, and narrowing the area of the building, destroy the harmony of decoration, and beauty of proportion, which the architect has so well understood, and been so careful to preserve in every part of his work. If it were possible to procure the removal of these incumbrances, and the barbarous monu ments of the time of Elizabeth and James the First; the perspective of this structure would, in variety of outline, the effect of light and shadow, and every other requisite of a perfect building, yield to none of the same dimensions, in any age or country. Instead of such improvements, the man of taste, who venerates the excellencies of past ages, is mortified, at every step, in observing the mutilation occasioned by wanton mischief, or the love of petty plunder. Many pieces of beautiful decoration have been torn away, both from the chapel and the monument of the founder; and the rain, streaming in from broken windows, is hastening that ruin in which, sooner or later, all human works, however excellent, must inevitably be involved.

• Before

Before I quit this subject, let me be permitted to remark, that it is impossible for the most ardent admirer of Grecian or Rom n architeeture to view this building, without being compelled to acknowledge that such a work could not be produced by that ignorance and barbarism, which we usually understand by the appellation Gothic. The scientific skill, the contrivance, the taste, and the invention here exhibited, and a thousand minute excellencies in the workmanship, which escape the notice of common observers, demonstrate the artist to have been a man of superior genius and superior attainments; and the greatest architects of this or any other age, in viewing this structure, may receive a lesson of humility when they reflect, that neither the architect who designed nor the mason who executed this wonder. ful fabric can be indubitably ascertained. Our early architects'appear to have been content with the praise of their cotemporaries; or, conscious of the merit of their works, trusted with too liberal confidence their reputation to the justice of posterity. The architects of modern days act with more prudence in this particular. Sensible of the fluctuations of fashion, and the ruinous malice of time, they not only preserve the designs they have executed, but even their first thoughts and various readings are transmitted by the graver to immortality. Who can blame them? Posterity, unfaithful to its trust, might treat them as unjustly as their predecessors have been treated; and future writers, desirous of extending their wellearned fame, might possibly feel emotions of regret similar to those I now experience, in finding myself unable to perpetuate the name of the architect who constructed the mausoleum of Henry VII.'

Proceeding onwards to Charing-cross, the author observes: It is impossible for the mind to conceive a nobler scene than might have been formed from this spot, which stands as a centre between the two cities; and it is a matter of infinite regret that the whole avenue along the Strand, the great thoroughfare of communication, had not been made considerably wider; and, if it could have been so contrived, that the cathedrals of St. Paul and Westminster Abbey might have been seen as the termination of each vista, I am of opinion the effect could not have been exceeded by any thing of the kind in Europe.'

Respecting Covent Garden, Mr. M. remarks:

About 1634, Francis Earl of Bedford began to clear away the old buildings, and formed the present square, which would have been the handsomest in this metropolis, had it been completed, as it was originally designed, by Inigo Jones. The church, which stands in the middle of the west side, is one of the most perfect pieces of art ever produced in this country, and is the only structure of the kind in London which can boast of a situation equal to its merit. Nothing can be imagined more plain and simple; yet the harmony of its proportions has yielded more delight to critics in architecture than structures of much greater extent, though decorated with all the trea sares of art; such are the charms of simplicity, and such is the power of genius. In this building it is clearly demonstrated that taste, not expence, is the parent of beauty,'-

A great and regular design when once carried into execution ought to be considered as public property, and the convenience or interest of individuals should not be permitted to alter its leading features; nor would this be so great a restraint on the owners of property as may be imagined. Those who are most conversant with works of this nature need not be told, that whim and caprice more frequently suggest such alterations, than frugality or the wants of business. One tasteless occupier of a part of the Piazza has lately rebuilt the superstructure, without the pilasters, the cornice, or the dressings to the windows. I have however, for the honour of the architect, represented the whole as it was executed by him, and as it existed within these few years.

The east side of this square was once complete, but about the year 1769 the part extending from Russell-street to the south-east angle was destroyed by fire; it has been rebuilt on a plan totally different.

Thus in a few years more it is probable that no part of this grand design will exist. The task of repairing the church may be allotted to a man insensible to the charms of the original design, and more attentive to his own profit than the honour of Jones; the remainder of the arcade may experience the fate of those parts which have been already destroyed, and strangers may inquire equally in vain for that temple, which was celebrated in terms little short of profaneness; and for that model of grandeur, the square, in which it stood. Nor is it less probable that shortly the other works of this great man may, in like manner, vanish from the face of the earth. The change of manners, and the consequent alterations in the style of living, have demolished most of the private houses he constructed; and few of his public buildings remain unmutilated by time and caprice. But for the permanency which the art of engraving has given to his designs, the next generation might possibly read' of the architectural talents of Jones, as of the theatrical abilities of a Betterton or Garrick; of something universally admired in his day, but of which posterity can form no adequate idea.'

Having noticed in his way the Theatres, Somerset-house, and the New Church in the Strand, Mr. M. continues:

From hence we proceed along the Strand to St. Clement's Church, a disgusting fabric, and so obtruded on the street as to be the cause of much inconvenience and danger to the public. We may hope that the inconvenience will be in a great measure removed by the improvements now begun by the city of London, on a plan proposed by Mr. Alderman Pickett; and by him urged and supported for a series of years with unwearied perseverance, against all the opposition of interest and party; and for which his fellow citizens ought to erect a statue to his honour. I am concerned to find that, while such an extensive improvement is carrying into execution, this unsightly church is to remain, and Temple Bar to be taken away. The church so conspicuously placed, and which will then be more conspicuous, is a disgrace to architecture: while Temple Bar, on the

contrary,

contrary, has some merit as a building, and deserves to be retained as marking the entrance into the capital of the British Empire.' Of Blackfriar's Bridge, the author says:

The principal novelty in the design is, the projecting columns in the front of each pier, which support the balconies on the bridge: but the propriety of introducing columns to decorate a bridge, where the declination each way from the centre obliges them to be of dif ferent heights and diameters, has often been justly disputed; not to mention the constant danger of damage, in the navigation of large and unwieldy vessels on the river.'

We agree in the justness of this criticism respecting the columns: but, passing over that objection, where shall we find a superior instance of scientific construction, of beautiful lines, and grandeur of form? As far as the information which we have obtained enables us to speak, the construction testifies great abilities. The easy and continued curve of the surface, both apparent and real, by which the greatest altitude of the bridge is attained; and the conforming curves of the arches, as well as the grandeur of their proportions; together produce a happy composition without any abrupt terminations:-all tending to the appearance of uniting the opposite shores in one general mass, such as makes it easy to suppose that a river might have been there excavated beneath a pre-existing road. The artist who executed this work is living, and it is not yet the fashion to praise this excellent specimen of skill: but we doubt not that the time will come when its merits will be duly appreciated, and the defect of the columns will be esteemed. small when compared with the greater beauties. Such is the misfortune attendant on existing genius, that, while true judges (by a supineness natural to contemporary beings of that rank, as if due praises would at the time too much resemble the impertinent encomiums of flatterers,) defer their opinions, the opportunity is taken by the envious detractor; who, not competent to discern the beauty of the great whole, is busied in picking out and vociferating its trifling imperfections. The present example, however, furnishes a wholesome lesson to architects; viz. that parts in the general forms, if not produced by the internal structure for some obvious use, are not merely misapplied, but are always injurious to the good appearance of a building; and a due attention to this circumstance constitutes the true economy of architecture. This remark is clearly illustrated in those works of scientific engineers, in which nothing is ad mitted that is not essential to utility, and which uniformly produce grand and beautiful forms: while the reverse is as constantly observed when they add those parts which as, in com

pliance

pliance with common prejudice, are deemed requisite to what is called architectural decorations.

Being arrived at St. Paul's cathedral, we meet with the following among other reflections:

It is related of Michael Angelo, that, being piqued at the extravagant praises bestowed on the Pantheon, by some person too partial to the antients to do justice to the moderna, he boastingly said to the connoisseur that he would hang the Pantheon in the air; which it is pretended was verified in constructing the dome of St. Peter's. This story is undoubtedly a fiction, as nothing could authorize the boast. The construction of domes elevated on arches was not at that time a novelty in architecture; the dome of St. Peter's Church can by no figure of language be said to hang in the air; and the idea of a dome in the centre of this church was originally Gramante's, though the design and construction of the one actually erected were Michael Angelo's. But true or false, this story deserves to be remembered, as, in all probability, it had some influence on the mind of Sir Christopher Wien, when designing St. Paul's Cathedral: the colonade which forms the tambour of the dome being nearly the same as the interior of the Pantheon; and is a composition, which may be compared with the noblest works of architecture, antient or modern, for majesty and beauty. The piers which advance to the front of the colonade, and the deep recesses of three intercolumniations which take place alternately, and are crowned and connected by a bold entablature, surrounding the whole fabric without break or interruption, produce a motion and variety that leave nothing to desire; except that the niches in the piers may be filled with statues, to make the contrast between the piers and recesses still stronger. In comparing this part of our fabric with the tambour of St. Peter's at Rome, the superiority of design in the former is manifest. In St. Peter's, we see no such variety of composition, no such effect of light and shade, no such continuity of cornice; on the contrary, what might have been a magnificent colonade is, by the breaking of the entablature over every couple of columns, converted into a number of distinct buttresses, without unity or beauty.

If we extend our comparison of these two churches, we shall find that, although St. Paul's must yield to St. Peter's in magnitude, and the splendour of interior decoration; yet, in the taste and style of its architecture externally, it has a decided superiority; and perhaps internally it may equal, if not exceed. The west front of St. Peter's, which in all Christian churches is the part where the genius of the architect displays itself most, is a composition that would scarcely be worthy of a student in the English Royal Academy. The want of an entrance in the centre, highly distinguished from the other apertures, is a glaring defect in such a fabric. The majesty acquired from a single order, 120 feet high, is debased by the columns being only half and three quarter columns, and by the proportionally small pediment; a feature of this front universally condemned. The enormous attic has also been censured, and justly;

as