ought to accord, so as to produce a perfect whole, is essential; and, with such a combination, will be sure to render this an agreeable abode. The other important object consists in having excellent points of view towards the house, as well as some grand objects in the distance, which may be enjoyed by the family within the house, but which scenes require to be varied and pleasing.* Suppose, for instance, the background to be an umbrageous wood on the north, a vista at the east, and with an opening distance towards the south and west; the form of the foreground, as well as that of the back, should also be varied and sloping to produce a good effect. Having pointed out the ill effects of noxious plants near a bad situation, let us next consider those salubrious wild shrubs and aromatic flowers bordering upon a good one. Who does not admire the perfumes of the field-cowslip, the wild thyme, the heather, and the hawthorn-blossoms, the flowers of various woodbines, and the wild rose that decorate our hedgerows, as well as the violet and primrose that scent the thicket, and then lament the absence of the myrrh, the magnolia, and the cinnamon, which charmed the poets of Persia and of Arabia ?+ We have said that a good situation or site for a house should be on an agreeable ascent, and where the house is to be erected the ground round the spot to be level, and backed out from boisterous north winds, by rising ornamental woodland ground in the rear, but not to approach near the house on the eastern side. Here there should be low distant hills and partial open shrubbery, so as to admit the rays of the morning sun at an early hour, which is animating and refreshing in the winter season. The outline of the house and scenery harmonizing together and appearing as a whole, will, on a sloping ground, never fail to convey the idea of a picture hung against a wall. Richmond Hill is such a beautiful and salubrious suburban spot, that it has justly been called the Italy of England, in reference to its appearance and scenery: the detached houses rising above each other, in receding sites, from each of which is seen the Thames meandering majestically along in the vale below. This spot has frequently been a subject both for the painter and the poet : here lived Thomson, the author of the Seasons; and at Twickenham, near it, was the residence of Alexander Pope. Hampstead, near London, like the Alban Mount in the vicinity of Rome, has been celebrated for its extensive views and pleasant air. In this place lived Steel, the celebrated contemporary of Addison; and since his day many more worthies of the pen and pencil. Herne Hill, near Dulwich, a spot bespangled with suburban villas, most of which are in the Italian style, is another delightful emi nence. At no great distance from the metropolis, Kent may be noticed as possessing charming and salubrious grounds; and if we extend our observations further along the south coast to Sussex, more beautiful, picturesque, and enchanting places still abound, particularly Hastings, then Hampshire, next the Isle of Wight, and Dorsetshire, as that of Charmouth and Pool; and, astly, that of Devonshire in the west, the Montpellier of England. This county may be said to possess various degrees of climate, suitable to every constitution. That of Ilfracombe in the north, a most romantic and picturesque watering-place, is very bracing to nervous and hypochondriac persons. The scenery at Clovelly, and the sublime rocky glen of Linton, at a short distance from the place, are enchanting to the visitor. Torquay is a perfect paradise in respect to its scenery, and possesses a mild air: here rock, upland, wood, and water constitute the landscape, while the rural and umbrageous walks in the neighbourhood are very varied, by which the inhabitants can take exercise, and be constantly interested, * To enjoy a prospect of this description in the winter season, seen from a library, the late Lord Heathfield had a fire place constructed under a window in a recess at Buckland Abbey, near Tavistock, in Devonshire.-(B.) + Odoriferous particles are elicited from all plants, and float in the air, from whence they rest upon the olfactory nerves, thus affecting them with a most agreeable and exhilarating sensation.—(G.) and sheltered from the prevailing wind of the season. Torquay and its vicinity possess three different degrees of temperature; that of Torquay is soft; Tor-mohun, which adjoins it on rising ground, is of the middle degree; and Mary Church, which is still more elevated, is more bracing.† In reference to Torbay, on whose crescent-shore Torquay is situated, we may describe its picture by reference to a parallel place in Italy, that of Genoa. This bay is in the form of an amphitheatre : the town spreads her streets and churches, and her suburbs and villas, over a vast semicircular tract of craggy rocks and declivities facing the sea. The white buildings, ascending one above the other, make a splendid show, and give it an appearance of much magnificence.‡ Picturesque and sunny declivities, where summer first unfolds her blossoms and her verdure, are at all times the most delightful to build on; but swell and hollow should also constitute the face of nature at a proper distance around the seat, and the hills various, undulating, and unequal, some being bolder or higher than others, similar to those bold rolling clouds seen on a windy day, and not like the waves of the sea all equal, but giving to one or other a perspective distance, like the scenes in a theatre. Here too, though the objects remain the same, yet they will be constantly changing their appearance by the various hues flung over them from the passing clouds. In the morning tinted with a silvery grey, at noon glittering in the sunbeams, and then in the evening clothed in a mantle of purple, assuming a deeper and darker shade, till they are wrapped in the gloom of night. These effects in a country where the swells of the hills at a distance are bold, like the promontory at Mamhead, extending over Haldon, and from thence towards Dartmoor in the west, as seen from Exmouth and Exeter in the evening, are truly sublime-particularly at the time when the god of day is sinking into the western horizon, with all the colours of the rainbow in his train. England affords a variety of pleasing and truly picturesque spots like this,§ with hill and dale, upland and low undulations in various shapes, with glens, sylvan woods, purling streams, and waterfalls, dashing down rocky precipices, with here and there the most romantic objects rising to the view. In other parts are seen more cultivated land, as pastures, corn-fields, orchards, fruitgardens, and flowery meadows. The seasons change all these: the spring decks it with a varied green verdure, a peculiar bespangled painting of flowers and blossoms. The summer shifts the * The soft zephyrs that are wafted over the town of Torquay and its neighbourhood from the bay, bring to our mind that of Smyrna, where every morning about sunrise a fresh gale of air blows from the sea across the land; and from its wholesomeness and utility in cleansing the infected air, this wind is always called the doctor.-(Burder's Oriental Customs, p. 367.) + We might mention many more places in this neighbourhood very healthful, such as that of Livermead on the road from Torquay to Paignton, and Salcombe near Dartmouth, which latter place we consider extremely healthful: but to sum up the peculiar merits of this county, with which no other can be compared except that of Kent, we may say the south possesses soft air, the midland gently bracing, and the north more sharp. Milton's passionate admiration of Tuscany and Tuscan institutions enters into the subject of many of his epistles: in after life they became the source of many soothing reminiscences. "Where I to open my eyes once more on earth," said he, "I would wish to open them on Fiesole and the Val d'Arno." See his EPITHALAMIUM DAMONIS, i. c. 29. Note 22 to the Heliotrope, canto i. Tivoli in Italy is also one of the most beautiful spots, perhaps, in the world for a villa. The traveller as he advances here will have on his left the steep banks, covered with trees, shrubs, and gardens, and on his right the bold but varying swells of the hills, shaded with groves of olives. These sunny declivities are the spots which were once interspersed with splendid villas, the favourite abodes of the most luxuriant and refined Romans. Horace is supposed to have had a villa in this neighbourhood, and such a spot is pointed out. The site is indeed worthy of the poet; where it was defended by a semicircular range of wood and mountains, from every cold blustering wind: he might here look down on the playful windings of the Arno below, discover numerous rills gleaming through the thickets as they glided down the opposite bank, and catch a distant perspective of Aurea Roma, or the golden towers of the capitol soaring majestically on its distant mount.-(Forsyth.) § Powderham grounds in Devonshire, around the seat of the Earl of Devon, possess every requisite that constitutes the grand and the sublime: for here hill and dale, wood and water compose its undulating surface. The park is well wooded and stocked with deer, and the castle, built in the reign of the Plantagenets, overlooks the river Ex and the estuary at Exmouth, whilst a bold and lofty mount at the west of the castle, is crowned with a Belvedere, commanding the most extensive panoramic view over fair Devon. This Belvedere, which is triangular on the plan, with hexagonal battlemented staircase-towers at the angles, was erected by Lord Courtney, father of the late Earl, in 1773, from the model of one at Shrubs Hill, near Windsor.-(R. B.) scene to ripening fruits; the meadows and pastures wear another face. In autumn the orchards are laden with fruit, and the spacious fields are gilded with a yellow hue. Thus "Bedeck'd with beauties in a swift decline, The spot that the man of taste would select for a rural residence, would always be where nature has most romantically diversified the scene with hill and dale, rock, wood, and meandering streams: here he would have a beautiful scope to display his art by various plantations, which he could range in fine sweeping masses over the irregularities of the ground, interspersed with majestic trees, such as elm, chestnut, beech, and ash, mixed with ilex, or evergreen oaks, and interspersed with various firs, whose tasteful forms combining with a rich, wide, and bold umbrageous foliage, have a fine effect to the painter's eye; while in the distant plantations opening radiating glades would appear, · relieving the home-scenery by a diversity of distant views and variety of tints among the shrubs: some parts of the ground being more pleasantly disposed, while others again are to be planted to afford a welcome shade to the herds of deer, browsing beneath their spreading branches. If a rookery were near the house, it would still more enliven the scene. However, gentlemen of different tastes and habits will always choose different situations. "The boist'rous billows of tempestuous seas All these the architect must study well; Finally, let it be borne in mind that the most appropriate spot to choose for a house should be where the most exact critic in landscape-gardening would scarcely wish to alter a portion in the assemblage of hills and dales, woods, and water, and "Where spring perpetual leads the laughing hours, * A house with this description of accompaniment is so situated at Dawlish in Devonshire, on the very edge of the sea, called Sea Lawn Cottage, belonging to a gentleman of great taste, of the name of Powel.—(A.) M M DISSERTATION IX. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF CONSTRUCTION. "How reverend is the face of this tall pile, By its own weight made stedfast and immovable!"-CONGREVE. The science of construction consists in a knowledge of forming, proportioning, and uniting the different parts of a building together; calculated upon certain mathematical and mechanical principles, so as to produce balance, and give stability to every part of the work, by counteracting force and pressure, both laterally as well as vertically. To be certain of the right balance, efficacy of the abutments, and sufficiency of the resisting powers in every part of a building, are of the utmost importance to the stability of public works. It is this knowledge of the practical science, added to that of design, which raises the architect above the mere architectural draughtsman, or the young practitioner,* who is obliged to avoid the introduction of those more beautiful parts of architecture, from a want of that knowledge of carrying them into execution. Or were he occasionally to introduce them, it might be in such manner that he would be continually running the risk of designing impossibilities, and perhaps witnessing his own threatening fabrics. The knowledge of construction connects the art with the science of architecture, and gives proper effect to their united energies, adding also to their beauties and necessities the mathematical and arithmetical sciences, or the knowledge of calculating pressure on every part according to the various preponderating weights above. In combining and uniting the materials in the construction of an edifice, there are three distinct great principles brought into use, namely, simple repose, equipoise, and tie. The object in all these three distinct principles is to produce such a state of quietude in the materials of the building, that their weight shall not produce any fracture or displacement. The principles of simple repose in the construction of buildings is, where the materials are merely piled perpendicularly, so as to form piers with beams across, as lintels laid horizontally upon the piers, pressing down "Art," says Leonardo da Vinci, "is long and life short; therefore a person should begin to study early to be a proficient." Not so does the young architect. "Taken from school at an age in which he cannot have imbibed in any degree that sufficiency of a polite and liberal education, he frequently, with no knowledge of geometry beyond the mere manual dexterity of drawing polygons, circles, and plain lines, while yet scarcely arrived at manhood, forces himself into premature practice; and with the expenses of a separate establishment, it cannot be wondered at that the adolescent architect sometimes has in after life bitter cause to repent the circumstances and the rashness which led him too early to adopt practical design and construction solely by his youthful failures; for it is then with deep repentance that he perceives the adequate bearing and the confusion of styles into which he has fallen; the whole chronology of arches being sometimes paraded in the façade, or the mixture of Roman forms and Italian luxury, with the severe and elegant simplicity of the Greeks. In many a breaking up and fracture he has the mortification to find, that inventions upon which he has relied for external duration, have not survived their inventor's ruin; that he has formed his pyramids with graduated outlines, and so situated his pillars, as if Roslyn chapel and some other impure sources were his only preceptor. He at last laments that he has placed his columns opposite apertures instead of opposite piers: he regrets that from false bearing, his want of plumb and equipoise, his work is so fractured that even a man of more experience than himself cannot restore it: he perceives too late that his patronage of mean and fragile stone, and pretended substitutes for it; his reliance on bad timber has added something to the wreck of his country's architecture: he perceives, with deep mortification, that his want of mathematical and mechanical skill, both theoretical and practical, has led him to perform that which a professor of more experience would avoid. Broken arches, tieless roofs, walls thrust from their right position, partitions falsely trussed, and groaning beneath loads, which formed otherwise they might have borne unyieldingly, and a foundation which fails in all directions from want of sufficient spread to the footings, or arising from the building being carried up piecemeal, or from other causes: these are a few of the faults and disasters which in aftertimes make a precocious practitioner wish he had studied full ten years more before he had risked himself or his employer's property."-(A. Bartholomew's Specifications of Architecture, c. xvii..) wardly merely with the gravity of the materials, without any thrust or any other indications to destroy the position of any part of the arrangement. Equipoise is required in the construction of buildings where materials are overlaid, and from thence carried up upon the principle of the arch, springing from piers or columns. This principle enables us by science to erect great works with the least materials, and admitting the grandest and most noble parts of architecture to be executed occupying the least room. Theoretically this construction should be perfect, but from the complicated principles which it involves it is very frequently more or less imperfect; but even with its frequent practical imperfections, it has proved for many ages the means whereby man is enabled to arch, to vault, and to dome over large buildings in a manner which otherwise he could not accomplish.* But in order to perform this under every circumstance, the architect must be well acquainted with the powers of abutments: much of the failure of modern edifices resulting from a want of such knowledge. The abutment must always be sufficient to sustain the weight, thrust, or moving power which it has to resist, and it should be more than sufficient, otherwise the slightest accident, as additional weight, irregularly disposed, yielding of foundations, sudden emergency of shock, will render it insufficient. Thus the limbs of two similar arches meeting upon one pier afford an abutment to each other of the most perfect kind, but if one of the abutments supporting the other limb of one of the arches be so weak as to cause one of the arches to give way, the other arch may also lose its exact equilibrium. Again, if one of the arches have upon its crown more weight than the other, the other arch also may be made to settle irregularly; hence it becomes necessary, that besides an unyielding of foundation, there must be abutment sufficient to resist all accident. The most perfect system of abutment is that which is in all respects equal: thus, for instance, the inclined sides of a hollow conical or pyramidical steeple afford abutment of bulk, inclination, certainty of material and weight, equal to those of each opposite side, and the entire circuit of abutments gives to the whole a perfect equilibrium, which nothing but violent accident or undue settlement at the foundation can in the slightest degree derange; and even after such settlement has taken. place, frequently no fracture is observable. Hence a steeple of the middle ages consisting of four or more open buttresses, which the moderns may behold with fear and trembling, is a more safe and certain mode of construction than our square towers, which by their weight and settlement have a tendency to fall apart and hang, and after that fall to premature decay, merely by the weight of their materials.† Tying is the third great principle in the construction of buildings, and is comparatively of modern invention. That state of rest which the ancients endeavoured to obtain by the principle of simple repose, and the equipoise, is now by the principle of tying obtained through confining the thrusting powers, not by external abutments and equipoise, but by internal restraint; it leads to the most exqui * It is but justice to the late Sir John Soane to explain the manner in which he constructed nearly all the apartments of the Bank of England entirely fire-proof, and without any carpentry whatever; in his arches and domes he made use largely of hollow pots or cones of coarse earthenware; these, while possessing strength sufficient not to crush, by their lightness, relieve the walls in a great measure both from the lateral thrust and the perpendicular pressure, which results from the use of heavy solid materials; and, indeed, it might be possible to form arches and vaults of equilibrium of these pots, by leaving empty those of them placed at the summit of the work, and gradually filling them with cement or mortar of different densities, increasing towards the springing of the arch; and thus to prevent both crushing and drift to the haunches, the weaker part of the work.—(A. B.) The ceilings in the grand hall of Buckingham Palace, by the late John Nash, have been formed entirely of earthenware. The architects in the middle ages frequently vaulted their edifices with chalk; of such is the nave of Canterbury Cathedral, which the author of this work has walked over.—(R. B.) + It is the rain that finds its way betwixt the arch-stones in winter, and is there arrested by the frost, which ruins ancient buildings when exposed to the wet. Ice occupies more space than water unfrozen, and thus when formed, operates as so many wedges inserted between the stones of the arch, which, of course, are dislocated by this interposition, and in process of time the equilibrium of the arch is destroyed.-(Life of Sir Walter Scott, vol. v. 183.) |