e, is the Giant's
Causeway, whose innumerable black stone columns rise from two to four
hundred feet above the water's edge in the County of Antrim, on the
north coast of Ireland. These basaltic pillars are for the most part
pentagonal, whose five sides are closely united, not in one conglomerate
mass, but, articulated so aptly that to be traced the ball and socket
must be disjointed.

The effect of statuary upon bridges is memorable: the Imperial statues
which line that of Berlin form an impressive array; and whoever has seen
the figures on the Bridge of Sant' Angelo at Home, when illuminated on
a Carnival night, or the statues upon Santa Trinita at Florence, bathed
in moonlight, and their outline distinctly revealed against sky and
water, cannot but realize how harmoniously sculpture may illustrate and
heighten the architecture of the bridge. More quaint than appropriate is
pictorial embellishment; a beautiful Madonna or local saint placed
midway or at either end of a bridge, especially one of mediaeval form and
fashion, seems appropriate; but elaborate painting, such as one sees at
Lucerne, strikes us as more curious than desirable. The bridge which
divides the town and crosses the Reuss is covered, yet most of the
pictures are weather-stained; as no vehicles are allowed,
foot-passengers can examine them at ease. They are in triangular frames,
ten feet apart, but few have any technical merit. One series illustrates
Swiss history; and the Kapellbruecke has the pictorial life of the Saint
of the town; while the Mile Bridge exhibits a quaint and rough copy of
the famous "Dance of Death."

In Switzerland what fearful ravines and foaming cascades do bridges
cross! sometimes so aerial, and overhanging such precipices, as to
justify to the imagination the name superstitiously bestowed on more
than one, of the Devil's Bridge; while from few is a more lovely effect
of near water seen than the "arrowy Rhone," as we gaze down upon its
"blue rushing" beneath the bridge at Geneva. Perhaps the varied
pictorial effects of bridges, at least in a city, are nowhere more
striking than at Venice, whose five hundred, with their mellow tint and
association with palatial architecture and streets of water, especially
when revealed by the soft and radiant hues of an Italian sunset, present
outlines, shapes, colors, and contrasts so harmonious and beautiful as
to warm and haunt the imagination while they charm the eye. It is
remarkable, as