the Roman in their first encounter. And when that fallen Roman, in
the utmost impotence of his luxury, and insolence of his guilt, became
the model for the imitation of civilized Europe, at the close of the
so-called Dark ages, the word Gothic became a term of unmitigated
contempt, not unmixed with aversion. From that contempt, by the exertion
of the antiquaries and architects of this century, Gothic architecture
has been sufficiently vindicated; and perhaps some among us, in our
admiration of the magnificent science of its structure, and sacredness
of its expression, might desire that the term of ancient reproach should
be withdrawn, and some other, of more apparent honorableness, adopted in
its place. There is no chance, as there is no need, of such a
substitution. As far as the epithet was used scornfully, it was used
falsely; but there is no reproach in the word, rightly understood; on
the contrary, there is a profound truth, which the instinct of mankind
almost unconsciously recognizes. It is true, greatly and deeply true,
that the architecture of the North is rude and wild; but it is not true,
that, for this reason, we are to condemn it, or despise. Far otherwise:
I believe it is in this very character that it deserves our profoundest
reverence.

Sec. VIII. The charts of the world which have been drawn up by modern
science have thrown into a narrow space the expression of a vast amount
of knowledge, but I have never yet seen any one pictorial enough to
enable the spectator to imagine the kind of contrast in physical
character which exists between Northern and Southern countries. We know
the differences in detail, but we have not that broad glance and grasp
which would enable us to feel them in their fulness. We know that
gentians grow on the Alps, and olives on the Apennines; but we do not
enough conceive for ourselves that variegated mosaic of the world's
surface which a bird sees in its migration, that difference between the
district of the gentian and of the olive which the stork and the swallow
see far off, as they lean upon the sirocco wind. Let us, for a moment,
try to raise ourselves even above the level of their flight, and imagine
the Mediterranean lying beneath us like an irregular lake, and all its
ancient promontories sleeping in the sun: here and there an angry spot
of thunder, a grey stain of storm, moving upon the burning field; and
here and there a fixed wreath of white volcano smoke, surrounded by