bably be collected for this purpose, it is in vain to think of imitating the Parthenon of Athens; an edifice erected by Pericles in the days of his imperial splendour, and with the aid of contributions from all the subject states in Greece. This objection proceeds entirely from a mistaken idea in point of fact as to the expense of restoring this edifice on the same scale with the original; and from the real state of the fact, we draw the strongest arguments for its adoption.

The Parthenon could certainly be erected on the Calton Hill, on the same dimensions with the original, for £40,000. In making this estimate, we have reason to believe, that we are rather beyond than within the mark. It is 240 feet long, 120 broad, and somewhat under 60 feet high. The reason of the expense of erecting it being so small, is, that its beauty consists so much in form and proportion which cost nothing; and that the Doric order is so simple in its capitals and cornices. Now, in what other style of architecture could we hope for that very limited sum to form any building which would possess a tenth part of the beauty, or interest, by which this could be distinguished. In almost every other order, beauty consists much in the richness of ornament, or the profusion of details; and without a great expenditure, it is entirely hopeless to aim at distinction. Such is the expense with which the rich pinnacles and fretted work of the Gothic is attended, that York Cathedral, we are told, cost £3,000,000; and yet great expense is unavoidable in that order, for it is matter of common observation, that without the richness of its details Gothic architecture would be in a great measure devoid of interest. St Paul's cost £1,500,000 even when it was built, which was above a century ago; and we have the authority of Eustace for saying, that though the marbles of which it is composed were found in the ruins of the ancient city, St Peter's at Rome cost twelve millions Sterling. No one can look for an instant at the superb facade of the Louvre, or at the portico of the Pantheon at Paris, without seeing that an edifice of a similar rich and florid style would exceed the probable funds which may be collected for this undertaking. It is the peculiar advantage therefore of the Doric Temple, that its forms are

VOL. VI.

so massy and simple, that a small sum, comparatively speaking, when judiciously applied on such an edifice, produces a more imposing effect, and goes farther in the production of beauty, than perhaps ten times the sum, in a more costly style of building. Of this there cannot be a stronger example than is to be met with in Italy, where the Temple of Neptune at Pestum captivates most travellers, even more than the splendid dome of St Peter's; although the former could be erected here for as many thousands as it would require millions to attempt even to rival the latter.

It is another very serious consideration in this view, that if an edifice be adopted similar to any of the Established Churches or triumphal buildings in modern Europe, the inferiority which it must exhibit to its prototype will immediately occur to every observer. If a church with a dome be selected, the recollection of St Paul's and St Peter's will instantly recur to the spectator, and it will be the boast of the Italians, that the National Monument of Scotland possesses no greater magnificence than is to be met with in the ordinary churches in every city of Italy. If the Gothic style be preferred, the unapproachable splendour of the English Cathedrals will sink it at once into insignificance and contempt. If the Corinthian or Ionic orders be chosen, the magnificence of the Parisian or Venetian edifices, on which the riches of royal magnificence, or the wealth of the Imperial Republic have been lavished, will occur in painful contrast to the Scottish patriot. It is in the Doric Temple alone that the National Monument of Scotland could have no rival in modern Europe; and by availing ourselves of the rock which nature has given us for its pedestal, and the materials which she has put into our hands for its construction, it is in our power to raise an edifice which will attract the eye of taste even from the splendid facade of the Louvre, or the pillared scenery of Venice.

It is contended by others, that the Calton Hill, if loaded with this massy Temple, in addition to those which are already placed upon it, would be too crowded, or that the magnitude of the edifice would appear disproportioned to the size of the base on which it must stand.

In regard to the last objection, that
T

the magnitude of the Parthenon is unsuited to the size of the Calton Hill, it proceeds entirely on a misapprehension of the fact. The Calton Hill is in fact larger than the Acropolis of Athens; the situation which Pericles and Phidias selected for the Temple of Minerva, and to the admirable choice of which the experience of two thousand years has united in bearing testimony. If any one will consider how small a proportion, one hundred yards in length, and fifty in breadth, which is the dimension of the base of the Grecian Temple, bears to the plain which forms the top of the hill on which it is proposed to restore the edifice, it will readily occur, that this objection is without foundation.

In regard again to the argument which we have often heard urged, that the Calton Hill would, by such an addition, become too crowded, this appears to us to be an objection of much the same kind, as if the proprietor of a house were to refuse to admit the Venus de Medicis into his drawing-room, for fear of incommoding his tables and chairs. It is surely unnecessary to observe, that on a spot so conspicuous as the Calton Hill, and set apart, as it now is, for the purpose of public ornament, it would be advisable, at any rate, to gain the addition of the most beautiful edifice which human genius has ever formed. Even, therefore, if it were necessary, in the attainment of this object, to pull down Nelson's Monument, it would be a sacrifice worth making for the end which is in view. This edifice, while it undoubtedly does honour to the patriotism and public spirit of the inhabitants of this city, is a lasting blot on the public taste. It was built during the war, before we had obtained the assistance of Playfair and Elliot, and before a knowledge of architecture had made any progress amongst us. As it now stands it is regarded by every stranger as a blemish upon the taste of a people whose subsequent advance in correct feeling has been so remarkable, and as such we believe it is felt by every native who has turned his attention to the subject. Occupying the finest and most prominent position in the city at the end of Waterloo Place, it is unworthy both of the hero to whom it is consecrated,

and of the metropolis which it professes to ornament. Could we then, in clearing the way for the Parthenon, get rid of this prominent deformity, we would not only positively add the greatest ornament to the metropolis, but negatively do perhaps equal service by withdrawing its greatest blemish.

There is, no doubt, a natural and very laudable prejudice against beginning one work of ornament by pulling down another. But if the building, which is to be removed, while it professes to be an ornament, is in fact only a disgrace, it may well be doubted, whether there is any policy in sup❤ porting it. Least of all, is there any wisdom in such a course of proceeding, when, by so doing, we are prevented from raising another edifice, dedicated to the same hero, more worthy of his glory, and more consonant to the improved taste of the times? If Nelson's Monument were removed, unquestionably, the committee for forming the National Monument, would raise another pillar to that great man, in some other central situation; in the centre, for example, of St Andrews Square. The pillar of Antoninus might be restored there for £4000; and surely all parties would concur in giving a place to such a monument, to that hero, in that fine situation. The sum thus expended by the committee for the National Monument, would be in fact the purchase money of the site of their edifice; and surely, in no other situation could they either obtain so fine a site for so small a sum; or in any other way do so important a service to the metropolis, as by withdrawing the present non-descript monument, and raising in its place one of those superb columns, whose grandeur seems to have awed even the barbarians of the north into respect for its magnificence. And thus, while the rock of Edinburgh would vie with the Acropolis in the matchless glories of its triumphal edifice, the level extent of the New Town would rival the plain of Rome, in the superb columns which yet grace the memory, and perpetuate the triumphs of Trajan and Antoninus.*

But though we are individually fully convinced of the wisdom of such a measure, yet we anxiously wish it to be understood, that the plan of restoring

the Parthenon is wholly independent of any such proceeding. We are in formed, that from a local plan, made by Mr Reid, who has lately visited Athens, and is intimately acquainted with all the dimensions of the building, it appears that there are THREE

DIFFERENT SPOTS ON THE CALTON

HILL, on either of which it might be built, without interfering either with Nelson's Monument or the Astrono

mical Observatory. To those who doubt the degree in which the Par thenon would ornament our metro❤ polis, if placed on that commanding situation, we earnestly recommend to inspect the views which that artist has made of the Grecian Temple placed there, with all the appendages of the edifices at present existing upon it. The publication of an engraving of that design would, we are convinced, remove all hesitation from the public mind on the subject; and such a measure, we venture to suggest, as well befitting the approved taste and public spirit of the existing committee.

The last objection which we have heard urged against the measure for which we contend is, that the form of the Parthenon is inconsistent with the purpose of a church for divine service, such as it is proposed to make of the National Monument. Whether this plan will ever be carried into effect, and whether the funds will ever amount to such a sum, as to authorise the endowing of clergy for the proposed establishment, may well be doubted. But without entering into that question, it is sufficient to observe, that in a room of such great dimensions as the interior of the Parthenon would afford, upwards of 200 feet long, and nearly 60 high, with an arched roof, and capable of being lighted entirely from the top, the genius of our modern architects might surely create a church of the most magnificent form and the finest proportions. Here, then, is the place where the genius of our own country has an ample field for exerting itself. Let the exterior of the building be taken from the work of Phidias, and let its interior be wholly modelled by modern artists. Let the genius of antiquity, and of our times, be brought fairly in competition; and, like rival beauties side by side, let the most perfect bear off the prize. It is by so doing that we can best rouse the exertions

of modern genius; it is by putting be fore their eyes the perfection of antiquity that we are most likely to inspire them with its spirit; it is by compel ling them to enter the lists with so redoubted a rival, that we are most likely to secure for them the victory. And if it shall be found, that the inte rior bears away the prize, even from the exterior design of Phidias, no one will more sincerely rejoice in it than ourselves, or feel more deeply the triumph of modern over ancient art.

Should the Parthenon be selected as the model of the National Monument, we are convinced the public taste would soon fix on the Calton Hill as the spot alone fitted for its adoption, as the form of the Doric temple, grand and imposing on a rocky eminence, sinks into insignificance on a plain. Of this the superiority of the effects of the temple of Minerva at Athens, both to the temple of Jupiter Olympius, and the temple of Theseus, which stand in the plain, is a sufficient demonstration. The Greeks always chose, where they had it in their power, a rocky eminence for their temples: and the taste of such men, unequalled in the perfection of their designs, and best qualified to judge of the situations adapted for their own architecture, is not lightly to be rejected. In fact, the spire or the dome seem fitted to give dignity and variety to level cities, while the massy form and open pillars of the Doric temple are adapted for the summit of eminences, where their weight is relieved by the light seen through their interstices, and the unity of ef fect arising from the similarity of their sides is brought into view. Imagination can hardly conceive the addition which such an edifice would make to the beauty of the city, whether seen when its noble outline was first illuminated by the light of the morning sky, or where its western front flamed in the rays of the setting sun. And it is no trivial matter that, while the National Monument, placed on any other situation would adorn only a particular quarter of the city, and augment the splendour of a single street, placed on that superb eminence it would be seen on every side, and form the greatest ornament of every landscape.

In conclusion, we cannot avoid call ing the attention of our readers to the great addition which the selection of such a model as the Parthenon would

undoubtedly make to the amount of subscriptions that are likely to be received. It is from uncertainty as to the plan which is to be followed, and from hesitation as to the eventual ornament which the proposed edifice would make to the Scottish metropolis, that the backwardness of the public has hitherto arisen. Let this uncertainty be removed, and the effect, we may reasonably hope, will cease also. If it were once universally known that the Parthenon was selected as the model of the edifice to be raised, the minds of our higher classes, already warmed by foreign travelling, and interested by classical associations, in such an undertaking, would become ardently engaged in the cause. None who had made a pilgrimage to that ancient edifice; none even who

had been inspired by the venerable ruins of ancient Rome, would withhold their assistance. There is no traveller who does not dwell with rapture on the recollection of the Acropolis; there is none who does not mark the Calton Hill as the spot marked out for its restoration. In such an attempt we might reasonably anticipate assistance beyond our own country; and the English youth, already so honourably distinguished by their classical enthusiasm-their indefatigable zeal in travelling-and their increasing taste in the fine arts, would hasten to contribute their share towards an undertaking in the success of which so many of the finest, as well as the most delightful feelings of our nature, are interested.

We believe this little volume to be Mr Shelley's first publication; and such of our readers as have been struck by the power and splendour of genius displayed in the Revolt of Islam, and by the frequent tenderness and pathos of "Rosalind and Helen," will be glad to observe some of the earliest efforts of a mind destined, in our opinion, under due discipline and selfmanagement, to achieve great things in poetry. It must be encouraging to those who, like us, cherish high hopes of this gifted but wayward young man, to see what advances his intellect has Imade within these few years, and to compare its powerful, though still imperfect display, in his principal poem with its first gleamings and irradiations throughout this production almost of his boyhood. In a short preface, written with all the enthusiasm and much of the presumption of youth, Mr Shelley gives a short explanation of the subject of "Alastor; or, the Spirit of Solitude," which we cannot say throws any very great light upon it, but without which, the poem would be, we suspect, altogether unintelligible to ordinary readers. Mr Shelley is too fond of allegories; and a great genius like his should scorn, now that it has reached the maturity

of manhood, to adopt a species of poetry in which the difficulties of the art may be so conveniently blinked, and weakness find so easy a refuge in obscurity.

"The poem, entitled "Alastor," may be considered as allegorical of one of the most interesting situations of the human mind. It represents a youth of uncorrupted feelings and adventurous genius led forth by an imagination inflamed and purified through familiarity with all that is excellent universe. He drinks deep of the fountains and majestic, to the contemplation of the of knowledge, and is still insatiate. The magnificence and beauty of the external world sinks profoundly into the frame of his conceptions, and affords to their modifications a variety not to be exhausted. So long as it is possible for his desires to point towards objects thus infinite and unmeasured, he is joyous, and tranquil, and self-possessed. But the period arrives when these objects cease to suffice. His mind is at length suddenly awakened and thirsts for intercourse with an intelligence similar to itself. He images to himself the Being whom he loves. Conversant with speculations of the sublimest and most perfect na

tures, the vision in which he embodies his own imaginations unites all of wonderful, philosopher, or the lover could depicture. or wise, or beautiful, which the poet, the The intellectual faculties, the imagination, the functions of sense, have their respective requisitions on the sympathy of correspond