ould be quite possible for a monolith
to sink out of sight and never more be heard of. To provide against
such contingencies a forest of piles was driven into the earth at
the cost of L200,000 as the foundation of St. Isaac, and yet the
cathedral sinks. Like causes render the roads of St. Petersburg
the worst in Europe; winter frosts, which penetrate several feet
below the surface, seize on the imprisoned waters and tear up the
streets. The surface thus broken is so destructive to wheels that
I have known an Englishman, who, though he kept four carriages,
had not one in a condition to use. The jolting on the roads is so
great as to make it wise for a traveller to hold on fast, and when
a lady and gentleman ride side by side, it is usual for the gentleman
to protect the lady by throwing his arm round his companion's waist.
This delicate attention is so much of a utilitarian necessity as
in no way to imply further obligations.

St. Petersburg is considerably indebted to the art of sculpture:
public monuments adorn her squares and gardens. Indeed the art of
sculpture has, like the sister arts of architecture and painting,
been forced into preternatural proportions. In the large area within
sight of the church of St. Isaac and of the Admiralty, stands
conspicuously one of the few successful equestrian statues in modern
or ancient times, the colossal bronze to Peter the Great. The huge
block of granite, which is said to weigh upwards of 15,000 tons, was
conveyed from a marsh, four miles distance from St. Petersburg, by
means of ropes, pulleys, and windlasses, worked by men and horses.
A drummer stationed on the rock itself gave the signal for onward
movement. It would seem that the methods used in Russia to this
day for transporting granite monoliths, are curiously similar to
the appliances of the ancient Egyptians for moving like masses. In
point of art this equestrian statue, though grand in conception,
is, after the taste of barbarous nations, colossal in size. Peter
the Great is eleven feet in stature, the horse is seventeen feet
high. The nobility lies in the action, the horse rears on his hind
legs after the favourite manner of Velasquez in well-known equestrian
portraits of Ferdinand IV. The attitude assumed by the great Emperor
is triumphant, the fiery steed has dashed up the rock and pauses as
in mid-air on the brink of the precipice. The idea is that Peter
the Great surveys from the height the capital of his creat