efore
that the whole mass of it cannot be large. It is not even desirable that
it should be so; for the temper in which the mind addresses itself to
contemplate minute and beautiful details is altogether different from
that in which it submits itself to vague impressions of space and size.
And therefore we must not be disappointed, but grateful, when we find
all the best work of the building concentrated within a space
comparatively small; and that, for the great cliff-like buttresses and
mighty piers of the North, shooting up into indiscernible height, we
have here low walls spread before us like the pages of a book, and
shafts whose capitals we may touch with our hand.

Sec. XLVIII. The due consideration of the principles above stated will
enable the traveller to judge with more candor and justice of the
architecture of St. Mark's than usually it would have been possible for
him to do while under the influence of the prejudices necessitated by
familiarity with the very different schools of Northern art. I wish it
were in my power to lay also before the general reader some
exemplification of the manner in which these strange principles are
developed in the lovely building. But exactly in proportion to the
nobility of any work, is the difficulty of conveying a just impression
of it; and wherever I have occasion to bestow high praise, there it is
exactly most dangerous for me to endeavor to illustrate my meaning,
except by reference to the work itself. And, in fact, the principal
reason why architectural criticism is at this day so far behind all
other, is the impossibility of illustrating the best architecture
faithfully. Of the various schools of painting, examples are accessible
to every one, and reference to the works themselves is found sufficient
for all purposes of criticism; but there is nothing like St. Mark's or
the Ducal Palace to be referred to in the National Gallery, and no
faithful illustration of them is possible on the scale of such a volume
as this. And it is exceedingly difficult on any scale. Nothing is so
rare in art, as far as my own experience goes, as a fair illustration of
architecture; _perfect_ illustration of it does not exist. For all good
architecture depends upon the adaptation of its chiselling to the effect
at a certain distance from the eye; and to render the peculiar confusion
in the midst of order, and uncertainty in the midst of decision, and
mystery in the midst of trenchant lines, w