architecture of our country, and to discover the beau ideal of English character, which should be preserved through all the decorations which the builder may desire, and through every variety which fancy may suggest.  There never was, and never can be, a universal beau ideal in architecture, and the arrival at all local models of beauty would be the task of ages; but we can always, in some degree, determine those of our own lovely country.  We cannot, however, in the present case, pass from the contemplation of the villa of a totally different climate, to the investigation of what is beautiful here, without the slightest reference to styles now or formerly adopted for our own “villas,” if such they are to be called; and therefore it will be necessary to devote a short time to the observance of the peculiarities of such styles, if we possess them; or, if not, of the causes of their absence.

148.  We have therefore headed this paper “The Villa, England;” awakening, without doubt, a different idea in the mind of every one who reads the words.  Some, accustomed to the appearance of metropolitan villas, will think of brick buildings, with infinite appurtenances of black nicked chimney-pots, and plastered fronts, agreeably varied with graceful cracks, and undulatory shades of pink, brown, and green, communicated to the cement by smoky showers.  Others will imagine large, square, many-windowed masses of white, set with careful choice of situation exactly where they will spoil the landscape to such a conspicuous degree, as to compel the gentlemen traveling on the outside of the mail to inquire of the guard, with great eagerness, “whose place that is;” and to enable the guard to reply with great distinctness, that it belongs to Squire ——­, to the infinite gratification of Squire ——­, and the still more infinite edification of the gentlemen on the outside of the mail.  Others will remember masses of very red brick, quoined with stone; with columnar porticoes, about one-third of the height of the building, and two niches, with remarkable looking heads and bag-wigs in them, on each side; and two teapots, with a pocket-handkerchief hanging over each (described to the astonished spectator as “Grecian urns”) located upon the roof, just under the chimneys.  Others will go back to the range of Elizabethan gables; but none will have any idea of a fixed character, stamped on a class of national edifices.  This is very melancholy, and very discouraging; the more so, as it is not without cause.

149.  In the first place, Britain unites in itself so many geological formations, each giving a peculiar character to the country which it composes, that there is hardly a district five miles broad, which preserves the same features of landscape through its whole width.[24] If, for example, six foreigners were to land severally at Glasgow, at Aberystwith, at Falmouth, at Brighton, at Yarmouth, and at Newcastle, and to confine their investigations to the country within twenty miles of them, what different impressions would they receive of British landscape!  If, therefore, there be as many forms of edifice as there are peculiarities of situation, we can have no national style; and if we abandon the idea of a correspondence with situation, we lose the only criterion capable of forming a national style.[25]