What are we to think of the Roman bridges and aqueducts? Are we to be men in our attitude toward them? or shall we try to see them with the unfriendly eyes of Grecian supermen? It seems to me that many Grecian supermen are terrible persons in their criticism of architecture. Often they are so cocksure in their contempt for Roman art that they write down their verdicts without any thought, and also in uncouth English, as if a slatternly habit of mind were a fit companion for their proclaimed belief in the supremacy of Greek masterpieces. Years ago, in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,” one of these superlative judges told the world that Roman bridges and aqueducts “were really of a more engineering than architectural character, being in the main utilitarian.” What does this ungainly language mean? Was a Roman temple less utilitarian than a Roman aqueduct? less needful as a part of the national life? Why should a lover of Greek art write absurdly on the Roman genius? I am told, for instance, by another Grecian, that the Pont du Gard, a Roman masterpiece, three or four leagues from Nîmes, in France, has “rough masonry.” What next? A very strong man, a Sandow, in comparison with a Tom Thumb, is a man of rough muscle and sinew, and if Tom Thumb is to be our standard of symmetry and grace, then Sandow is a masterful error in proportion and vitality. To describe the Pont du Gard as “rough” is to be a pigmy in a very foolish attitude to Roman power; and it proves also that the critic has a defective appreciation of his own vaunted hobby, the might and magnificence of Greek architecture. Does anyone know why British writers are reluctant to admire in art those virile gifts of the spirit that win victories and promise a great future? Why is it that our criticisms are honeyed with sweet phrases? We prattle about “tender sentiment,” and “exquisite refinement,” and “gracious and gentle tact,” as if these female qualities only and alone could make fame permanent in the arena of the centuries. Is a passion for “refinement” to turn us into valetudinarians? Surely the Roman genius, in a supreme monument such as the Pont du Gard, is the very tonic for which we ought to have an inborn care and liking? Yet some professors of taste, being devotees of the epicene, condemn it as a “rough” genius, just as bad climbers revile the Alps.