Now if we proceed to take to pieces the idea of architectural design, and consider wherein the problem of it consists, we shall find that it falls into a fourfold shape. It consists first in arranging the plan; secondly, in carrying up the boundary lines of this plan vertically in the shape of walls; thirdly, in the method of covering in the space which we have thus defined and inclosed; and, fourthly, in the details of ornamentation which give to it the last and concluding grace and finish. All building, when it gets beyond the mere wall with which we began, is really a method of covering in a space, or, if we may put it so, a collection of spaces, marked out and arranged for certain purposes. The first thing that the architect has to do is to arrange these spaces on the ground so that they may conveniently meet the necessary requirements of the building. Convenience and practical usefulness come first; but in any building which is worth the name of architecture something more than mere convenience has to be kept in mind, even in the arrangement of the plan upon the site. It is to be a combination of convenience with effectiveness of arrangement. We shall probably find that some one compartment of the plan is of paramount importance. We have to arrange the interior so that this most important compartment shall be the climax of the plan. The entrance and the other subsidiary compartments must be kept subordinate to it, and must lead up to it in such a manner that the spectator shall be led by a natural gradation from the subsidiary compartments up to the main one, which is the center and _raison d'etre_ of the whole--everything in the lines of the plan should point to that. This is the great _crux_ in the planning of complicated public buildings. A visitor to such a building, unacquainted with it previously, ought to have no difficulty in finding out from the disposition of the interior which are the main lines of route, and when he is on the line leading him up to the central feature of the plan. There are public buildings to be found arranged on what may be called the rabbit warren system, in which perhaps a great number of apartments are got upon the ground, but which the visitor is obliged laboriously to learn before he can find his way about them. That is not only inconvenient but inartistic planning, and shows a want of logic and consideration, and, in addition to this, a want of feeling for artistic effect. I saw not long ago, for instance, in a set of competitive designs for an important public building, a design exhibiting a great deal of grace and elegance in the exterior architectural embellishment, but in which the principal entrance led right up to a blank wall facing the entrance, and the spectator had to turn aside to the left and then to the right before finding himself on the principal axis of the plan. That is what I should call inartistic or unarchitectural planning. The