Another mistaken idea is that the sculptors of ancient times were also architects. Some instances occur where, like the Italian, Michael Angelo, a prominent sculptor of Greece or Rome, made architecture one of his accomplishments, but they were not as numerous as they are supposed to have been, and the rule seems to be the reverse: that the sculptors of antiquity had no technical knowledge of architecture, and that the arts were quite as distinctly practised as professions in early times as they are to-day. There remains to be presented only one other reason for the indifference shown the early architects by their contemporary writers and public, which is so well expressed by an English historian in his discussion of the Coliseum at Rome, that it may well be quoted as a type of the excuse offered by apologists of the same class: “The name of the architect to whom the great work of the Coliseum was entrusted has not come down to us.[1] The ancients seem themselves to have regarded this name as a matter of little interest; nor in fact do they generally care to specify the authorship of their most illustrious buildings. The reason is obvious. The forms of ancient art in this department were almost wholly conventional, and the limits of design within which they were executed gave little room for the display of original taste and special character.... It is only in periods of eclecticism and Renaissance, when the taste of the architect has wider scope and may lead the eye instead of following it, that interest attaches to his personal merit. Thus it is that the Coliseum, the most conspicuous type of Roman civilization, the monument which divides the admiration of strangers in modern Rome with St. Peter’s itself, is nameless and parentless, while every stage in the construction of the great Christian temple, the creation of a modern revival, is appropriated with jealous care to its special claimants.” In other words, the pupil is a fitter artist to awaken the personal interest of those who admire his works than his master; and the revived imitation of more consequence to the public than the original model. If this were true, why should the Coliseum, “the most conspicuous type of Roman civilization,” upon which the pilgrims of the North, as we are informed by Gibbon, based the longevity of Rome itself, when in their rude enthusiasm they gave expression to the proverb, “As long as the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand; when the Coliseum falls, Rome will fall; when Rome falls, the world will fall,” _divide_ the admiration of the stranger with St. Peter’s? Should it not, rather, be subordinate to the Christian cathedral of Bramante, Raphael and Michael Angelo? Is there not a touch of the _reductio ad absurdum_ in this argument? Such reasoning does not seem to be quite obvious upon other grounds as well. If it is the fact that the ancients regarded the names of their architects as of little interest, and their buildings as wholly