stands firm and upright; and though not quite perfect in every part, yet
it preserves all its due proportions, and enough of its original and
lesser beauties, to astonish and delight every beholder, and that too in
a very particular manner. It is said, and I have felt the truth of it in
part, that there does not exist, at this day, any building, ancient or
modern, which conveys so secret a pleasure, not only to the
_connoisseur_, but to the clown also, whenever, or how often soever they
approach it. The proportions and beauties of the whole building are so
intimately united, that they may be compared to good breeding in men; it
is what every body perceives, and is captivated with, but what few can
define. That it has an irresistible beauty which delights men of sense,
and which _charms_ the eyes of the vulgar, I think must be admitted; for
no other possible reason can be assigned why this building alone,
standing in the very centre of a city, wherein every excess which
religious fury could inspire, or barbarous manners could suggest, has
stood so many ages the only uninsulted monument of antiquity, either
within or without the walls; especially, as a very few men might, with
very little labour, soon tumble it into a heap of rubbish.

The _Amphitheatre_ has a thousand marks of violences committed upon it,
by fire, sledges, battering rams, &c. which its great solidity and
strength alone resisted.

The _Temple of Diana_ is so nearly destroyed, that, in an age or two
more no vestige of it will remain; but the _Maison Carree_ is still so
perfect and beautiful, that when _Cardinal Alberoni_ first saw it, he
said it wanted only _une boete d'or pour le defendre des injures de
l'air_; and it certainly has received no other, than such as rain, and
wind, and heat, and cold, have made upon it; and those are rather marks
of dignity, than deformity. What reason else, then, can be assigned for