It is to be regretted that the superimposed orders are so nearly of one height; by shortening the upper columns so as to stand on plynths, with a cement balustrade between them, the main entrance would have looked more commanding, and especially so, had the upper balcony been railed with light iron-work. Frame houses, like the above, are to be encouraged, and it is to be hoped this form of construction will be generally adopted where stone and brick buildings are too costly. This design is dignified, modern and straightforward.

N the attainment of municipal ideals, constructively considered, patch-work must be eliminated.

The geography of the city must be recast. The city, as a whole, must be considered from every standpoint simultaneously; and lastly a definite plan, providing for the distant future, must be prepared and adhered to.

Under existing conditions railways, conduits, sewers and pipes force themselves through places never intended for them. Lofty buildings are thrown up on lots intended only for low ones. Private-vault construction is allowed under public pavements. Streets are roofed and undermined, rendering artificial light and forced ventilation necessary, and year after year new patch-like makeshifts add to the congestion and general discord.

This is all wrong. Public and private vested interests need not be at variance with one another, and notwithstanding many conflicting rivalries which will have to be conciliated, it is possible to institute a system of gradual renewal whereby in time the tangled arteries of the most hopelessly congested city may be entirely recast. Indeed, within less than half a century Paris has expanded and metamorphosed itself from a repellant, unhealthy, unsafe, and unlovely agglomeration into an orderly, healthful and beautiful city. Technically (for social requirements vary), city-making involves circulation, hygiene and beauty.

I shall discuss the first two briefly, and, while considering the third, will revert occasionally to the others to show the inevitable interdependence of all three.

Circulation may be termed the anatomy of the city; the transit facilities above, below and on the surface of the ground, the life arteries or pipe galleries for the distribution of the public utilities, including a sewerage system.

Here we see the interdependence of circulation and hygiene.

Hygiene represents the aspect and prospect of the city, its general salubrity, the density of population, the lighting by night and day, a free sweep of air, and lastly, a proper density of construction. A fixed ratio should exist between the voids and solids of all quarters of the city,

whether such quarters be one of lofty buildings or of modest two or three story residences. By this, I mean a proper ratio between blocks of buildings on the one hand, and the streets, courts and open spaces surrounding them on the other. If a sufficiency of open space is provided, beauty is possible. here, already, we see the interdependence existing between circulation, hygiene and beauty.

Beauty represents the expression of a city. Cities, like individuals, have natural and artificial expressions. The dominating chimneys of the manufacturing town and the surmounting domes and minarets of the Oriental city are each natural expressions. The savage has much the same faculties as the civilized man, but these faculties are less developed. The savage is unkempt, shaggy and dirty.

The natural city is unkempt; i.e., it is an haphazard agglomeration and usually dirty. But as cities develop, whether it be the crude manufacturing town or the mysterious Oriental city, in this age of tolerance they soon produce one or more cosmopolitan thoroughfares, providing easy circulation, good hygienic properties, and possibly some degree of beauty.

The savage city begins to wash itself. It may be but Pera street of Stamboul, but "a lick and a promise," yet it illustrates the fact that all cities have certain requirements in common when they groom themselves and enter into competition with one another.

This social adjustment may take away much of their picturesque charm and some of their individuality, but in return it brings compensating conveniences and well-being.

A lamp-post, an avenue, a building, a park, are not detached units, but each is one of a system of units, and each of these systems has its place in the civic scheme.

Our problem is to locate the true place of each unit and of each system of units, and an attempt in this direction will be made under different headings, covering many phases of urban life and many new conditions.

The first of this series of articles, published in the last ANNUAL, and comprising an instalment of a report to the University of Pennsylvania (which will involve years of mature study to complete), is here supplemented by an introduction which it is hoped may prove broad enough to cover the whole range of city-making.

T

HE ever-increasing radius of the city circle should tend to build up outer girdles less and less densely constructed. And it is indeed an indifferent community that neither broadens its thoroughfares, as they extend into these new outskirts, nor provides a chain of open spots linked together by an engirdling park way, thus guarding against congestion, when still more distant belts may be included within the area of municipalization.

In residential districts-and it is of these that this article treats-there is, fortunately, a tendency towards outer zones, in order to obtain more air and sunshine. By merely receding all buildings to a given line a broad, unobstructed space may be procured. The lots must have ample frontages to give each home surrounding light and air. As a result, these quarters take on an appearance of openness whether the arterial system has been broadened or not.

Again, private enterprise often outstrips governmental in the case of real-estate speculations. Often a company will make the public improvements and widen the streets, establish wise rules and regulations governing all buildings, prohibiting the erection of stables on small lots, the storage of unsightly and unsafe articles, and, in fact, covering the general maintenance of the suburb.

At Dayton, O., a portion of Superior Avenue has been thoroughly improved, and, aside from the usual utilities, a duplicate sewerage system has

been provided-one for sanitary purposes, and the other a storm sewer for cellar drainage and the overflow of cisterns.

The avenue is broad, the sidewalks are parked, shade trees are grown, and all lots elevated to a uniform grade. The houses are all on a line with forty-foot lawns, and without fences, and the distance between the houses from one side of the street to the other is 150 feet. Superior Avenue has the appearance of being the widest avenue in the city; this is caused by the trees being on the lots and not on the sidewalks, and the gas-posts on the lot line instead of the curb line-an original and a good arrangement, so long as the trees are all under one control. A drive along Superior Avenue impresses one with its beauty, and one need only draw on his imagination to see its future, with the full-grown elms arching over the avenue.

A number of recently projected suburban settlements in and about Philadelphia have been laid out with broad winding avenues whose courses are determined by the lay of the land, even in some cases diverted in order to save a fine clump of old trees. In a city so monotonously gridironed by streets these departures in the arterial system are very welcome.

The Carpenter Land & Improvement Association includes a tract of 103 acres. A complete restudy of the lines and grades was made. some winding avenues have been laid out, and a