chance what kind of an one it may prove-whether a destructive or a conservative. The beautiful renovation of the Temple Church in London had been but a few years preceded by the semidestruction of that glorious work, St. Mary Overies:-George Gwilt the acting architect. At this present moment one from out the two only ancient ecclesiastical remains Edinburgh possesses is about to be quite gratuitously destroyed by a railway company, and succeeded by a coal-depôt. A startling and miserable piece of evidence this of the extreme which a blind, onesided, uninformed, unleavened Practicalism has reached among us; and which, notwithstanding the deep theoretic aspirations of the more elevated section of contemporaneous thinkers, prevails among the mass; and rules tyrannically the whole community. Unspeakably sad and repining, are the feelings induced by losses such as these, proceeding in our own very day, and before our own eyes. When a fragment of beautiful art is displaced for aught of even superior claims, regret for that annihilated cannot but visit us. Thus we feel for the lost frescos of a Perugino, to which succeeded those of a Raphael. How much more then, when, as in architecture it has been during the last three centuries, such remains are demolished by those who could not under any circumstances call into being aught analogous, or in slightest regard equivalent to that destroyed. A bad restoration or mutilation again, is as if one of the stage Tate or Cibber versions of a play of Shakspere's had been substituted finally for the original. That art indeed bound down to primary material conditions of being, is in all such developments peculiarly exposed to annihilative influences. The actual remaining sum of its past achievements is ever from this cause rapidly contracting. We could not well figure to ourselves the absolute loss of a lyric of a Milton or a Tennyson, or of aught of the dramatic manifestation of a Chaucer or a Shakspere. And yet such lyrics and such drama within the range of formative and architectural art are disappearing from the world, day by day. We had need be wary of ourselves contributing to the progressive work of destruction; for time and nature do enough; and mere accident is not slow to forward their work. A St. Stephen's Chapel perhaps, is at one blow lost to us. And so much beautiful thought and consummate expression die out of the world for ever an ineffably mournful death; for it is a final; a death to which no immortality ensues; the dissolution of all that was most immortal of the earthly part of those, who in their genius and working had won the privilege, even in earthly wise, of living yet a little longer than their fellows.

It has been urged against the recent activity of research and discourse on Gothic architecture, that such amounts to but a

narrow, partial movement in favour of architecture, taken generally an objection founded in too loose and indeterminate a notion of the requirements of architecture. This very restrictiveness, in fact, has its ground in reason, and its justification in nature. It has been felt, and rightly, and the feeling in such wise finds its unconscious expression,-that this one among the past developments does concern us, of the present; not so, the others. It has long been a discerned fact among the discerning, that architecture as a living tree lives not among us; that the best to which we have attained, nay, to which we just now may attain, is a revivalism. That this revival then, be well directed, and healthful, as far as it goes, is the matter to be seen to. In studying Gothic, we study architecture in the fullest development of its most essential primary conditions of being. As Shakspere's drama is to the classic drama, so is our Gothic architecture-Gothic, Christian, Pointed, call it what we willto the Greek, not to mention the comparatively debased and inconsistent Roman system: both as primary constructive, and secondary æsthetic principles are concerned. Shakspere teaches the artist to work with nature; and so does the Gothic architect. By this latter is most clearly and effectively developed the constructive and real principle; the principle of making the necessities of construction the natural root and reason of all beauty, as well as the basis of all mere after-decorative effect. Every building,' says Pugin, that is treated naturally, without disguise or concealment, cannot fail to look well.' And this in fact is the sum and effect of the Gothic architect's teaching. It is the constant reference and obedience to this most important of architectural postulates, prevailing in the Gothic system, which render its theoretic study and practical pursuit so valuable, and on the present time imperative; whether we ultimately adhere to its actual developed forms of life or not. It is only of very recent years any glimpse of the necessity of accepting this postulate has dawned upon our architects. And still, among most of those even professing for the nonce to revive Gothic, any certain, guiding principle is wanting; any general sustaining principle of working, such as in Gothic times pervaded all: patrons, architect, masons, artificers.

A knowledge of Gothic detail is now precise enough. Our architects in this regard find themselves in a very different condition from that of their unfortunate predecessors, the ornamental, pinnacle and buttress men of a quarter of a century since the fervent thorough-going enforcers of the pointed arch, per se, whether in a church or a drawing-room. Far slower has progressed the knowledge of first principles. Of this fact we have a lamentable exemplification in the river front of the

new Houses of Parliament: a mere mask, concealing those developments which it should reveal, which should mark the character of the building; long, but ineffective; tautologous, unmeaning, Italianizing; but too plainly the product of one bred in the Italian school; relieved only by its beauty and accuracy of detail. So again, at the bridge end, is to be noted the subdivision-for purposes of ventilation-of one apparent into two actual stories; a miserable solecism against architectural truth, and resultant worth. And in various portions of the pile there are to be found subordinate aspects, equally false and inconsistent. The Victoria tower, if carried out, and the interiors, will compensate for much. But in fact, the work was commenced too soon. It is since its commencement, our knowledge of Gothic architecture has so rapidly advanced. Barry himself has learned his lesson during its progress; and had he to begin again, would assuredly, make altogether another matter of it.

In works of the Gothic period, reality and consistency ever prevailed; with intelligibility, and fulness and variety of effect, for their offspring: as manifested in erections the most diverse; from the cathedral to the market-cross, from the collegiate mass or princely palace to the gentleman's mansion; and from this to a conduit or a bath. For this system of building was universal in its capabilities; as versatile and adaptive, as beautiful and sublime. And this, because its beauty, and sublimity, and grace, were founded on simplicity and reality. In fabrics of the roughest execution, the most ordinary destination, there were thus given excellence of construction and simple beauty of effect. A factory chimney would have then been rendered a picturesque feature; as, were similar principles followed, to those at that time prevailing, it might be now. And it is to be borne in mind, every part in a true Gothic construction was in itself graceful or beautiful, as of course; because it was not natural for the architect, the mason, or artificer, to contrive otherwise than in graceful forms,-than after one unaffected and precise, though flexible manner. Whereas now, nothing is more common than for a 'Gothic' architect to drop his domino-as Pugin has it when thinking himself secure from public observation, and assume the sash-window style:' in other words, to relinquish the fatiguing feint of being architectural.

If, as we have intimated, it have become necessary to revive Gothic architecture, in order to work our way into the practice of architecture at all, equally needful must it be to confine ourselves to this one revival; and to its revival in its purest and most suitable developments. We in the first instance, too, must adhere strictly to those architectural forms already

developed; mastering them, as we have not yet mastered them, ere we launch out into new, and so trip on the threshold; bearing in mind the fate of those bold improvers of Gothic detail of the last century,-men who improved that, they knew not how to copy. But above all, the revival to be actual and fruitful, not merely empirical and resultless, must be exclusive; exclusive, or not at all. Precisely contrary is the present practice, no more distinguishing characteristic of which exists, than its empiricalness, its instability, its want of faith in fact. The remarkable idiosyncrasy of the architecture of our immediate time has consisted in its wild eclecticism, and consequent nonentity. All previous times, it has been often remarked, possessed an individual prevailing style, however bad; this, no one prevalent style or character. In our churches alone, this is saliently enough evidenced, though within a narrower range than elsewhere. For here revivalism holds sway, revivalism of mediæval forms. In the Establishment' indeed, the old unmeaning classicalism distorted and made easy, has been put completely hors de combat. And among the Nonconformists themselves, well meant mediæval attempts, though attempts mostly inconsistent and unordered, if not, as sometimes, mere parodies, have predominated. Mediæval revivalism then rules; but a revivalism of the most heterogeneous and uncertain description here Gothic, there Norman; here foreign Romanesque, there Byzantine. And of Gothic itself, it is all a matter of hazard, whether first pointed, second pointed, or third be adopted; though indeed but one even of these can be the fit or enduringly hopeful model. Street combinations of the most extraordinary character are thus brought about; and scenic effects the most transparent. Sometimes, for the very same intimately allied group, styles the most removed will be adopted; a Romanesque mask for the church, and a Tudorfronted school. In our domestic architecture, the same variety prevails. Here the architect is Italian, there Tudor, here again Elizabethan. As to this latter style, much misapprehension prevails. It does not seem understood that all which is of worth in remains of this style, such as proportion, arrangement, accommodation, is essentially Gothic in principle; all that is false, such as details and certain prevailing contours and minor forms, being a debased jumble of classic and nondescript. By eschewing the latter therefore, and studying the remainder; always avoiding literal copying, and reverting to Tudor forms for guidance, in that adaption of ancient remains in the domestic, which modern wants necessitate; profit may hereafter be derived from this source; not otherwise. But notwithstanding we are eclectics in domestic as in everything else, the large

proportion of our current architecture in this sort is in the sash-window and nondescript style; not more unarchitectural perhaps in principle, than the mass of our public buildings, but in addition, destitute of their classic or Gothic masks. The inartificial character of structure here becomes very thorough-going. An elevation in truth, on paper, of a wing of Russell-square, or a section of a given side of Baker-street, the stoutest (unprofessional) imagination could not with composure figure to itself.

The universally imitative and scenic system is in part the offshoot of that general absence of the primary constructive principle as a guiding rule of art, already noticed. It results in the utter negation of that most essential secondary characteristic of architecture proper, architecture actual and spontaneous: that of generic propriety. Insomuch, too, as architecture has ceased, at least for general purposes, to be anywise an art, existing only as a practice, utility and beauty being divorced; we have departed from nature and her great principle, of a constant blending of the two. And we suffer the consequences. Those who lead a city life, find in the outward world which surrounds them, no exchange for the architecture of nature they have left behind, no material thought to occupy or sustain, to direct or suggest their musings. But all from that source is vacancy; vacancy almost unbroken. Of how opposed a character must have been the aspect of an English city in the fifteenth century, to that it now presents. From the necessities of fortification restricted within relatively small space, it was even less favourably conditioned in a sanatory point of view than now; though by no means that factitious aggregate of human working and human workers, such as is one of our modern large towns. From the prevailing abundance and consequent employment of wood, it was more exposed to fortuitous hazard; but architecturally, it must have presented a singularly full and varied sum of beautiful and suggestive appearances. And it is a noteworthy anomaly in the history of art, of which this contrast reminds Our ancestors living in times of continual violence and resultant destruction, were an architectural people: we living in seasons of comparatively unbroken peace and security, are an unarchitectural.

us.

For some few centuries, one general broad pervading spirit of artistic life prevailed in all regards, as to those arts actually developed in Europe; in architecture, in the decorative arts— including even the artificers of costume-in sculpture; and, though among us northern nations with far more limited expression, in painting. Then, architects were thinkers and poets;