Classic, too, is that Etruscan bronze seal, excavated near Cortona,* representing a conference between an adulteress and her lover, with a figure of the Leno, who planned the meeting. As may be supposed, classic virtue among women was of another sort from what is expected of Christian women. Instead of chastity, they had fortitude, and certainly fortitude is an admirable virtue. Its value among the Romans cannot be better illustrated than in the life and death of Porcia, the daughter of Cato, who, by thrusting a knife into her thigh, and supporting it there during eight days without complaining, proved to Brutus her fitness to be a confidant in his conspiracy, and who, on his defeat, showed still her devotion to her husband by swallowing burning coals, and so ending her life.

The temples of the gods, as well as the early English churches, were not visited by the people for the purposes to which the modern Christian church is dedicated. The ancient devotee went to worship, and only to worship. The modern disciple enters the sacred building for the purposes of worship, but also for communion with the saints and to hear those lessons concerning life that teachers of his own caste may read to him. Thus our congregations are, to a certain extent, social gatherings, and have the need of new arrangements, even new conceptions.

This was not comprehended by the clerical architect of the middle ages. For their time doubtless they did well. But religious practices are modified. We no longer enter the church for the purpose of mortifying the flesh, while we listen to the preacher. In all our notions of comfort we demand higher provisions for its enjoyment than was thought essential to the happiness of men five hundred or more years

ago.

Thus, the subject of ventilation is now well understood, and the contrivance for its proper conduct and regulation is as much the province of the architect as the designing of the structure.

Now, too, we may justly complain, if we are forced to sit on narrow, uncomfortable seats, so very correct in being

* Mus. Cortoneus. tab. 18.

modeled on a Christian pattern of the fifteenth century, that after their use we feel that we may have been born in that age. We have learned what they did not know-the art of making a comfortable seat. Let us have the advantage to be derived from that knowledge.

The laws of acoustics and the proper apportioning of light demand a consideration they have not received. What has been the course pursued by the artists of America? Without arriving at the true spirit of the art, they have fastened upon our cities most costly buildings that will in time come to be regarded as the work of unscientific hands-the fruits of ignorant genius.

But we have a choice to make: either we must tear down some ancient landmark and regulate the proportions of the edifice and its form with reference to correct natural principles, or we must still preserve cumbrous intrusions to be disguised as ornaments, with unreasonable apportionment in every important particular, while we rest contented that we have present "a pure example of one of those fine old churches of the middle ages!"

Again, the higher conception of what constitutes a religious life should have an important bearing on sacred architecture, especially in its influence on the lighting and decoration of churches. The days of asceticism have passed. The dull, gray life of the trembling religionist, who loved Christ solely because he feared the devil, has given place to the cheerful earnestness of the hopeful child of God. The object of life is to live-not to die; to increase in knowledge of all that is good and great, and truth. Christian life is an aspiration heavenward; not a sigh nor a moan in dread of evil. Hence, then, the "dim religious light" of the old bishops will not be found suited to the wants of a nobler age. Light! more light! is the great demand of the day, perhaps in nothing more than theology. And for this reason do we build our churches, and place in the pulpit wise men to expound the Faith.

The light of the forest is not dim, though soft. Streams of sunshine come pouring down through the windows of that temple, like beams of truth from God's everlasting throne.

This light from above in the natural forest is beautifully significant; but in the structures to which it suggests the most, we rarely see such a thought indicated. The simplest and noblest form in which it can be applied is the dome, which at the same time pictures forth that grander dome, whence light is supplied to the world.

As to sentiment, the dome is equally significant, while more reasonable than the spire. True, the spire points heavenward; but then it is pretentious, angular, crystalline, harsh, sharp, narrow, contracted; and such its moral.

The dome is equally celestial in its aspirations. It is modest in its ambition, soft and gentle. It conveys an impression of liberality and Christian benevolence, as an opening hand dispenses treasure. And as its horizontal lines give breadth and scope, it tells of large views and profound. It shadows forth a guardian hand that shelters while it protects all souls. Admitting a light directly from the skies, it suggests an unerring light from the fountain of truth.

It is only strange that, after the glorious examples in the old world, we, who have copied every possible deformity, have neglected this principal beauty.

And yet, again, the extended sphere of commerce and trade, with the attending improvements in the arts of navigation and locomotion, seem in their power to have forced changes of some sort in civil art. This influence is not limited to those buildings that are used for mercantile purposes. It is seen in the architecture of the mansion-house. Commerce with its necessities having called for new ships, that are built to suit the demands of the business in which they shall be engaged, the same spirit of independent originality extends to the storehouse and dwelling of the merchant.

It is hardly possible to say as much of the railroad depots of the country, for which men of the most comprehensive profession are to a degree responsible. Out of New England there were, until lately, few creditable buildings for the purpose in the United States. And there some excellent designs are mutilated by that everlastingly present mania to build "correct examples."

However, notwithstanding this mistake in exterior design,

a real treat is found in contemplating the ingenious arrangement of roof-trusses, whether of wood or iron. And this leads us to the thought that commerce, in its progress and increasing wants, develops the means of satisfaction. Thus, without being aware of its approach, a new order of civil architecture is to be forced on us. It is impossible to escape the fact, wherever we go in the world of towns, that a revolution has arrived in the art of design, as well as of building. With all its frivolities, so whiningly dwelt on by tearful editors and moralists, we live in an age of strength and power, an iron age.

Iron is hewing its way through the prejudice of artist and mechanic, is cutting out the foundation of ancient orders. I think it fortunate that cast-iron stoves were generally introduced in this country before iron was applied to outside building purposes. Otherwise we might have been vexed with the constant effort to mould it in the forms and, in this case, unscientific proportions of Grecian art. As it happens, we find a refreshing originality present in almost every iron building.

Reflecting, then, upon the advances of mankind, in all that constitutes life, is it an immodest assumption that, in such development of the powers of men and the resources of the earth, the perception of the beautiful must be enlarged?—that otherwise man has lived to little purpose?

I dare not venture the claim that civilization has in every age marched forward; but, his social condition has been a fair index of his authority in Art, in ages past, and why not today? If in Grecian art we discover more beauty than exists in medieval art, so we shall in certain periods of Grecian life find more that is estimable and true than in the life of the middle ages. And I apprehend that the ecclesiastical architecture of the present time suffers more from the prevalence of medieval theology than from all other causes combined.

Just as in civil life we have reached beyond the men of the past, so in civil architecture we have improved their designs ; suffering mainly from the fact that we intrust our works to the hands of medieval artists, who intrude some of their dogmas in spite of our protest.

But our theology and our perception of the character of Jesus as the type of man is improving with a higher intellectual culture.

There is no more priestcraft in society; the clergyman becomes a friend and a brother; he no longer dogmatizes, he debates and speculates as one member of his church community. A few venerable Pharisees look back and sigh and are become petrified without the savor of salt; but on the whole there is advance, and the priest is helping it as much as he dare.

We shall yet learn that the growth of a correct taste in art is an indication, as it is the result, of the growth of correct ideas of goodness and the progress of a correct philosophy of life.

THESE flowers are children of a clime

That hath its treasures grand and vast

And, treading in the steps of Time,

Its stern old Pilgrim of the past.

A traveler sought that favored shore,
That mother-land beyond the wave,

And, with his trophies, homeward bore
These simple flowers from Bunyan's grave.

And now in twilight gloom I stand
Beside that grave beyond the sea,

Holding the blossoms in my hand,

So fraught with holy thoughts to me.

No costly monument of art

Is o'er it, but wild grasses wave,

And nourished from a hero's heart

The simple flowers on Bunyan's grave.

'Tis not the Christian of to-day,

Who from his back the load hath cast,

But, trudging on his weary way,

I see the Pilgrim of the past.