ago; and, having stood five centuries and a half, some reparations were effected by an architect,' whose work in forty years, as we are told, is in a worse condition than the medieval masonry. The old masons chose and worked their stone with knowledge of its character and qualities. Being sedimentary, it should be laid upon its bed, so that, as in a pile of books, the edges of the laminations, not the sides, should be exposed, and the hard strata should protect the softer parts. The clerkly people who directed the repairs were not, of course, experienced artisans; and so there may have been no knowledge or concern about the bedding or selection of the stone; which, when convenient from its shape or size, was, at that period, often built up carelessly on edge; and then, the weather soaking in, the frost destroyed the work. The efficient medieval masons would have been entirely puzzled by an Institute-examination; but the modern architect who thus restored' could, no doubt, even 'illustrate by sketches' Amphiprostyle' and 'Machicolations'! Not only was the workmanship of the old sitting' artisans so much superior to that supplied by flitting draughtsmen; but the men who built the spire actually designed it as they built. They lived at Oxford, at the work; and living there they saw and felt that a stout spire, with heavy and elaborate pinnacles, would be a fitting coronal for the massive tower of St. Mary's Church. This dignified and masterly design of uncertificated masons has been imitated frequently by modern architects; but universally in total disregard or non-appreciation of the original artistic scheme. A stumpy spire, and some coarse parody of the grand group of pinnacles, are piled upon, and thought to glorify a narrow stilted tower, in bulk not equal to a quarter of the old masons' beautiful design, at Oxford. These mean, ill-proportioned travesties, abounding through the country, are then said to have been 'modelled on' the steeple of St. Mary's. To lay readers, and to those not well acquainted with our architectural affairs, some words of frank apology may possibly be due for these direct remarks. And yet this subject is of universal interest. We are never, here in England, and especially in London, out of sight of building work; and all this work is done in our own time in misery and hatefulness; whereas it should be the delight of all the world, especially of those who happily produce it. It is therefore in no sectional or party spirit that these words are penned. The Royal Institute of British Architects, the architectural profession, and the various building trades are not of more than casual interest and insignificant proportions in the scope of our discussion. We are are now considering whither this new move of the Essayists may be leading us; and what a wondrous change in all society, as well as in our architects and other workmen, may result from the bold utterances of these thirteen men of art. Now that this movement has been made, the public may regard the matter as of some concern; and may begin to make some general acquaintance with the art that most affects them. Thus it may be possible to arouse an influence apart from dilettante cliques, and business' Institutes; and building art may be again a constant means of happiness, instead of an ubiquitous display of social vanity. The All architecture is, or ought to be, a work dependent on the needs and circumstances of the population; it results from public habitude. In Greece, where outdoor life was general, and athletic games were universal, architecture was essentially a public work, and was a shrine on which to manifest the grace and glory of the human form. In medieval France, where building stone was plentiful and well distributed, a public life less absolute was recognized in her magnificent cathedrals and large parish churches. But in England, where the harsher climate gives the home peculiar influence on the people's character, the houses were the school of building art. parish churches were comparatively numerous and small; half homish places, that led public architectural interest up to the grander churches of the abbeys and cathedrals. In those times the public were themselves artificers and builders. Village workmen knew all kinds of work; and built their cottages and other structures in unconscious, simple picturesqueness. They were undirected, yet unfailingly direct in method; and they used their fancy as an elevating interact, an emphasis and a relief from what would otherwise become but painful drudgery, such as is experienced by our modern working men. Most people seem to think that building is a recondite, mysterious art, requiring much instruction, special talent, and peculiar experience; whereas no work is simpler or more practicable by any man of sense. Of course it must be so. By nature men were meant to live in houses; and, for this reason, Providence has given to almost all men aptitude for building handicraft, and for the rational arrangement of a plan. Nothing but joyful carefulness is, further, needed. Here, in London, on account of the pernicious and demoralizing tenure of the land, to build is held to be in some respects degrading; and the well-to-do affect and cultivate peculiar ignorance even of the houses that they live in. On this affectation and this ignorance the Royal Institute of British Architects is founded. Architecture, the most most popular of the arts, cannot exist or thrive on leaseholds; it is essentially of freehold origin and growth; it springs from absolute possession, and in London consequently it, at present, is impossible. It is a silent art, and grows unconsciously in practical development, and not by means of talking Institutes and tumid lecturers. It is deliberate, for permanent enjoyment, and not hasty, for a speculating gain. Were the people fairly well instructed in the first necessity of family existence, so that they might build, or supervise the building of their houses, this absurdly Royal Institute would have no locus standi, and would quickly disappear. Since our enquiry respecting the capacity and fitness of the Royal Institute of British Architects to say who are and who are not to be allowed to act as master-builders, so called 'architects,' cannot at present be responded to, we must for this discussion seek for some reply, both personal and practical, from the reported utterances of the Royal Institute, and in the public works conducted by its more successful members. Some years since, the President, Sir Gilbert Scott, assured the Institute that 'five-sixths of the architectural students were worth nothing in the world,' and yet that they stood as good a chance of getting on as any one else.' This statement having reference to a period some twelve to twenty years ago, it may be calculated that these pupils, of such perfect quality and prospects, are the very men who now propose to judge their younger brethren. The President made no suggestion that the students would improve; his point was that their state continuing worthless they would still succeed. We take the members and the Fellows of the Royal Institute to include some of these prophesied successful men; of whom, on their own former President's authority, five-sixths are thus unworthy. Are these items of the 'great majority' to be directors of examinations, and to certify that others, also worthless,' are fit architectural associates for themselves? If so, the present practice of professional selection tends to the continued and increasing degradation of the Royal Institute. Had the proportion of artistic poverty been less pronounced, there might have been some hope; but five-sixths of evil multiplied continually into itself seems desperate. Yet this, judging fairly from their public demonstrations, really is the character and quality of the profession at the present time. The accepted members of the Royal Institute may be devoid of artisan ability, whatever be their science, or their business aptitude; such people may be even Presidents and Fellows of the Institute, and no absurdity is recognized. The examinations being trivial and merely sciolistic, a mere mere man of business may, with little difficulty, pass them, and obtain the coveted distinction, charming to the man of business, of a stray proportion of the alphabet upon his business card; which, by the undiscerning public, may be taken as an evidence or sign of architectural capability. A wandering builder, with an eye exclusively to profit; an inferior draughtsman's clerk; a little tradesman in a market town, at times an auctioneer; the keeper of a registry for letting houses, or a 'professor' of house drains and sanitation, if in any way he build the merest cottage, could by means of some small, very useless knowledge, gain admission to the Institute; and, by assiduous attendance, manifest incapables attain distinction there. What would be thought of any College, say of Surgeons, with examinations so delusive and unpractical that butchers, hairdressers, and undertakers might with ease prepare for them, and yet remain incapable of surgery; and that these men of business' being members, even Fellows, of the College, should conduct and regulate examinations, to the entire professional neglect of manual discipline and art in surgery? Till very recently there had been at St. Alban's Abbey Church a three-light decorated window of surpassing excellence; as near perfection in its outline and proportions, tracery, and practical details as any window of the medieval period. The artisan who made it, if examined, would have failed entirely at the Institute; he could not have 'attempted,' even, any 'general question.' We supply an illustration of the work that this unqualified supposed probationer could actually do. Beside it we have placed the lately-substituted modern window, made from a design' by one who could have answered every question at the Institute, and as many more as might be offered; who, though not in the profession, is an enthusiast in architecture and construction. Here the professional method, in perfection as a graphic work, may be compared with the spontaneous, artistic handicraft of uncertificated masons. Thus, in the medieval window the proportion of the tracery to the lower lights has been most gracefully adjusted by the light heads springing much below the impost of the outer arch. The cusping of the lights is small and flat, and the tracery is formed of circles, entire or segmentary, whose apertures become the expressive features of the window; while the outer lines of curve suggest constructive equilibrium. The chief mouldings are so moderately raised above the glass that all the forms are well discerned; the shadows are all delicate, and nothing interrupts or mars the general effect of the design. The draughtsman's window, on the other hand, has no such graceful graceful balance of proportion in the tracery and the lights; indeed the tracery is stilted, on the large coarse cuspings, much above the impost of the arch. The window, consequently, is ungainly-looking, meagre, and uncouth. The tracery is angular rather than circular; the crooked lines, and not the apertures, are dominant. The mouldings are so large that from below the openings of the tracery are half, or more than half obscured, and heavy shadows so obliterate the cusping that the window is not seen for the details. We would do justice to the Institute; and here we have abundantly the culture that they fervently desire, and also super-eminent ability, without proportionate success. The clerkly method of professionalism is the chief cause of the failure; draughtsmen lay on mouldings in a useless or pernicious way, and take the foolish ornament for architecture. Well-instructed artisans, continually at the work, see how to modify details to every incident and need; but in this special aptitude the inexperienced designer, seldom on the building, must habitually fail. Which would the Fellows of the Institute, the critics, working artisans, respectively prefer: the window of the unVol. 176.-No. 351. acceptable E |