THE HOUSE OF GOD.

It is my purpose, in this paper, to call attention to some of the underlying principles of Art, in order thereby to give a higher tone to Christian thought, while, at the same time, I seek to induce a becoming earnestness in Christian feeling, on the subject of Church Architecture; believing that if only the heart be rightly disposed, and the mind rightly directed, in this matter, heart and mind working together wisely, zealously, religiously, to a common end, cannot fail of achieving some measure of practical success.

Architecture aspires to a place among the Fine Arts. A Fine Art is an art that appeals to our intellectual, moral, and spiritual nature. In the case of architecture, this appeal is through an inherent analogy between the properties of matter and of mind; or through an acquired expression in material things, making them indicative of certain truths or facts. The lessons of such an art are learned from an earnest study of the works of Nature; its truths expressed by combinations of Nature's substances, her lines, and her colors, according to the laws and principles of Nature's working-and Nature is but another name for God.

Surely it is a worthy ambition, to make the things that minister to our material necessities also awaken some echo in our incorporeal nature. Surely it is an inspiring thought, that we may thus animate the walls of the material Temple in which we worship God, with some faint traces of a beauty befitting the Holy House; a beauty which we know God loves, since it is learnt of Him, and which will make those material walls wherein His truth is taught, themselves

to speak kindred truths, and better than we know. If we can do all this, is not the doing it more than a thought, however inspiring, more than an ambition, however worthy? Is it not, indeed, a noble Duty?

6

The term Architecture' signifies, broadly, the art or science of building; or, as it has been appropriately termed, the art of 'well building.' It is, however, of architecture as a Fine Art, concerning itself solely with the æsthetic character of building, that I shall now speak. This department of architecture has been called 'Architecture Proper.' And yet I would give to this specific division of architecture the comprehensive title just used in the general definition of architecture, namely, Well Building'-meaning by well building,' that in which all material, and all palpably useful and practical perfections, are combined with the highest æsthetic expression. For the practical requirements of architecture have a moral and spiritual aspect that, through the relation of spiritual truth to material beauty, is indissolubly linked to architecture's every expression of æsthetic excellence, and the appearance of an honest and faithful effort to fulfill its practical duties, is essential to complete nobleness in any building, or in any style. The mechanic art of Building, as distinguished from Architecture Proper, concerns itself with practical requirements merely because of their material uses. 'Architecture Proper' concerns itself with the same practical requirements, because of their expressiveness of spiritual truth. Thus it appears that, in this respect,the difference between Architecture, and Building, is one of motive, rather than of action. And since "Architecture of the Beautiful" includes all the requirements of practical building-the practical in the æsthetic, and since it is the only art inclusive of all that is required in a perfect building, it is, therefore, the only art worthy to be called ARCHITECTURE-the art of well building. I should add, that since architecture concerns itself with practical requirements because of their aesthetic expression, it must, therefore, aim at such design in its constructions as will indicate their practical uses, and their adaptation thereto.

Architecture should aim at practical Fitness, and also at the expression of that fitness; at Durability and the expression of durability; at Beauty; and, where occasion and opportunity afford, at Grandeur and Sublimity.

First, of Fitness. By, fitness, I mean adaptation of the general plan, and of all its parts, to the practical uses of the building; and, also, to the system of construction and to the material employed. Of evident fitness for practical work, as a basis of the beautiful, we have in Nature a notable Exemplar. In the works of Nature, what adaptation of all main features and principle members to their material uses, and how obvious this fitness; while these same necessary features and members are moulded in perfect symmetry, and clothed with perfect beauty. Look at the vegetable kingdom, growing to feed and to shelter earth's myriad creatures, and for this so practical purpose, having its seed watered and quickened, and reaped and sown, by the rain, and the sun, and the winds of heaven; while yet it fails not to blossom in brightness, to deck the valleys, and to fringe the hills, with living green, making the world the 'Thing of Beauty' that it is, rather than the cheerless, monotonous expanse it might have been. Look at the animal kingdom. Its creatures are plainly seen to be most admirably adapted to fulfill the instincts and to supply the needs, each of its own peculiar nature, and often wonderfully to minister to the wants of man, while yet they take endless shapes of goodly grace, touched with every rainbow hue; from the silken-winged insect of a summer day, through varieties without number, numberless, of living things that crawl, and walk, and fly, and swim, on earth, in sea, in air. Look at the waves that float the freighted ships, and from their surface lift mist and cloud to distribute the fertilizing rain-so obviously useful and utilitarian, both sea and cloud; yet by wind and sun is their fluid or vaporous mass now rolled, or wreathed, in beauty, and, with prismatic hues, now brightened into glory. Look at the sun itself, by whose light and heat we

know that all things, all creatures live, and breathe, and have their being; while yet it is the self-same sun that, traveling in its own unapproachable splendor, is the magician of all beauty-nay, is beauty's self, since all things are beautiful, or visible, only as they reflect its many colored rays. In like manner Architecture, if it would achieve the highest æsthetic excellence, must lay the foundation in fitness for the requirements of its practicable, earnest, and, it may be, humble work. And chiefly is this kind of fitness becoming in a church building. In a church, above all other buildings, is this earnest dutifulness not only the foundation, but also the crown of its beauty.

Secondly, of Durability. Of the aesthetic and symbolic expressiveness of durability, in a church building, I shall have occasion to speak in another place. It would, however, seem to be a very practical requirement, that the durability of an edifice should be equal to the duration of the want it was intended to supply. A commercial crisis, a new invention, or even a freak of fashion, may take away their occupation from workshop and factory, and the like, or other cause, may scatter the inmates of palatial and luxurious homes, that thus, mayhap turned to incongruous uses, are left new monuments, to tell of the fickle tenure by which we hold the things of Earth. A church, on the other hand, never outlasts its, use or usefulness, while souls of men are within reach of its ministering hands. Moreover, in a church, the continuous associations of a durable edifice, are no inconsiderable factors of its usefulness; factors necessarily wanting in a succession of equally convenient, but temporary structures. Therefore, let the House of God be of lasting material, of stable and thorough construction. With the adaptation of wise, practical forethought, let it be so designed and so built, that it may be both durable, and worthy to endure; so built that where the fathers worship, there may worship the children, and the children's children, in uncounted generations. Then, as time rolls on, year by year it will gather to itself memories of the ever-reaching

past, in which all that has made life worth living, to those gone before, has found within the consecrated walls, its highest expression, or its holiest sanction. Around the old, time-honored, rock-hewn church, traditional and historic memories perchance may hover; memories of by-gone days that have tried and have stirred men's soul; as of a time of war, or of pestilence, or of other like visitation, when, within the beloved church, earnest and eloquent words from its pulpit have moved the hearts of the assembled worshippers as the heart of a single man, to high resolve, and to devoted self-sacrifice. Or there may be memories of some blessed and glorious day, when, kindled by the impulse of a nation's joy, the fathers, here in this house, have given best expression to a nation's jubilation, and, with Hosannas here have consecrated a nation's triumph. Across the retrospective vision may flit shadowy memories of days different from these, in which the Almighty hand has been laid in dire calamity upon the people's heart, till it has quaked with an innermost sense of ungodliness and illdesert-then, penitent, has bowed in self-abasement here at His footstool, Who, while He ever waits to be gracious, yet ruleth in righteousness, and will not give His honor to another. Again, for them who stand in the dim, solemn light under these arches noble and hoary, memorial gifts of pictured window, or carved altar, or sculptured font, or other like adornments, wherewith those who have gone before have enriched God's Temple, while they thus sought to consecrate the memory of loved ones they had lost—for them who thus stand under the church's arch, these memorials of the dead-memorials of the loved and of the loving, will awaken mystic thoughts of human life, and death, and of a love that passes the grave. Or, perchance, some simple tablet will call up recollections of one great and good, in the olden time, one of God's noblemen, who has worshipped, perhaps has ministered, in this house, and now sleeps within its shadow. To some of us as we stand, as we kneel in a hallowed hour, beneath the church's roof, may come other