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of that happy land whose Eternal King is love, and the duties and enjoyments of which, consist in loving and being beloved.

NINTH WEEK-MONDAY.

ARCHITECTURE.-ITS PRINCIPLE.

The

ANOTHER mode by which the human faculties are stimulated, under the remarkable system of Providence, is by the necessity to which he is subjected of providing for himself the means of shelter. This is the first object of building; and nothing more, in all probability, was originally aimed at, than a provision against the changes of the atmosphere, and the fury of savage beasts. human mind, however, is seldom stationary, and, unless when coerced by the pressure of tyrannical power, or chilled by penury, or charmed to repose in the lap of plenty, is active and ingenious in providing itself with new comforts, and in extending at once its resources and its enjoyments. Nature herself affords the stimulus by which its faculties are kindled into action, and the spark which the stroke of her hand elicits is fed into an increasing flame by the varied materials with which she abounds.

It is not long before society, under favourable circumstances, increases in its wants, and finds the means of gratifying them. Architecture, which ranks among the earliest of the arts, did not fall behind the rest in the race of improvement. What necessity engendered, was fostered by the restless propensity to change, the desire of possessing, and the ambition to excel. An increasing family, too, required extended accommodation, while numbers gave power, and combined ingenuity, invention. Thus, on the supposition, assumed for the sake of elucidation, that man was at first a savage, left to his own resources, he would gradually emerge from that state, and as he rose, would naturally make progress in the architectural art.

At first, a natural hollow in the bosom of projecting rocks might suffice for refuge from the inclemency of the weather, but even there a barricade would be necessary to guard against external violence; and other inconveniences of such an abode would quickly suggest the expediency of calling in the assistance of art. As the family enlarged, new chambers would be hollowed out, either communicating with the original cave, or placed at some distance from it, as circumstances rendered most convenient; while the materials removed in these operations, might suggest the idea of rearing habitations of stone on the adjoining plain. In other localities, the neighbourhood of a forest, where summer shelter and protection were found under some leafy shade within an enclosure of stakes, would suggest the idea of a wooden hut covered with leaves, the comparative warmth and comfort of which would recommend it for constant use, during the genial as well as the rigorous season of the year; and in the fertile and open plains, where neither of the resources already mentioned could be obtained, a pit dug in the earth, and elevated into walls above its surface by the excavated materials, while reeds and grass furnished the roof, might give rise to the mud cabin so common in various parts of the globe.

As architecture advanced, notions of convenience would be improved, and ideas of beauty and proportion would be introduced, which would form the first germs of the principles of taste connected with the art. This leads to a complicated and somewhat recondite question, into which I shall but slightly enter. Ideas of architectural taste seem to depend chiefly on two circumstances, utility as regards the object in view, and habit, arising from the original use of materials.

Mr Alison, in his "Essay on the Principles of Taste," has discussed this subject with great acuteness. He has endeavoured to show, that the beauty of proportion in architecture is resolvable into acquired ideas of fitness, and does not arise from any original law of our nature,

or from any power of pleasing in the forms or objects themselves. The beauty of external proportions, he tells us, arises from their apparent suitableness for human habitations, when viewed from without, and consists in stability and sufficiency for the support of the roof. Thus, when the walls are of a proper thickness, and are placed at a sufficient distance from each other, to suggest the idea at once of stability and convenience, the building is considered as well proportioned; but when, on the contrary, the walls are so thin and high, or so distant from each other as to impress us with the idea of insecurity; or, on the other hand, so thick, so low, or so close together, as to appear to have been reared at unnecessary expense, or to have been inconveniently contrived, that building is reckoned to be ill proportioned. Proportion, therefore, in those cases is merely fitness. We are here guided entirely by experience; and our sentiments respecting proportions are influenced by the nature of the buildings, and the materials of which they are composed. Edifices constructed of wood or brick do not admit of being raised to the same height as those of stone; while a house, united with others, as in a street, may, without offending the taste, be carried higher than if placed alone; and a tower or spire, having only itself to support, may be elevated to a much greater height than any other species of building. These principles are all that seem to regulate the external proportions of simple buildings, and each of them obviously depends on fitness.

But besides this general principle, there are various associations which greatly modify the taste, while they exalt the enjoyment. Antiquity alone stamps a value on a particular form, while the costliness of the work adds an idea of magnificence to the sentiment. A still more powerful feeling is excited from national partialities. The style of each particular country or tribe affects the taste in a degree not easy to be appreciated. When men have, from infancy, viewed a particular form,

in connexion with the splendour of wealth and power, or the solemnity of devotion,it makes an indelible impression on the mind, in which the associations with these adventitious circumstances are intimately but unconsciously blended. Hence, the effect produced on natives by the style of building peculiar to their country, an effect which is experienced, if at all, in a very inferior degree by a foreigner. The temples of Egypt, of Greece, and of Rome, besides their intrinsic grandeur, carried with them, doubtless, the veneration of the people, on account of the sacred solemnities with which they were associated. A similar observation may be made in relation to the palaces of princes. It is not merely the magnificence of the building, but the awe attached to rank and dominion, which strikes the mind in such instances, and affects the taste.

There is certainly, however, a peculiar style of architecture appropriated to particular kinds of building, which indicates a power in the art to express a distinct character, and to call forth specific feelings, independent of adventitious or accidental association. Thus, there is something venerable in the massive proportions, and immense and elevated arches of a mighty temple, which inspires awe in every mind, at once approving itself to the taste as appropriate to the object to which it is devoted; while the lighter and more airy structure of the palace, while it still exhibits grandeur and magnificence, is divested of that mysterious sublimity, which well befits the worship of the unseen Deity, but would be felt as out of place in the residence of the most powerful of mortals.

On whatever principle of our nature these sentiments depend, whether they be original or acquired, there can be no doubt that they equally indicate design in the Allwise Framer of the human soul. It is not from theory but experience that the perception of beauty, sublimity, or grandeur in the productions of the architectural art is derived.

NINTH WEEK-TUESDAY.

ARCHITECTURE.-ITS ORIGINAL STATE-MATERIALS EMPLOYED.

THE art of building is connected with the seasons of the year in a different manner from food and clothing, which we have already considered. Both of the latter deriving their materials from organized existences, either vegetable or animal, depend directly on the produce of the soil and the seasons. The former, on the contrary, obtains large supplies from the mineral kingdom, and derives little aid from the other departments of nature, with the exception of trees, the most gigantic of vegetable productions, which require many successive revolutions of the seasons to mature.

In one respect, however, architecture is intimately connected with the changes of the year, as it is owing to these changes that shelter for human beings is rendered peculiarly necessary. Were the seasons of one uniform temperature, and the climate always mild, and free from the annoyances either of intense heat or of violent tempests and rains, the necessity of artificial habitations would have been but little felt, except as the means of defence against enemies, or against the ravenous beasts of the forest. But the alternations of heat, moisture, and cold, which the progress of the year exhibits in almost every region of the earth, have rendered shelter in a prepared dwelling one of the first necessaries of life.

That this art existed before the flood, we have express testimony from Scripture; and that it had made considerable progress in that primitive era of the world, is rendered probable by the early attempt of the descendants of Noah to erect a building of tremendous dimensions on the plain of Shinar, where they first took up their residence. The confusion of their language, and their consequent dispersion, caused some of their tribes

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