conversation and of literature. A praiseworthy effort to remedy this complaint through the medium of increased vivacity and vitality in the sermons, was made by the "Evangelical" party of fifty years since. But this (may it be said without offence?) broke down through the inherent impossibility of finding ten thousand men who, a hundred times or more in a twelvemonth, could speak with the impressiveness of a great orator upon subjects which, if the most important, are also the most familiar that can be brought before human ears. In place of the hideous chapel we have now churches by scores, which outstrip in expense and often in beauty, the most expensive and the most beautiful of those built in the so-called " Ages of Faith." At first the remarkable movement which led to this revolution, appeared confined to the wish to provide for what were then named "heathen populations." Then it appeared to limit itself to architectural splendour. But it may be put to the reader's common sense and knowledge of human nature, whatever his sympathies, whether it was likely that the revolution should stop here? Would it not seem becoming that the service should be made to correspond to the structure? Was it not inevitable that a man inducted fresh from Oxford or Cambridge into a building all covered with carving and colours, should try to enliven the "dulness of the English service" with music, processions, banners, lights, and the rest of a "ritualistic" performance? His church,-nay, his Nonconformist chapel,-is gorgeously Gothic. By a sort of natural law, his service becomes gorgeous and Gothic also. The "Evangelical" service of 1867 would seem quite alarmingly Popish to the Evangelical of 1827, could he by some strange effort recall the Sunday of his boyhood. There is many a meeting-house of the present day, the sight of which would be no less of a shock to a Foxe or a Bunyan, than St. Alban's itself is to a Protestant visitor.

Let those who are surprised at or

mark, further, that this change, so far as we have hitherto examined it, is not by any means confined to ecclesiastical structures, furniture, or ceremonies. A hundred years ago the English-rivals in love of fine art at one time with the best of the continental races - had reached the lowest point of indifference to beauty in all the applied or practical fine arts. We had Reynolds and his contemporaries; but to all the decorative arts of life that age was curiously apathetic. Josiah Wedgwood is perhaps the one great exception; and (admirable as what he did was) yet his higher efforts were not only limited to works in a Greek or Renaissance style, but obtained their popularity among a class who had a literary rather than a spontaneous appreciation of their beauty. Without discussing what compensating good existed in return for this deadness to taste in common life (a curious inquiry which would here lead us too far), it is certain that in almost every direction we have reversed the feeling of our great-grandfathers. In place of brick, and plainness; and Anglo-Grecian efforts at external architecture, we have Gothic and Italian, and brilliancy of colour, and vivacity of form everywhere. Enough has been already said of our churches. Compare the architecture of Soho Square and its neighbourhood, the fashionable quarter of Dr. Johnson's time, with the new streets the Grosvenor estate; compare the old Montagu House in Whitehall with the new; the Horseguards with the Indian Court in Downing Street. we turn to interiors-although at all times private wealth and taste have here and there provided brilliant effects, yet is it not notorious that art and forms of beauty or brightness have now penetrated everywhere? The colours worn are more varied; the illustrations of books are multiplied; a child for sixpence gets a story with prints which no money would have procured fifty years

on

If

since. The dethronement of the famous "willow-pattern" is a symbol of a national change in taste, which the Ma

to require a name of its own. called a Proprietary Chapel.

It was

There is no need to sketch the contrasted picture of the costly church of our own time, or to quote facts in proof of the facility with which it is now provided. Much more has been done within one generation than was done during any period of similar length when one-third of the whole country was in ecclesiastical hands; and if we set aside the sentiment of antiquity, it may be added, more beautifully and inventively done. The number, according to recent accounts, must exceed three thousand within the last thirty years; a similar activity has been excited among the Nonconformists of almost every kind; and in all cases the demand is for further richness of structure and elaborateness of decoration. Probably it is as easy now to obtain 10,0007. to spend on ecclesiastical architecture, as it was to obtain 107. a hundred years ago.

AMONG those arts which have been recovered after long loss, has anyone yet thought of including the art of building churches? Public attention is always called to discoveries in science or art, and those who make or utilize an invention receive due notice and honour; but at the present day it is so natural a thing to see a new spire rising in all populous districts, and so easy to put one up, that perhaps it hardly strikes anybody who is not almost professionally familiar with the history of English architecture, that all these buildings are, in fact, examples of what is even rarer than the advent of a fresh art, the recovery of a lost one. Yet this is almost literally the case. Some not very frequent or conspicuous work was going on a hundred years ago among our Nonconformists; but a new church seemed nearly as impossible a thing to members of the Church of England, as a new hundred to a county magistrate. Population was in the full tide of increase after the first century of internal peace which England had hitherto known. Manufacturing industry was beginning its immense career. Cities were enlarging with a rapidity which would have terrified James the First. Moors hitherto left to grouse and otters were turning into cities. But a plain brick box, with square windows and a square pigeon-house over one end; inside, a series of uniform painted deal packing-cases, one larger than the rest in the middle; wine-vaults below, and houses on each side;-such was the ideal of the provision which the pious of a church, rich enough for more liberal things, though then far from being the richest in Europe,

But churches are built for use. And as the Proprietary chapel of 1767 is to the church of 1867, such is the service. The "divine worship" of the last century is the "Ritualism" of this.

Undoubtedly a vast change is implied in this multiplication and metamorphosis both of the building and of the service. But, deferring for the moment what may be said on the good and the evil of it, must we not concede, whether high church, low church, or no church, that the change is in itself a perfectly natural one? The plainest and cheapest structure, and the fewest possible of them, answered to the church-founding ideas of the last century. Ever since that period, the complaint that the English ritual was dull and unattractive,

A

conversation and of literature. praiseworthy effort to remedy this complaint through the medium of increased vivacity and vitality in the sermons, was made by the "Evangelical" party of fifty years since. But this (may it be said without offence?) broke down through the inherent impossibility of finding ten thousand men who, a hundred times or more in a twelvemonth, could speak with the impressiveness of a great orator upon subjects which, if the most important, are also the most familiar that can be brought before human ears. In place of the hideous chapel we have now churches by scores, which outstrip in expense and often in beauty, the most expensive and the most beautiful of those built in the so-called "Ages of Faith." At first the remarkable movement which led to this revolution, appeared confined to the wish to provide for what were then named "heathen populations." Then it appeared to limit itself to architectural splendour. But it may be put to the reader's common sense and knowledge of human nature, whatever his sympathies, whether it was likely that the revolution should stop here? Would it not seem becoming that the service should be made to correspond to the structure? Was it not inevitable that a man inducted fresh from Oxford or Cambridge into a building all covered with carving and colours, should try to enliven the "dulness of the English service" with music, processions, banners, lights, and the rest of a "ritualistic" performance? His church,—nay, his Nonconformist chapel,-is gorgeously Gothic. By a sort of natural law, his service becomes gorgeous and Gothic also. The "Evangelical" service of 1867 would seem quite alarmingly Popish to the Evangelical of 1827, could he by some strange effort recall the Sunday of his boyhood. There is many a meeting-house of the present day, the sight of which would be no less of a shock to a Foxe or a Bunyan, than St. Alban's itself is to a Protestant visitor.

Let those who are surprised at or

mark, further, that this change, so far as we have hitherto examined it, is not by any means confined to ecclesiastical structures, furniture, or ceremonies. A hundred years ago the English-rivals in love of fine art at one time with the best of the continental races - had reached the lowest point of indifference to beauty in all the applied or practical fine arts. We had Reynolds and his contemporaries; but to all the decorative arts of life that age was curiously apathetic. Josiah Wedgwood is perhaps the one great exception; and (admirable as what he did was) yet his higher efforts were not only limited to works in a Greek or Renaissance style, but obtained their popularity among a class who had a literary rather than a spontaneous appreciation of their beauty. Without discussing what compensating good existed in return for this deadness to taste in common life (a curious inquiry which would here lead us too far), it is certain that in almost every direction we have reversed the feeling of our great-grandfathers. In place of brick, and plainness; and Anglo-Grecian efforts at external architecture, we have Gothic and Italian, and brilliancy of colour, and vivacity of form everywhere. Enough has been already said of our churches. Compare the architecture of Soho Square and its neighbourhood, the fashionable quarter of Dr. Johnson's time, with the new streets on the Grosvenor estate; compare the old Montagu House in Whitehall with the new; the Horseguards with the Indian Court in Downing Street. If we turn to interiors-although at all times private wealth and taste have here and there provided brilliant effects, yet is it not notorious that art and forms of beauty or brightness have now penetrated everywhere? The colours worn are more varied; the illustrations of books are multiplied; a child for sixpence gets a story with prints which no money would have procured fifty years since. The dethronement of the famous "willow-pattern" is a symbol of a national change in taste, which the Ma

AMONG those arts which have been recovered after long loss, has anyone yet thought of including the art of building churches? Public attention is always called to discoveries in science or art, and those who make or utilize an invention receive due notice and honour; but at the present day it is so natural a thing to see a new spire rising in all populous districts, and so easy to put one up, that perhaps it hardly strikes anybody who is not almost professionally familiar with the history of English architecture, that all these buildings are, in fact, examples of what is even rarer than the advent of a fresh art, the recovery of a lost one. Yet this is almost literally the case. Some not very frequent or conspicuous work was going on a hundred years ago among our Nonconformists; but a new church seemed nearly as impossible a thing to members of the Church of England, as a new hundred to a county magistrate. Population was in the full tide of increase after the first century of internal peace which England had hitherto known. Manufacturing industry was beginning its immense career. Cities were enlarging with a rapidity which would have terrified James the First. Moors hitherto left to grouse and otters were turning into cities. But a plain brick box, with square windows and a square pigeon-house over one end; inside, a series of uniform painted deal packing-cases, one larger than the rest in the middle; wine-vaults below, and houses on each side ;—such was the ideal of the provision which the pious of a church, rich enough for more liberal things, though then far from being the richest in Europe, were satisfied to make. They were so

to require a name of its own. It was called a Proprietary Chapel.

There is no need to sketch the contrasted picture of the costly church of our own time, or to quote facts in proof of the facility with which it is now provided. Much more has been done within one generation than was done during any period of similar length when one-third of the whole country was in ecclesiastical hands; and if we set aside the sentiment of antiquity, it may be added, more beautifully and inventively done. The number, according to recent accounts, must exceed three thousand within the last thirty years; a similar activity has been excited among the Nonconformists of almost every kind; and in all cases the demand is for further richness of structure and elaborateness of decoration. Probably it is as easy now to obtain 10,000l. to spend on ecclesiastical architecture, as it was to obtain 107. a hundred years ago. But churches are built for use. And as the Proprietary chapel of 1767 is to the church of 1867, such is the service. The "divine worship" of the last century is the "Ritualism" of this.

Undoubtedly a vast change is implied in this multiplication and metamorphosis both of the building and of the service. But, deferring for the moment what may be said on the good and the evil of it, must we not concede, whether high church, low church, or no church, that the change is in itself a perfectly natural one? The plainest and cheapest structure, and the fewest possible of them, answered to the church-founding ideas of the last century. that period, the complaint that the English ritual was dull and unattractive,

Ever since

A

conversation and of literature. praiseworthy effort to remedy this complaint through the medium of increased vivacity and vitality in the sermons, was made by the "Evangelical" party of fifty years since. But this (may it be said without offence?) broke down through the inherent impossibility of finding ten thousand men who, a hundred times or more in a twelvemonth, could speak with the impressiveness of a great orator upon subjects which, if the most important, are also the most familiar that can be brought before human ears. In place of the hideous chapel we have now churches by scores, which outstrip in expense and often in beauty, the most expensive and the most beautiful of those built in the so-called "Ages of Faith." At first the remarkable movement which led to this revolution, appeared confined to the wish to provide for what were then named "heathen populations." Then it appeared to limit itself to architectural splendour. But it may be put to the reader's common sense and knowledge of human nature, whatever his sympathies, whether it was likely that the revolution should stop here? Would it not seem becoming that the service should be made to correspond to the structure? Was it not inevitable that a man inducted fresh from Oxford or Cambridge into a building all covered with carving and colours, should try to enliven the "dulness of the English service" with music, processions, banners, lights, and the rest of a "ritualistic" performance? His church,-nay, his Nonconformist chapel,-is gorgeously Gothic. By a sort of natural law, his service becomes gorgeous and Gothic also. The "Evangelical" service of 1867 would seem quite alarmingly Popish to the Evangelical of 1827, could he by some strange effort recall the Sunday of his boyhood. There is many a meeting-house of the present day, the sight of which would be no less of a shock to a Foxe or a Bunyan, than St. Alban's itself is to a Protestant visitor.

Let those who are surprised at or

mark, further, that this change, so far as we have hitherto examined it, is not by any means confined to ecclesiastical structures, furniture, or ceremonies. A hundred years ago the English-rivals in love of fine art at one time with the best of the continental races — had reached the lowest point of indifference to beauty in all the applied or practical fine arts. We had Reynolds and his contemporaries; but to all the decorative arts of life that age was curiously apathetic. Josiah Wedgwood is perhaps the one great exception; and (admirable as what he did was) yet his higher efforts were not only limited to works in a Greek or Renaissance style, but obtained their popularity among a class who had a literary rather than a spontaneous appreciation of their beauty. Without discussing what compensating good existed in return for this deadness to taste in common life (a curious inquiry which would here lead us too far), it is certain that in almost every direction we have reversed the feeling of our great-grandfathers. In place of brick, and plainness; and Anglo-Grecian efforts at external architecture, we have Gothic and Italian, and brilliancy of colour, and vivacity of form everywhere. Enough has been already said of our churches. Compare the architecture of Soho Square and its neighbourhood, the fashionable quarter of Dr. Johnson's time, with the new streets on the Grosvenor estate; compare the old Montagu House in Whitehall with the new; the Horseguards with the Indian Court in Downing Street. If we turn to interiors-although at all times private wealth and taste have here and there provided brilliant effects, yet is it not notorious that art and forms of beauty or brightness have now penetrated everywhere? The colours worn are more varied; the illustrations of books are multiplied; a child for sixpence gets a story with prints which no money would have procured fifty years since. The dethronement of the famous "willow-pattern" is a symbol of a national change in taste, which the Ma