vent a good solution, or would not take the trouble; he slurs it over and we hear no more of it. When we come to the trial, we are favored with characters of each of the lawyers, who are all fitted with names to match-Lynx, Crystal, Sterling, etc., and these characters are decided efforts in the way of fine writing. It is a very easy kind of fine writing, and depends chiefly on a good memory for adjectives and some notion of what they mean; anybody can do it in any quantity. But that which is not easy, is to show such characters in characteristic action; and that Mr. Warren has not done. The case is opened, and it is perfectly clear in Titmouse's favor, for Aubrey, strangely enough, though warned of his danger long before, had never been at the pains to find the deed of confirmation, by Harry Dreddlington's father, of Harry's mortgage, without which his title was not worth a rush. Suddenly, and by accident, with a most melo-dramatic suddenness, it is found, and lo, the tables are turned, and the case is clear for Aubrey. Then a flaw is discovered in it, an erasure in a material part, and it is of no value, and the tables are turned again, and the title is clear for Titmouse. There is no room here for any forensic eloquence, no room for ingenuity, learning, or talent; the great lawyers arrayed on both sides and so pompously introduced, have nothing at all to do. We are, indeed, told that they are brilliant and acute in their conduct of the case; one of them says, "I object to that question;" we are not told what the question was; and another says, "Take time, Mr. Jones," which is all we get in the way of extract or notes of the evidence. One or two speeches, of about equal importance, we get, but no argument; the rest is narrative; for this writer can tell what was done, but he cannot relate how it was done, nor portray it. He goes beyond the old story of "This is a bear;" he shows you an effaced picture, a blurred canvas, and says, "This was a bear," or a lion, or an angel. Well, Aubrey is vanquished. An array of witnesses, of whom he knows nothing beforehand, is brought up, a case is apparently proved, and the test questions are decided against him. But he has yet the power of resistance; he may have another ejectment tried; he may appeal, and sift the whole subject thoroughly, with the advantage of knowing more fully his enemy's strength and means. The better to appreciate the propriety of doing this, we must observe, what the attractive a name as Ten Thousand a Year; and very many people like this work, as we have hinted before, for qualities which are not in it, but in themselves; they furnish from their own stores by far the greater part of their entertainment. ART. VII. Temples, Ancient and Modern; or Notes on Church Architecture. By WILLIAM BARDWELL, Architect. London: 1840. J. Fraser. 8vo. "HE that altars an old house," says Fuller, "is tied, as a translatour to the original, and is confined to the phancy of the first builders. Such a man were unwise to pluck down good old building (perchance) to erect worse new ; but those that raise a new house to the ground are blameworthy if they make it not handsome, seeing, to them, method and confusion are both at a rate." We wish here to direct the attention of our readers to the lamentable disregard of propriety and good taste that shows itself so conspicuously in our rural church edifices. When, in England, the rage against Romanism was at its height, man's mind rejected all that might tend to keep alive a latent feeling for the accursed thing; and, not being competent, or at least likely to use just discrimination in any thing pertaining to the matter, to judge between cause and effect, God's worship was conducted with a strict disregard to all that might approach, in the most remote degree, to the pomps and ceremonies that had so long usurped the place of that spiritual communion at which they were aiming. In the deep glen or the broad field, with the blue sky for an arch, England's oaks for columns-in such a temple men listened to the stirring words of those among them whose minds labored with one idea. Wherever their impulses prompted, there they worshipped; and man, and all that pertained thereto, became as nothing to them, when under the influence of these spiritual illapses. Then, some of the "timehonored Lancasters," the ancient temples, fell before the ardor of a rude soldiery-then, too, the lofty spire that points the soul to heaven-all grandeur-all beauty-the swelling organ tones, that peal forth the anthem that, in notes of - sweetest melody, make us weep with those that weep, or rejoice the soul with their bird-like carol-all form all order these were abominations, and were rejected as unworthy the notice of the spiritual man. We do not wonder at this; we do not regret it. It tended to rub off the rust, though in the roughest manner, that had eaten into man's soul. But this excitement passed away, and these, again, adopted a manner and habit of worship stern and forbidding in its simplicity. The tendency of these present times is not towards a blind obedience in matters of conscience; and we hail it as an earnest of better things, that man is striving to realize something of the wonder of his own nature; much error, and perhaps excess, will be the consequence; we wish to "prove all things," to "hold fast to that which is good." Religious worship exercises now, as it ever has done, a remarkable influence upon man's mind; and nothing brings the most elevated intellect, in which the might of the Eternal is ever present, into most feeble communion with it so effectually and certainly, as prayer and praise. How much more necessary, then, is some direct and tangible way of bowing down in adoration and thanksgiving, to the great mass of mankind? Will we then say, that the things which refine, elevate, and direct the religious feelings of mankind, shall be altogether disregarded? We will say, with the poet, "The groves were God's first temples." But such temples! Can man's efforts approach them in grandeur, in sublimity, or in beauty? So, too, we can say, the patriarchs dwelt in tents; each man lived as best pleased him, and governed his own family despotically. We do neither. It may be a question with some, whether, in our church structures, architectural or picturesque effect be desirable. Some may fear that the attention will be distracted from that high and holy idea of God, which, in his house, should pervade every soul; a conscientious regard for the expense attendant upon all but the plainest structure, will deter others from an exercise of taste that would characterize their individual operations. We much doubt if these be sound objections. In a new country, the absolute wants of a people walk over every other consideration, and present shelter and security are all that are sought after. But this cannot excuse the barn-like or incongruous structures that now shock the sense and taste in most of our country villages. The de scendants of the pilgrims have been and are insensibly influenced by the feeling and dread which we have mentioned. So much is this the case, that we know instances where musical instruments are admitted in great variety in church worship without a thought, when the mention of an organ will call forth an exclamation of pious horror. Added to this, the dearth of examples worthy of imitation is a source of much evil; and the almost entire want of information upon such subjects, in the persons to whom the selecting of a plan is committed, does not insure much beauty or propriety. These call in the aid of some carpenter, who, with a small glimmering of architectural light, heaps together a mass of columns and cusps, which to the eye of the initiated, or the man of taste, is sometimes irresistibly ludicrous. Architecture now numbers among its professors with us, some who possess not only artistical skill, but taste and elevation of character; to these, in all cases, should the design be submitted. We may then hope to see springing up in our rich valleys and quiet nooks, temples where the poetry in man's heart may kindle itself— houses worthy of the religion we profess. For more than a century had the old wooden church stood, when we first learned to lisp a prayer; in the midst of a grove, surrounded by the grey slabs that told of death, its massive beams, dark only with the tints of time, supported the roof that protected from the pitiless storms the heads of youth and age; birth, marriage and death, had here been commemorated, for generation after generation; from those clear heads and strong arms that first gave God thanks in the forest, fighting against the Indian, through all the changes for good and for ill in their posterity (our progenitors) it had stood; the spirits of the just made perfect here went up as incense, and the tears of the humble and repentant sinner were wiped away; word came here from the wanderer, and prayer or thanksgiving rose for him who, absent in body, was present in spirit. All these lent an indefinable charm to the place. Say what you will, we respect not the man who does not feel the influence of such a place. The evidences of humanity (these as well as others) which man leaves behind, are a bond and sentiment between him and the living man; nor should such be rashly severed. But time walks on, and necessity has now raised up in another spot a better and more enduring structure. But, saddest thing of all, not content with demolishing the building so long held holy and sa cred, these trees that had stretched their arms over it, these silent guards around the temple-these softened shades under which the school-boy had played, and the man fled from the warm greeting of the summer sun these too were cut to the ground!! The necessity for placing the church in the centre of the settlement no longer exists; great latitude is therefore allowable in the choice of a situation, and in this way advantage may be taken of a grove, or a vista, that will add a charm or a beauty to the whole. We cannot enough insist upon the importance of this. Secluded as it were from the touch of selfishness and vice, the light softened by the cool shades that give a tone of quiet and seclusion to the spot, the soul is certainly more disposed to relax the strained and care-worn habit of a too selfish every-day existence, and breathe forth in the chant or prayer. Understand not that we would give you the idea that these feelings should influence you at no other time. Is not the grass refreshed by the nightly dews, and mind and body by the sweet influences of sleep? So, too, the Sabbath was made for man. Shall we do away with all sentiment in this matter, and reducing every thing to this ultra-utilitarian standard, ask the smith to mould us beautiful forms from the cold and unyielding iron, that lies dull and dark at his feet? Every where we endeavor to keep alive the feeling for the beautiful and good, in man, who strives in cities, or toils ceaseless on the plain; and shall it be totally disregarded here? Some one style of architecture should be strictly observed in these rural edifices. There is now less danger that this should be violated in cities than heretofore, as the buildings in progress bear witness; but to any one who has paid attention to the subject, the singular mixture of the Grecian and pointed styles must at first excite laughter, and then regret. "Unity and fitness," as the artists would say, are the chief points; and when combined with a perception of the picturesque or beautiful, the result will be pleasing even to the uncultivated man, and will give to these churches a higher and more intellectual character than they now possess. Looking upon some, perhaps most, of our country churches, and some in cities, we see all the orders of Grecian architecture somewhere showing themselves; the white wooden columns contrasting violently with the red brick of the walls, and the whole surmounted with the Gothic spire. Here, certainly, |