rything, and forbid variation from it. I would not impeach
love of order: it is one of the most useful elements of the English
mind; it helps us in our commerce and in all purely practical matters;
and it is in many cases one of the foundation stones of morality. Only
do not let us suppose that love of order is love of art. It is true
that order, in its highest sense, is one of the necessities of art,
just as time is a necessity of music; but love of order has no more to
do with our right enjoyment of architecture or painting, than love of
punctuality with the appreciation of an opera. Experience, I fear,
teaches us that accurate and methodical habits in daily life are seldom
characteristic of those who either quickly perceive, or richly possess,
the creative powers of art; there is, however, nothing inconsistent
between the two instincts, and nothing to hinder us from retaining our
business habits, and yet fully allowing and enjoying the noblest gifts
of Invention. We already do so, in every other branch of art except
architecture, and we only do _not_ so there because we have been taught
that it would be wrong. Our architects gravely inform us that, as there
are four rules of arithmetic, there are five orders of architecture;
we, in our simplicity, think that this sounds consistent, and believe
them. They inform us also that there is one proper form for Corinthian
capitals, another for Doric, and another for Ionic. We, considering
that there is also a proper form for the letters A, B, and C, think
that this also sounds consistent, and accept the proposition.
Understanding, therefore, that one form of the said capitals is proper,
and no other, and having a conscientious horror of all impropriety, we
allow the architect to provide us with the said capitals, of the proper
form, in such and such a quantity, and in all other points to take care
that the legal forms are observed; which having done, we rest in forced
confidence that we are well housed.

But our higher instincts are not deceived. We take no pleasure in the
building provided for us, resembling that which we take in a new book
or a new picture. We may be proud of its size, complacent in its
correctness, and happy in its convenience. We may take the same
pleasure in its symmetry and workmanship as in a well-ordered room, or
a skilful piece of manufacture. And this we suppose to be all the
pleasure that architecture was ever intended to give us. The idea of
readi