m the bulk of the
congregation. No buildings were so happily adapted to this double
purpose as the houses of public justice and traffic, which, originally
of Grecian origin, had arrived at a high state of perfection in the
Roman empire. The most ancient of such houses--called Basilika--stood in
Athens at the foot of the Pnyx. It was in such a building that Socrates
appeared before his judges, and Christ was judged by Pilate. In the
history of art, we trace the workings of omnipresent Nemesis. The sign
of curse and infamy--the cross--has for centuries graced the banners of
humanity. The Basilikon in which Christ was condemned, has lent its form
to the churches in which his name is adored.

Whilst the groundwork of the Basilikon remained unchanged, Christian art
added steeples and cupolas to increase the solemnity of the impression.
The most perfect building of the kind is, without doubt, the church of
Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome. For chastity and purity of style, it can
never be surpassed. The numerous churches erected by ostentation and
devotion in basilikon form are all inferior to that incomparable temple.
Many, it is true, have been disfigured, robbed, and half-burned; but
their faults are not accidental. The greater number were built at a time
when Pagan art, their prototype, had sunk very low indeed. Moreover,
since the days of Constantine, Pagan temples had fallen into disuse.
They stood deserted, and were suffered to crumble away beneath the
influences of neglect and time. Christian builders took all they wanted
from the ruins; a fragment from this temple, a block from that. Ionian
and Corinthian columns were placed in the same line. If a pillar was too
long for its companion, it was shortened without reference to its
diameters or form. Columns of different stones were jumbled together in
a row. Thus, amongst a number of columns of purple granite in the church
of Ara Celi at Rome we discover two Ionian columns of white marble. In
Saint Peter's, granite and Parian and African marbles are grouped
together without the smallest attempt at harmony or adaptation. San
Giovanni in Porta Laterana boasts ten columns of five different kinds of
stone.

A more interesting employment cannot be found than that of watching the
slow and cautious progress of ancient painting and sculpture in
connexion with Christianity. The slowness is indeed remarkable, when we
reflect upon the high perfection which these arts had generally att