ple sculpture of natural objects, chiefly flowers and
animals. You are aware that the possibilities of error in sculpture are
much less than in painting; it is altogether an easier and simpler art,
invariably attaining perfection long before painting, in the progress of
a national mind. It may indeed be corrupted by false taste, or thrown
into erroneous forms; but for the most part, the feebleness of a
sculptor is shown in imperfection and rudeness, rather than in definite
error. He does not reach the fineness of the forms of Nature; but he
approaches them truly up to a certain point, or, if not so, at all
events an honest effort will continually improve him: so that if we set
a simple natural form before him, and tell him to copy it, we are sure
we have given him a wholesome and useful piece of education; but if we
told him to paint it, he might, with all the honesty in the world, paint
it wrongly and falsely, to the end of his days.

49. So much for the workman. But the workman is not the only person
concerned. Observe farther, that when you buy a print, the enjoyment of
it is confined to yourself and to your friends. But if you carve a piece
of stone, and put it on the outside of your house, it will give pleasure
to every person who passes along the street--to an innumerable
multitude, instead of a few.

Nay, but, you say, we ourselves shall not be benefited by the sculpture
on the outsides of our houses. Yes, you will, and in an extraordinary
degree; for, observe farther, that architecture differs from painting
peculiarly in being an art of _accumulation_. The prints bought by your
friends, and hung up in their houses, have no collateral effect with
yours: they must be separately examined, and if ever they were hung side
by side, they would rather injure than assist each other's effect. But
the sculpture on your friend's house unites in effect with that on your
own. The two houses form one grand mass--far grander than either
separately; much more if a third be added--and a fourth; much more if
the whole street--if the whole city--join in the solemn harmony of
sculpture. Your separate possessions of pictures and prints are to you
as if you sang pieces of music with your single voices in your own
houses. But your architecture would be as if you all sang together in
one mighty choir. In the separate picture, it is rare that there exists
any very high source of sublime emotion; but the great concerted music
of the stre