t to the public
that the judgment is intrusted. It is by the chosen few, by our nobility
and men of taste and talent, that the decision is made, the fame
bestowed, and the artist encouraged.

6. Not so in architecture. There, the power is generally diffused. Every
citizen may box himself up in as barbarous a tenement as suits his taste
or inclination; the architect is his vassal, and must permit him not
only to criticise, but to perpetrate. The palace or the nobleman's seat
may be raised in good taste, and become the admiration of a nation; but
the influence of their owner is terminated by the boundary of his
estate: he has no command over the adjacent scenery, and the possessor
of every thirty acres around him has him at his mercy. The streets of
our cities are examples of the effects of this clashing of different
tastes; and they are either remarkable for the utter absence of all
attempt at embellishment, or disgraced by every variety of abomination.

7. Again, in a climate like ours, those few who have knowledge and
feeling to distinguish what is beautiful, are frequently prevented by
various circumstances from erecting it. John Bull's comfort perpetually
interferes with his good taste, and I should be the first to lament his
losing so much of his nationality, as to permit the latter to prevail.
He cannot put his windows into a recess, without darkening his rooms; he
cannot raise a narrow gable above his walls, without knocking his head
against the rafters; and, worst of all, he cannot do either, without
being stigmatized by the awful, inevitable epithet, of "a very odd man."
But, though much of the degradation of our present school of
architecture is owing to the want or the unfitness of patrons, surely it
is yet more attributable to a lamentable deficiency of taste and talent
among our architects themselves. It is true, that in a country affording
so little encouragement, and presenting so many causes for its absence,
it cannot be expected that we should have any Michael Angelo
Buonarottis. The energy of our architects is expended in raising "neat"
poor-houses, and "pretty" charity schools; and, if they ever enter upon
a work of higher rank, economy is the order of the day: plaster and
stucco are substituted for granite and marble; rods of splashed iron for
columns of verd-antique; and in the wild struggle after novelty, the
fantastic is mistaken for the graceful, the complicated for the
imposing, superfluity of o