r the true colours of architecture are
those of natural stone, and I would fain see them taken advantage of to
the full. Every variety is here, from pale yellow to purple passing
through orange, red and brown, entirely at your command; nearly every
kind of green and grey also is attainable, and with these and with pure
white what harmony might you not achieve. Of stained and variegated
stone the quantity is unlimited, the kinds innumerable. Were brighter
colours required, let glass, and gold protected by glass, be used in
mosaic, a kind of work as durable as the solid stone and incapable of
losing its lustre by time. And let the painter's work be reserved for
the shadowed loggia and inner chamber.

This is the true and faithful way of building. Where this cannot be, the
device of external colouring may indeed be employed without dishonour--but
it must be with the warning reflection that a time will come when such
aids will pass away and when the building will be judged in its
lifelessness, dying the death of the dolphin. Better the less bright,
more enduring fabric. The transparent alabasters of San Miniato and the
mosaics of Saint Mark's are more warmly filled and more brightly touched
by every return of morning and evening rays, while the hues of the Gothic
cathedrals have died like the iris out of the cloud, and the temples,
whose azure and purple once flamed above the Grecian promontory, stand in
their faded whiteness like snows which the sunset has left cold.

* * * * *

I do not know anything so perfectly commonplace in design as most modern
jewellery. How easy for you to change that and to produce goldsmiths'
work that would be a joy to all of us. The gold is ready for you in
unexhausted treasure, stored up in the mountain hollow or strewn on the
river sand, and was not given to you merely for barren speculation. There
should be some better record of it left in your history than the
merchant's panic and the ruined home. We do not remember often enough
how constantly the history of a great nation will live in and by its art.
Only a few thin wreaths of beaten gold remain to tell us of the stately
empire of Etruria; and, while from the streets of Florence the noble
knight and haughty duke have long since passed away, the gates which the
simple goldsmith Gheberti made for their pleasure still guard their
lovely house of baptism, worthy still of the praise of Michael Angelo who
called them worthy to be th