gotten that it arose from the necessity of man for shelter, and view it as a product of the study or of the studio in which beauty and sesthetic effects are the only ends sought, while utility, convenience, expression of intention, have all become secondary considerations. Nothing could be more erroneous, nothing more fatal to the production of sound architecture.
Architecture is not the product of the imagination, but the result of experience and foresight. The painter in his studio, or the sculptor in his, has nothing to dictate to his thoughts or force them into certain channels. His fancy is free, and he allows it to carry him where it will. The architect, on the other hand, is limited by innumerable requirements and difficulties, all of which are real and physical, and all of which must be overcome before his work can be a success. His creations are not intended for the decoration of a gallery or to be preserved under glass, but they must stand the test of time and of climate, must bear a relation to the manners and customs of the day. He must exercise care and discrimination in the selection of his materials. He must count their cost and be fully acquainted with their physical properties. There is, in fact, no end to the details he must consider, in all of which there is no place or opportunity for the exercise of the imagination. His art is the product of natural conditions, and may be not inappropriately compared to a plant which, through the action of certain external elements or forces, finally assumes a character that can be directly traced to the environment, and which is, in fact, directly dependent on it.
These views are not those popularly held on the subject, but it is impossible to make an intelligent study of the history of the art without reaching them, if, indeed, they had not been already indicated by common sense. Of all the arts, architecture calls, for the greatest exercise of thought; yet, strangely enough, this is the very element that is most wanting in it at the present day. All successful buildings must express an idea; they must mean something. The architecture of previous times rests on this basis, and those structures which give the most evidence of the fact are the most successful. Even in the distorted view of our day those buildings which depart from this position are the most condemned. Yet the very people who censure such lack of judgment by their ancestors do not hesitate to follow in their footsteps and produce architectural monstrosities that should never have been conceived in an intelligent age. The very rudest of African savages is fully aware of this important fact, and keeps it well in mind in building such structures as the simple needs of his life and his primitive ideas require. Thus, for example, he will build a very different edifice for a granary than he will to live in. It has been reserved for the
