tunity of appeal, setting forth a case of more than usual urgency of distress. It speaks of extreme spiritual destitution, perishing thousands, a poor district, selfish landowners, Dissenting manufacturers, hostile Papists. There is no school, no parsonage, no church. To supply the last of these wants, in spite of all difficulties, a considerable sum had been raised; and the building was nearly completed when an unlooked-for disaster reduced the parish to despair. The centre tower had fallen on the clerestory, and had crushed it beneath the ruins. We are not surprised that the tower fell. We can easily imagine that some young architect eager for a job might engage to build a cathedral with a sum which would barely suffice for a chapel, or that, in all the good faith of ignorance, he might undertake to poise several hundred tons of stone in the air, without more knowledge of the art of construction than suffices to make a showy sketch; but we own we are surprised that good and zealous men should think of opening the campaign, against such a host of formidable adversaries, with centre towers and clerestories.

The above cases, however, it may be urged, are exceptional. Let us take an instance so common that every reader's experience may supply him with a parallel. A zealous archdeacon, we will suppose, has long been grieved by a more than usually urgent case of spiritual destitution in his district. At Brimstonupon-Ooze' the number of persons who are without any church accommodation is reported to be positively awful. He takes a favourable opportunity of calling a meeting of the neighbourhood. The bishop of the diocese kindly consents to take the chair.' Both the ecclesiastical dignitaries subscribe more than they can afford. One or two influential laymen come forward handsomely. A manufacturer, not supposed to be particularly friendly to the Church, electrifies the meeting by a liberal contribution. The proposal to build a church is carried by acclamation, and a committee for the purpose is named. Some orthodox Amphitryon gives a handsome luncheon. All is mutual congratulation and collaudation, and the sanguine already look upon the spiritual darkness of the benighted township as a cloud which has been swept away. The sum which has been subscribed in the room warrants the committee (so they think, though not without something of doubt and trepidation) in applying to some fashionable 'ecclesiologist' for a plan. To their infinite relief, his estimates exceed the amount subscribed by only a few hundreds-a mere trifle, which is quite unworthy of notice when compared with the advantage of securing so beautiful a design and the attention of so accomplished a critic in ecclesiastical antiquity to the details of the building, and which will, of course (it is argued), be very

easily procured by a further appeal to the public. But now the difficulties begin. The appeal entails a certain expense of printing and advertising, and brings a surprisingly small addition to the first sprightly runnings' of spontaneous bounty. The estimates, of course, are exceeded by the builder: of course, too, nobody is to blame for this. Alterations were made in the design after the contract was signed, and, moreover, in the estimates much that is indispensable had been omitted, much that is desirable had to be added. Extras' accumulate. The fittings of the church had not been thought of. It must be warmed, or the poor will not attend. It must be lighted, or the evening service must be given up. Before it is finished a heavy debt is incurred, which there are no means of paying but by importunate begging, and this accordingly is systematically begun by the incumbent, on whom the committee generally devolve the ungracious task.

All this is very natural. In all human undertakings there is a constant tendency to confound the means with the end, and, moreover, building has many special attractions of its own. It realizes a positive and ascertainable result. It is pleasant to enumerate the newly-raised edifices and to count the gain. A showy church seems to give a permanent expression to the zeal of its founders. When some great work of reformatory charity is urged upon us, building at once gratifies the natural love of activity and aversion to labour. It is easy to send for an architect and discuss plans and elevations; to attack evil in its stronghold is full of anxious toil and painful thought. To all these temptations (and many more might be added) it is, we repeat, most natural, and therefore in some degree excusable, to yield. But the more natural the error, the more imperative is the duty of protesting against it; and so far are the lovers of architecture and archæology from accepting the excuse which we offer them, that they boldly claim the merit of reasserting a great principle, and of reviving the zeal and devotedness of by-gone days.

'Non veniam antiqui sed honorem et præmia poscunt.'

If, in answer to the clamorous demands with which he is assailed, the perplexed Samaritan ventures to ask how so free an expenditure is reconcileable with so abject a state of distress, he can obtain no further explanation than a lecture on the virtue of largeheartedness' and the duty of selfdenial; and if, still unsatisfied, he tries to grapple with details, his investigation is evaded by a repetition of the same generalities, or perhaps he is taunted with allusions to the splendour of the nobleman's mansion,' and inquiries why he desires that the house of the Lord should lie waste.'

In all this there is no little want of logic or of candour. Two subjects are confounded which are essentially distinct, and which it is our duty to keep separate. The first is the grave question which every man must settle with his conscience at his peril, how large a part of his good things he should devote to the service of God and the relief of his fellow man. The second, which alone belongs to our present discussion, is how he can employ the charitable funds at his disposal, whether furnished by himself or intrusted to him by others, to the best advantage; and on this question we complain that good men do not bestow so much thought, nor exact so rigorous an account from themselves, as we have a right to expect.

With a given amount of means to effect the greatest amount of good is a problem which, it must be owned, admits of no general and simple solution. To consider it too closely might perhaps have the effect of paralysing us with inaction. It is at all times compounded of the consideration of what would be most desirable if we could attain it, and what it will be in our power to effect, and must generally end in a compromise. We dare not dogmatize upon it; yet certain misconceptions may be removed, and principles may be laid down, which, if steadily kept in view, would greatly diminish the chance of error in practice.

But before we can make any progress in the discussion, we must endeavour to clear up the point on which there exists the most confusion of thought and the greatest diversity of opinion. We must endeavour to ascertain on what ground the duty rests of adorning our places of worship, and what are its due limits; and though perhaps for a brief space the argument may lead us into more serious subjects than our readers anticipated when they undertook to read an essay on charitable economics, we must not shun the examination of a question which is not only constantly brought before us in a practical shape, but is studiously mixed up with all others to which it bears even a remote analogy. fault is found with the unnecessary cost of school, hospital, almshouse, or even parsonage, it is usual to couch the reply in terms of studied ambiguity, and, by classing them all together as 'buildings devoted to the glory of God,' to shift the defence, by this rhetorical sleight-of-hand, to the stronghold of ecclesiastical decoration.

If

It is not easy to grapple with a subject where the disputants seem to insinuate more than they directly assert, and to feel more than they choose to express; but if we rightly collect the meaning of the vehement advocates of rich decoration in churches, their opinion seems to be that, independently of any

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effect we hope to produce on man, the subject of devout impressions, we are bound, according to our means, to make our places of worship suited in some degree to the greatness of God their object; and this, in these days, when a new nomenclature passes for novelty of matter, and obscurity of style for profundity of thought, is called discriminating between the subjective' and the objective' worship-a distinction which, moreover, it is implied, if not directly asserted, is acknowledged in God's revealed word. It is common for Christians of all times and of all denominations to seek in the Old Testament that support for their favourite doctrines which they fail to find in the New. Accordingly we hear much from such reasoners of the 'cunning work of the sanctuary,' and of the minute details of magnificence which God thought proper to appoint for his temple and worship on Mount Sion. Now, without pausing to protest against the danger of applying the analogy of the old dispensation to matters of ritual and of detail under the new, we must at once profess our conviction that in both dispensations the general scope of God's dealings with his creatures as regards his own worship appears to be substantially alike, and that the splendour of the temple, not less than the simplicity of the primitive church, was subservient to a spiritual end. If we carefully study the whole tenor of the Old Testament, nothing can be clearer or stronger than the intimations that, though God is pleased to accept the service of man's spirit and the devotion of his heart, he cannot be glorified by any work of man's hands. Obedience is better than sacrifice' is a moral repeated in diversified forms and on multiplied occasions. The silver is mine and the gold is mine; what house will ye build me? saith the Lord of Hosts.' No doubt the whole Jewish dispensation was ceremonial and visible to a far greater degree than the Christian. The very promises held out to the Jew were in a great degree temporal, while the Christian's are almost exclusively eternal; but we cannot question that the magnificent temple and the gorgeous ritual were ordained to impress God's chosen people (to whom we may presume this sensuous worship was necessary) with awe and reverence at the time, and with conviction in ages to come, when the mighty events which these ritual enactments foreshadowed should be brought to pass. In fact, then, as now, the 'objective' worship is inseparable from the subjective, and through it only can be attained: that is to say, worship, with its ceremonial and all its accessories, is acceptable to God, its object, only in proportion as it animates man, its subject, with feelings of true piety. In the New Testament St. Paul's brief injunction, 'Let all things be done to edifying,' is the closest pos

sible condensation of the same principle, and contains all that is left us by apostolic authority, and, in fact, all that is needed, for the decision of controversies regarding the externals of worship.

There can be no danger therefore in substituting the edification of man for the glory of God, as our first and immediate aim in all that appertains to His worship. Edification supplies at once an unvarying standard whereby to test the value of all our efforts made in His service, and at the same time a flexible rule applicable to all the circumstances of each case of doubt as it may arise. If, however, we suppose, as is the belief in Roman Catholic countries, that God is honoured by the elaborate decoration of buildings dedicated to His name,* such decoration becomes the first of duties, it has no limits but our means, and we must leave to better casuists than ourselves the task of deciding how far we are at liberty to divert our resources from this all-important business even to works of charity and love. But to do justice to the reasoning of the advocates of architectural display among ourselves, we must remember that they would probably disclaim any idea that the Creator of the universe can be glorified by the work of his creatures' hands. They would rather explain their meaning to be that the offering of man's most elaborate work is acceptable only as a proof of his desire to dedicate his best' to his Maker. The duty of offering our best' is a favourite subject with modern preachers, and if rightly understood a most profitable one. But there often lurks a fallacy in the word 'best. We do not presume to limit the acceptance which God may be pleased to extend to our efforts, however imperfect, to please Him. But let no man, without closely scrutinising his conscience, flatter himself that he is offering his best.' Let not the rich and pious ecclesiologist imagine he is giving God his best when he is only indulging his taste by collecting costly marbles or drawing patterns of encaustic tiles. Our author remarks

'Surely those who prefer beauty to use in a sacred building, too much resemble children, when they ought to be men. We can well imagine that a parent, having given a girl money from time to time, and with it excellent lessons as to how money should be spent, would

* Unquestionably this is the prevailing belief in Roman Catholic countries, however the expression of it may be modified by the professors or defenders of Romanism among ourselves. In illustration of this we may quote an anecdote of Canova, which we remember to have heard from a friend who was his constant attendant during his last illness. When attacked by the sickness which ultimately proved fatal, the popular sculptor was engaged in building at Pesagno, his native village, a church of the architecture of which he was immoderately vain. As he grew worse, he frequently sought to reassure himself by repeating, 'It is impossible God should permit a man to die who is raising such a work to His glory!'

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