cipal official buildings—the school, the dispensary, and the Committee-rooms—were all of exactly the same pattern, and were indistinguishable from one another, save by the inscription over the door.
It is scarcely necessary to observe that such soulless and depressing monotony is entirely the result of action from above. It is altogether uncongenial to the oriental mind, and is copied only for the same reason that induces a Marwari matron to blacken her lips and teeth, because it is better to submit to a disfigurement than to be out of the fashion and thus we come to an adequate explanation of the mistaken ideą, which so many people entertain, that architecture in India is no longer a living art. The native community, as has been already allowed, are not conscious of the artistic vitality that still animates their handicraftsmen, while many of the buildings that the latter erect are conspicuous examples of the very worst taste. But the mason who executes the work has seldom prepared the design; or, if he has done so, he has been hampered by the necessity of subordinating his own ideas to those of his employer. In every age and in every country, the upper and moneyed classes are too materialized to have any intelligent appreciation of art. They understand the fashionable, and are ready to admire the magnificent; but the more delicate refinements of design, which constitute the special charm of the artist's conception, and which it is the student's greatest delight to trace and interpret, are mostly lost upon them. There is no reason to suppose that the impressive attributes of St. Mark's at Venice were ever more appreciated by its ordinary votaries than at the present day, when its storied walls are unread and unheeded. The artist of old—as now—enjoyed the act of creation for its own sake; the populace takes over the finished product, and values it more from material than from æsthetic considerations.
In India, almost the only class in the native community that still encourages indigenous art, is the much abused trader and money-lender. Not that he is moved to do so by any artistic bias, but simply by force of habit. If he decides upon building a new porch to his house, he calls in the mason of most repute in the neighbourhood, shows him the site and explains what is wanted. Perhaps the materials in whole or in part are also supplied, but the workman is then left to his own devices, on the presumption that he best understands his own business; in the same way as a tailor, after taking his customer's measure, and being furnished with as much cloth as he wants,
