coloured glasses, and consequently imparts to them its own hue; of the actual depth and greenness of which we are not aware so long as the white is intermixed with cool blues, reds, purples, and apparently though not really faded greens, as in the Antechapel windows; but which surprises us when fully brought out by contrast with a warmer scale of colouring, as will hereafter be shown to be done in some of the south windows of the nave. Without expecting a ready acquiescence in the opinion hazarded, that a part of the pleasure excited by the colouring of these windows arises from a perception of its harmony with the architectural character of the building; I cannot but think that the idea is less fanciful than may at first appear. There is a gloominess in the style of Gothic ecclesiastical architecture which is very much opposed, not indeed to rich, but to warm and gay colouring. And though this gloominess in the present instance is, to a certain extent, disguised by the elegance of the modern fittings, and the warmth of the yellow wash with which the walls of the Antechapel and Choir are covered, it still exists, and grows upon the eye in
on a subject of this kind, nor should I now allude to them, if it were not to guard those who may be as inexperienced, or as careless observers as themselves, from the danger of being misled by the misrepresentation of a matter of fact which occurs in the following passage.—"Mr. Winston reminds us that 'no cleaning is able to deprive ancient glass, of a certain date, of its tone, richness, and general appearance.' This we entirely deny. The east window of Bristol, which is of middle-pointed date, has been lately cleaned, and it is neither better nor worse than Messrs. Wailes, or O'Connor, or Willement would produce. Rich is just what it is not," &c. &c. It unfortunately happens that about two-thirds of the Bristol window consists of modern glass. But the appeal to it is not useless, as it serves to show that an ability to distinguish modern from ancient glass is not a necessary qualification for an adept in the mysteries of ecclesiology. Of the various expedients resorted to for imitating the effect of the ancient material, Messrs. Powells', and Messrs. Hartleys' processes for roughening the surfaces of the glass, are the most successful, though but expedients after all. "Antiquating the glass," i.e., dulling it with enamel colour in imitation of dirt and the rust of age, is commonly resorted to as a means of destroying the perfect pellucidness of the modern material: a quality resulting from refinements in the manufacture. Instead, however, of making the glass look thick and rich like the old, it only makes it dull and heavy in effect: nor does it materially improve its tone of colour. Of three imitations of ancient glass in the late Exhibition, which I particularly examined, one by M. Lusson, which had been the most antiquated, was the least watery in effect. The second, by M. Gérente, which also had been antiquated, though in a less degree, was, in proportion, more flimsy. The last, by Messrs. Pugin and Hardman, which had not been antiquated at all, was the most flimsy and watery. But they were all inferior to ancient glass in richness, depth, and, particularly, in tone of colour: as was indeed easily shown by holding clear pieces of ancient glass beside them. M. Lusson's, on the whole, was decidedly the best imitation, but this was not owing to the greater antiquating of the glass. I am surprised that the eyes of the public are not yet open to the absurdity of literally copying designs of an early period in a material so different from that in which such designs were originally worked, and with reference to which we may suppose they were made. We might as well expect a literal copy, in wood, of a stone spire, or of a wooden spire in stone, to produce a satisfactory effect.
