And so it is but natural to expect that the union of the same two principles will act similarly in the neighbourhood of such examples, and that an improved taste will be ministered to, and even brought to life, by increased means of indulging it.
Still though we may give just praise to the efforts of the present, let us not forget that our looks are toward the future. And what we have to do is — augur from the one to the other.
It is certain that in former periods and in other countries the commercial power, when at its height, moulded the architecture of cities into a consistent and enduring type, sometimes picturesque, at other times grand. Take Bruges, Antwerp, Cologne, Nürnberg, and in part Amsterdam, as instances of the first.[1] The gable, with its many stories, turned to the street, for mercantile purposes, gave a principle harmonious with the greater architecture of church-buildings, with its pointed front: turrets and elegant niches, with images at every "coign of vantage," windows whose lanceolated tracery repeated gracefully the great outlines of the structure; such were the features which those old merchant-cities, in different degrees, still present. But here our
- ↑ Far beyond the range of cities mentioned in the text, in Germany and France, extends this picturesque architecture, not merely because a type once created is naturally adopted, beyond the place of its origin, but also because it was found, no doubt, well suited for domestic economy. The French word grenier, originally the grange, or granary, now means an attic; because the provision of grain, and other stores, were first, and for once, carried to the dry top of the strong, well-built house, whence the domestics had the lighter toil of bringing them down in detail. Was not this a wise economy? Now we send our coals, for instance, a story lower than the ground, to have them carried up to a third or fourth floor above it. But then we do not build for the older arrangement.
