licting this country, in the way of
architecture," said Mr. Effingham, as they stood gazing at the
eastern shore; "nothing but a Grecian temple being now deemed a
suitable residence for a man, in these classical times. Yonder is a
structure, for instance, of beautiful proportions, and, at this
distance, apparently of a precious material, and yet it seems better
suited to heathen worship than to domestic comfort."

"The malady has infected, the whole nation," returned his cousin,
"like the spirit of speculation. We are passing from one extreme to
the other, in this, as in other things. One such temple, well placed
in a wood, might be a pleasant object enough, but to see a river
lined with them, with children trundling hoops before their doors,
beef carried into their kitchens, and smoke issuing, moreover, from
those unclassical objects chimnies, is too much even of a high taste;
one might as well live in a fever. Mr. Aristabulus Bragg, who is a
wag in his way, informs me that there is one town in the interior
that has actually a market-house on the plan of the Parthenon!"

"_Il Cupo di Bove_ would be a more suitable model for such a
structure," said Eve, smiling. "But I think I have heard that the
classical taste of our architects is any thing but rigid."

"This _was_ the case, rather than _is_" returned John Effingham, "as
witness all these temples. The country has made a quick and a great
_pas, en avant_, in the way of the fine arts, and the fact shows what
might be done with so ready a people, under a suitable direction. The
stranger who comes among us is apt to hold the art of the nation
cheap, but, as all things are comparative, let him inquire into its
state ten years since, and look at it to-day. The fault just now, is
perhaps to consult the books too rigidly, and to trust too little to
invention; for no architecture, and especially no domestic
architecture, can ever be above serious reproach, until climate, the
uses of the edifice, and the situation, are respected as leading
considerations. Nothing can be uglier, _per se_, than a Swiss
cottage, or any thing more beautiful under its precise circumstances.
As regards these mushroom temples, which are the offspring of Mammon,
let them be dedicated to whom they may, I should exactly reverse the
opinion, and say, that while nothing can be much more beautiful, _per
se_, nothing can be in worse taste, than to put them where they are."

"We shall have an opportunity