cally, striving to
secure the best results from our studies and the works of our
predecessors; but do not let us be carried away by our love for
archaeology and attempt to make our Queen Anne houses of to-day simply a
reflex of those of the early eighteenth century. If we attempt such
purism we must fail signally as constructors and as artists.
Architecture, to be a living art, must press forward and keep pace with
the advance of civilization, combining and utilizing all the varied
resources at its command, and aiming to meet all the public and domestic
requirements of a complex and artificial state of civilization. To
Americans, Queen Anne or early Georgian is the starting-point of
architectural history. Let us, then, take it as our standard, the Alpha
of our profession, and aim to emulate the old masters in their endeavors
to do their best with the small means at their command. Let us so design
our modern buildings as to obtain the best results from diversified
industries, almost human machinery, and the refined taste and superior
cultivation of our clients, and we shall be carrying out the Queen Anne
revival more logically and with more common sense than by aiming simply
to attain the quaint and picturesque aspects of earlier work, forgetting
the necessities which compelled the builders of the eighteenth century
to stop short in their aspirations for a better and truer art. Let us
build strongly, honestly, and conveniently,--eclectically if we
will,--and our modified and beautified Queen Anne will become the
logical expression of American domestic architecture. It contains the
germ of greatness and artistic truth: let us endeavor to secure that
germ, and our dwellings, enriched and beautified, will realize the idea
of Skelton, who tells us of the early masters who, centuries before the
advent of Queen Anne or Free Classic architecture, were

Building royally
Their mansions curiously,
With turrets and with toures,
With halls and with boures,
Stretching to the starres;
With glass windows and barres;
Hanging about the walls,
Clothes of golde and palles,
Arras of rich arraye,
Freshe as flowers in Maye.

GEORGE C. MASON, JR.

MORNING.

I woke and heard the thrushes sing at dawn,--
A strangely blissful burst of melody,
A chant of rare, exultant certainty,
Fragrant, as springtime breaths, of wood and lawn.
Night's eastern curtains still were closely drawn;
No roseate