esidences and warehouses, in
our banks and hotels and railroad depots. It sounds odd, but it is
manifestly so to be. We are a commercial republic. Old European palaces
and cathedrals are doubtless very grand, and--for those who need such
things--most excellent models. But with us the private element already
predominates; we only need to begin honestly, and the thing is half
done.

Our national dread of Gothic, except it be for church purposes, should
be done away with. The Gothic _principle_, we mean; the style we may
follow or may not. But to be sincere and constructive, to build with a
purpose, we must do as did the mediaeval builders. In their hands, our
daguerrean sky-lights and shot towers, our factory chimneys and
signboards, would have become glorious objects, become useful objects.
Their art did not confine itself to one day in seven; it permeated the
commonest details of every-day life, because they were common. Hence
they ennobled everything.

But the Romans, unfortunately, never had any shot towers, or hotels, or
railroad depots, and so we think such things exceptions to the ordinary
rules of architecture. But after all, perhaps, this is all the better
for their future, as it leaves them comparatively untrammelled. In the
matter of railroad depots, England has certainly stolen a march upon us,
the large city stations in that rail-bound country being perfect Crystal
Palaces in size and elegance, while those for the more rural places are
often the most exquisite little villas, unapproachable in neatness and
taste. In some parts of the Continent, the Swiss style has been pressed
into this service with notable success.

In regard to fire-alarm towers, we rejoice to be able to make an
exceptional remark. New York city has actually produced two or three of
these of new and elegant shape, perfectly adapted to their purpose; and
yet, so far as we know, not copied from anything else. Those in Sixth
and Third avenues have a grace of outline that is really elegant, and
show what we can accomplish if we only build what we want in a natural
and appropriate way.

Nothing, however, is to exert a vaster influence on our style than the
hotel. This 'institution,' as we have it, is comparatively unknown in
Europe; beyond all nations are we a travelling and hotel-building
people. Our hotels have not grown up with the scant traffic of the post
chaise or _diligence_; they overleaped that feeble infancy, and started
at once wi