In the Greek edifice of stone and marble, it is more obvious, that the form of the primitive cabin in which it originated, constructed of the stems, branches, and foliage of trees, was religiously preserved. Every later improvement for use, every more elaborate addition for ornament, which was displayed in these, only appeared as a supplement to the fundamental form, and was in no way allowed to alter or conceal it. Indeed, in proportion as the building was of a more public nature, the wooden hut might be even said to be more carefully imitated. No where was it seen more distinctly marked, than in that magnificent temple at Athens, dedicated to Minerva, the patron deity of the city. As the rude Greek cabin of wood was more varied and definite in its component parts, than either the tent or the excavation, the similitude was much more striking in all its details, and throughout all its alterations and embellishments.

So powerful is the principle which has been stated as influencing the peculiar style of architecture belonging to any particular race of men, that should some original and fundamentally different mode of building be any where discovered, we may be sure its singularities have, at some period, taken their rise from a temperature, a material, or a system of customs and manners, radically at variance with those of the communities we have mentioned.*

There is one mighty element in the perpetuation of a distinct style of architecture among extensive races, which requires special notice. I allude to religious views and prepossessions. The priesthood, in early ages, form a powerful and united fraternity, who excel the other members of their tribe in learning, and exercise a despotic power over their ignorant and superstitious minds. Prejudice and policy combine, in such a body, to repress innovation, and to perpetuate the customs, habits, and practices, of the remote antiquity from which they date their origin, and with which their fabulous mythology is intimately associated. Such a class of men was found in the Egyptian priesthood, in the Indian Brahmins, and in

* Hope on Architecture, chap. iv.

the religious order of Greece. From these societies emanated the laws which regulated the public taste; and under their direction the mighty fabrics were reared, which have preserved, even to our own day, a practical knowledge of the architecture of their age. Had it been otherwise, it would have been scarcely possible to account for the uniformity which prevails in the character and style of their public buildings. Tyrants are capricious, and a free people are inventive. It belongs to a corporation of priests alone, to wield a power such as that displayed in the art we are considering, with a rigid and undeviating uniformity of design.

TENTH WEEK-SUNDAY.*

THE CHILDREN OF THE WORLD WISER THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT.

"THE children of this world," says our Divine Teacher, "are wiser in their generation than the children of light," and this truth is confirmed by all experience, and is obvious to the most cursory view. The astonishing labors and inventions of man in promoting his own plans of comfort or luxury, or in gratifying his love of acquiring, and his thirst for power, which we have been contemplating, give an additional force to the aphorism; and while they exhibit, in a very striking light, the powers of the human mind when strongly called forth and intensely occupied, serve at the same time to mark more distinctly the difference which exists in the success with which men prosecute their temporal and their eternal

interests.

If we inquire into the cause of this difference, it will not be difficult to discover that it lies in the comparative

* [The papers for this and the next Sunday, as they stood in the original, have been abridged and brought into one in this edition.-AM. ED.]

degrees of zeal and intelligence which are applied to each. In the one case men are in earnest, in the other they are careless and indifferent. This at once explains the mystery, and unfolds a very painful view of the perverseness of the human mind. It has been alleged, in excuse for man's disobedience to the law of God, that human nature, in its fallen state, is so constituted as to be unable to perform the moral and religious duties required of it. But, though there be truth in this assertion, it cannot be urged as an adequate excuse; because the very principle which prevents our obedience is a principle of obstinacy, rebellion, and ingratitude. Our impotence lies neither in our understanding nor in our bodily power, but simply in our inclinations. The duties of religion are around us and within our reach. 66 They are not hidden from us," as Moses expresses it, "neither are they far off. They are not in heaven, that we should say, who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring them to us, that we may hear them, and do them; neither are they beyond the sea, that we should say, who shall go over the sea for us, and bring them to us, that we may hear them, and do them; but they are very nigh to us, even in our mouth and in our heart, that we may do them." Yet the law of God, although it be thus obvious and practicable, is not performed by us. Why? Just because we are disinclined. There is no other disability. But it is inveterate.

To be convinced of the truth of this view, we have only to ask our conscience, what prevented our performance of religious duty, in any one instance that may occur to us. We shall be forced to acknowledge, that we failed merely because we were unwilling, or rather, because our propensities and desires urged us in an opposite direction. We were sensible, perhaps, all the while, that the action to which we were tempted was sinful,-contrary to the law of God, and contrary, also, to our own best interests; but inclination prevailed over judgement and principle, and thus we fell.

Let us take a particular example, and we shall be able more clearly to estimate the nature and extent of this disa

bility. A familiar instance occurs to us in the keeping of the Sabbath. What does this command imply? Certainly nothing impossible. It implies, that we abstain from our usual worldly employments; that we reject worldly conversation; that we check and banish worldly thoughts. In this negative part of the duty, there is clearly nothing impossible; nor can it be said, that its positive duties are beyond our reach. It requires that we be actively employed in religious exercises in our closets, in the bosom of our family, and in the house of prayer; and, while thus occupied, that we raise our souls from the contemplation of things which are seen and temporal, to the contemplation of those that are unseen and eternal.

These are exalted and sublime employments, but they imply no impossibility. The great bulk of mankind, indeed, do not perform them, and the very best of men perform them but imperfectly; but it is not from want of mental or physical capacity. There is no other disability but want of inclination. From the moment we love such exercises, they become easy and agreeable. Men execute tasks as difficult every day, and delight in them, although the real value of these tasks be infinitely inferior. They are able to do this, because their hearts are set on them.

Of this, the progress society has made in the arts of civilized life, which we have lately been considering, is at striking proof. The laborious improvement of agriculture, the inventions connected with manufacturing industry, and those amazing piles, or beautiful or convenient structures, which have crowned architectural skill, all show what can be effected by human ingenuity and labor, when the mind is roused, and gives itself willingly to the work. Who can examine a well-cultivated farm, with all the implements of husbandry employed in its management; or consider the magical labors of the cotton-mill; or contemplate the gigantic ruins of Egypt, without being filled with astonishment at the capabilities of man's natural powers. Nor will our wonder be lessened when we turn to the achievements of science, and think of the reach of intellect which could define and demonstrate the laws of the

material universe, and, penetrating to the remote stars, could trace, at the distance of millions of millions of miles, the movements of an infinite Creator.

But it is not necessary to have recourse to these more extraordinary efforts of the human mind, in order to convince us of its capacity when roused by some engrossing object. We see the same thing in the very humblest vale of life. Look at the fond mother, who presses her smiling infant to her breast, and watches over it night and day, and denies herself her necessary rest, and seeks no other occupation, no other enjoyment. Look at the affectionate father, who toils, and bustles, and racks his ingenuity, and "rises early, and sits up late, and eats the bread of carefulness," to provide for the wants and comforts of his beloved offspring,-whether as a merchant he compasses sea and land, and buys and sells, seeking for gain; or as a husbandman he cultivates the ground, and attends the weekly markets, and urges the labor of his servants, and studies the soil and the seasons; or, as a common laborer, he plies his daily task from morning to night, then throws his weary limbs on a couch of straw, and then rises with the lark, and plies his unvarying task from morning till night again; -nay, look at the lowest of the low, at the common beggar, who extorts charity by some well-feigned tale; or the nightly pilferer, who lives by the dexterity of his petty thefts; look, I say, at the ability, the zeal, the perseverance with which these perform their several tasks, and you will be forced to confess, that he who should, with equal assiduity, apply the powers of his body and mind to the keeping of the Sabbath, or to any other course of religious duty, however severe and arduous, would rise at once to a height of piety, which would put to utter shame the religious pretensions of the common Christian.

Why, then, are our religious duties neglected, or inadequately performed? Not evidently from want of talents or of energy; but for this simple reason, they are not the object of our affections; we feel no interest in the performance of them; the things of time are more congenial to our hearts than the things of eternity. We love Mammon more than God.