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make war as productive of evil as possible, so that the nations


dread its recurrence. But if he did not live to see the success of his views on this point, he was happy in seeing us hold aloof from the struggle which broke out between Denmark and Germany in 1864. There can be no doubt that Lord Palmerston had wished to interfere in behalf of Denmark; but, as Cobden said in the last speech which he ever delivered, a revolution had been achieved in our foreign policy. The country certainly sympathised with the Danes, but it was felt that it was contrary to public policy to rush into a war with Germany. The non-intervention principle so long advocated by Cobden had gained a victory, its first, but not its last. How he would have rejoiced could he have seen the national uprising which drove Lord Beaconsfield from power, when he attempted to reintroduce Palmerstonian principles into our policy, and have witnessed the national approval which has followed the present Government's action in Europe, Africa, and Asia. Must we not acknowledge that much of the sentiment which has produced this change is owing to the consistent advocacy of peace principles by Cobden and by Bright ? His last speech, the one delivered to his constituents in Rochdale, shows, as I have just said, that he recognised the change which was already beginning to show itself. Would that he had been spared to rejoice in seeing still more clearly that his labours had not been in vain!

He had never been a man of robust health. To Mr. Livesy, the great temperance reformer, he had confessed that it was the strictest temperance alone which had enabled him, even in his younger days, to do his work. At the age of sixty, the exertion of the speech just referred to, and the reception by his constituents on the next day, caused him to suffer in a manner which justified his friends in feeling alarmed. He did not go up to the opening of Parliament, but waited till near the end of March before leaving the country.

He could not resist the temptation of raising his voice against the expenditure of money on Canadian fortifications. On his arrival in town he was seized with asthma, and on the 2nd April “his ardent, courageous, and brotherly spirit passed tranquilly away.

I trust that this sketch, imperfect and fragmentary as it is, will lead many of my readers to a careful study of Mr. Morley's biography. There have been many statues erected in honour of Cobden, but a nobler memorial than these volumes cannot be raised. It tells its story with the grace of the highest literary skill; and the admirers of Mr. Cobden will be grateful that his life has been written by one whom extensive knowledge, political insight, and enlightened sympathy have fitted to do justice to so noble a theme.






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a country like England, so rich in architectural

remains, both ecclesiastical and domestic, this is an important question. At a time, too, like the present, when every church dignitary, from cathedral dean to country vicar, is fired with the ambition of “restoring” the particular building over which he presides, the question has become doubly important.

In view of the extensive work already done, and of that which is likely to follow, it may be well to consider how far it resembles, and how far it differs from, similar work carried out in past ages. How far is nineteenth-century “Restoration” really restoration ?

To determine this, let us first consult the experience of the Past; and then inspect the work now going on, or but recently executed.

In considering the work of past restoration, we may distinguish, broadly, two periods : the first, when the addition of building was not so much restoration as the direct succession of style, before architecture had become a dead art; the second, when restoration pure and simple was carried on by those who had no original art, but chose, as they pleased, from the museum of byegone styles. Renaissance is the link between these periods; and it had some show, though, perhaps, only a show, of originality.

In this lapse of originality lies the failure of the modern

building art. This is obvious in the phrase of the day, when we speak of the choice of particular schools; a thing unknown to the Past, when the prevailing style of a period made itself omnipotent in men's work, though without self-consciousness, which is the special vice of the Present. When we enter a new building we speak of the style selected, whether Classic or Gothic; and of the particular variety, whether Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, whether Early English, Decorated, Perpendicular, or a curious mixture of all.

And in looking at the question, this absence of originality must be kept in mind, for it largely affects the merits or demerits of modern restoration. While, however, denying originality in se to modern architecture, we must remember that some stamp of individuality is sure to be impressed on men's work, according to the measure of talent possessed. While there is nothing in Mr. Street's Church of St. Mary Magdalene, Paddington, which cannot be shown in older work, there is a pleasing harmony in the entire combination which indicates the designer. In this sense, and this only, is there originality in modern architecture.

The fault of all the iconoclasts of the Past, whether destroyers or restorers, was barbarism; but what remained from destruction escaped contamination. Like broken statues, but all untouched, a fragment was left to the museum of Time. The destroyers under the two Cromwells, and the careless demolishers of the eighteenth century, after they had done their worst, at least left a pure remnant; while the restorers of the Classic Revival did not sufficiently esteem the old work to meddle with it; and when they did, the student has no difficulty in distinguishing between the old and the new. The easternmost portion of St. Pierre, at Caen, and the western towers of Westminster Abbey, are examples of this. Even the shame-enduring work of eighteenth-century Wyatt—the most disgraceful restorer of any time—had yet this virtue, that no one could ever confuse Wyatt with the original; and so something was preserved. The restoration by this architect of Hereford Cathedral, when its noble west front fell in 1786, is a signal example of what an art can come to when its spirit is lost. The fine Norman clerestory and triforium, only a few bays of which had fallen, were entirely removed, to give place to a substitute which has this claim to originality—that it is no style at all. Yet Wyatt's work, past censure as it is, is scarcely so irritating as Cottingham's restoration of the Norman arcading underneath. There, again, there is no mistaking the old for the new; but the latter was none the less meant to be in harmony with the former; and it is instructive to see how this treatment of the old Norman has vulgarised and spoiled it. The late Sir Gilbert Scott's restoration of the same cathedral (fortunate in belonging to an early period of his labours) contrasts favourably with that of his predecessors, inasmuch as the old work has been carefully preserved wherever possible.

But if the fault of the Past was barbarism, that of the Present is sentimentalism ; and with sentimentalism comes its natural ally, self-consciousness. The sentimentality of astheticism is everywhere seen in the present day. Its influence is felt in every art, and in none more so than in Architecture.

In our time the question is no longer who shall reduce an old church to a ruin, or leave it to fall if it be so inclined; but who shall convert a ruin back into a church, or rebuild a sound one larger. The injury now done to Architecture is inflicted by those who profess to love her best. She can no longer complain of cruelty or neglect; but she may well apply the saying to herself—“ Save me from my friends, and I'll take care of my enemies."

A curious feature of our day (the result, probably, of the

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