had been inaugurated. Despite these departures from architectural and archæological orthodoxy, however, McIntire’s work is replete with exquisite charm and is justified by applying to it the touchstone of good taste.

Latrobe, McComb, in his later work, L’Enfant, Hoban, Dr. Thornton, Thomas Jefferson, Strickland and other noted architects of the last years of the eighteenth century and the fore part of the nineteenth followed classic precedent somewhat more closely in the practice of their profession and may, therefore, be considered the most faithful and typical exponents of Classic Revival principles. Much of their work is noble in conception and peculiarly suited to the monumental character of the buildings they designed.

The influence of the Classic Revival was to be noted earliest in public edifices such as the Boston State House on Beacon Hill, the New Theatre or the Bank of the United States in Philadelphia or, most of all, in the Capitol at Washington in the design, erection and restoration or rebuilding of which so many of the most eminent architects of the day had a share. There the classic orders were reproduced with faithful accuracy in combinations that displayed their chaste beauty and noble proportions in the most dignified and impressive manner. Capitals of impeccable exactitude and fidelity to their prototypes, pediments and entablatures of due proportion, triglyphs, mutules, modillion brackets, acanthus leaves, egg and dart mouldings, dentils, anthemia and all the other structural and ornamental features characteristic of either Greek or Roman architecture became familiar objects to the public gaze and exercised their subtle but powerful agency in the education of a disciplined and elegant sense of architectural propriety.

The architecture of the Classic Revival was undoubtedly at its best in public edifices or in large and imposing mansions which afforded sufficient opportunity to display its ample characteristics. Such structures, moreover, did not require any great stretch of ingenuity in making adaptations. While columns might have to be lengthened out or features foreign to classic conception added, the task of accommodation rarely offered serious difficulties to be overcome. In the hands of such men as Bulfinch or McIntire, at the outset, or of Latrobe, Hoban, Strickland and their various able contemporaries, the Classic Revival gave us many truly admirable structures instinct with dignity and grace. In the hands of the too confident and insufficiently educated mechanic who ventured to try his hand at designing, it was a very different thing indeed and its remaining examples of this inferior type can scarcely be viewed with pleasure.

If one may trace an analogy between the Adam mode and the best manifestations of the Classic Revival with its stately structures full of breadth, dignity and repose, so may one also trace with ease an analogy between the carpenter-designed-and-built houses of the end of the Georgian period and much of the insignificant domestic work of the Classic Revival. In other words, the elegant Adam creations bore virtually the same relation to the contemporary carpenter-designed houses as did the larger and serenely chaste compositions of the Classic Revival to the small and inexpensive attempts on the part of ambitious builders to apply the same style to little, cramped structures for which it was manifestly unfit. There was this difference, however. The carpenter-architects of the end of the Georgian period were far superior in discrimination and taste to their successors, who tried to make up for their lack of knowledge by ill-judged essays that succeeded only in being ridiculous. Their tiny, temple-fronted houses were not domestic and were as unreal and architecturally unsatisfying as stage settings viewed from the rear. They were bombastic and pompous—one feels almost like saying “pompious”—and displayed no real merit or refinement to back up their preposterous pretensions to a dignity and state not at all in keeping with their true purpose. The so-called “carpenters’ classic” mode, which was really a chastened and restrained form of the debased Classic Revival style, was infinitely preferable because it was simple and did not pretend to be something it was not.

Among the thoroughly striking and important buildings erected in this era that ought to be mentioned, besides those already referred to, are the Sub-Treasury in New York, Girard College in Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Custom House, and the Cathedral in Baltimore. These are typical buildings and, for that reason, worthy of being kept in mind, but the list of creditable examples might be added to almost indefinitely.

As a direct result of the Classic Revival influence there was a certain amount of modest and agreeable adaptation which created a pleasant domestic episode in the annals of American architecture. Examples of this modified classic school are unpretentious and, for the reason that they mark no ambitious flights, commendable in their own field. For want of a better name we have been accustomed to call this architectural species “Carpenters’ Classic.” Whatever its shortcomings—and not much can be expected of it for it makes no pretence—it was infinitely better than much that followed it.

In contemplating the story of the Classic Revival one can find much to be thankful for.

Let its failures be what they may, it was in large measure due to the work done during the period of its ascendancy that we owe a certain tradition and precedent in public work that has wrought for good and is still working in our own day.

CHAPTER XI

PUBLIC BUILDINGS OF THE COLONIAL AND POST-COLONIAL PERIODS

If the houses and churches of the Colonial period in America reflect the social and religious life of our forefathers, no less truly do the public buildings reflect the civic and political side of their existence. To be sure, the public buildings are not without their interest and power to shed light on the social and economic conditions, but it is especially in their civic and political capacity that their appeal to us is strongest. Then, too, we may truly say that they form much of the setting for the dramatic side of our history and, therefore, the picturesque association is potent. With the State House in Philadelphia (Independence Hall, as it has been called in later years), we cannot fail to associate the Declaration of Independence and the framing of our national constitution, eleven years afterward. Neither can we fail to associate with Faneuil Hall or the Old State House in Boston the stirring events that preceded the outbreak of the War for Independence.

Of all the public buildings in the Colonies, the State House in Philadelphia, as the birthplace of our national existence, claims the place of first attention and highest honour in the esteem of all loyal Americans. Architecturally speaking, all the public buildings chosen for consideration in this chapter represent more or less faithfully the local characteristics of the places in which they were built. We naturally expect, therefore, to find in the State House at Philadelphia an example of the Middle Colonies Georgian at its best, nor are we disappointed. From an architectural point of view, the State House was a notable and imposing structure when it was erected in 1733 and, from the same point of view, it would be equally notable and imposing had it been built only yesterday. The scale is so broad and impressive that it dwarfs other buildings of far greater size and loftier structure in the vicinity. In this respect it is comparable to a small person of large presence and much dignity, the scant measure of whose inches is not accounted in the impression created among his fellows. We have all seen such. Though the actual area covered by the State House is inconsiderable—it is only one hundred feet long by forty-four feet in depth, with a tower, on the south side or rear, measuring thirty-two feet by thirty-four—there is such amplitude of proportion in the rooms, in the size of all the central features and in the detail of ornamentation, that the visitor instinctively feels himself in one of the great buildings of the country, altogether irrespective of the brave memories by which its walls are hallowed.

Seen from without, the State House is a most satisfying piece of Georgian work. The north front, pierced by a single door and eight broad windows on the lower floor and an unbroken range of nine windows on the upper, has a convincing charm of combined dignity and simplicity. The doorway is severely plain and of proportions characteristic of the date at which the edifice was built. The wide muntins of the small paned windows, the well spaced string courses, and the oblong panels of blue marble beneath the windows of the upper floor, diversify the surface and impart a grace that quite prevents the impression of dumpy stodginess that less carefully managed Georgian façades sometimes give. A white balustrade, running the length of the building and set where the pitch of the roof breaks into a much flattened gambrel to form a deck, affords an additional note of grace and lightness comporting well with the triple chimneys with arch-joined tops at each gable end.

The contrast between the deep red brickwork of the tower, carried one stage above the cornice of the body of the hall, and the white wooden superstructure for the clock, surmounted by an open cupola over the bell, is striking and particularly effective viewed from the south on a sunny morning in winter or early spring, when everything is fretted with a laced pattern from the bare branches of the surrounding trees. In the second stage of the south side of the tower, immediately above the door, is a Palladian window that has always compelled admiration. The crushed capitals of the pilasters and dividing pillars, though perhaps rude in line and execution, are delightfully suggestive of the weight and solidity of the tower above them. Grotesque heads and faces as ornaments for keystones were not very extensively used in our Colonial Georgian architecture, but over the windows on three sides of the uppermost brick stage of the tower are faces that for pathos of expression can quite match those on the tower of Christ Church that lift their seemingly sightless eyes alike to sun and snow and blinding rain. Though noticed by few among the thousands that daily pass by, they are worthy of attention. Masques or grotesque heads are also used in one or two other places, such as the over-door carving in the interior of the building.

The warm tone of the walls is especially pleasing. Years and weather, yes, and dirt, have imparted an exceedingly mellow tinge to the hard burned brick laid in courses of Flemish bond, and although the glazed black headers, found in so many old houses, are of rare occurrence, the hue of the Colonial bricks is peculiarly rich. Relieved as the masonry is by trimmings of native bluish marble and pencilled by weathered mortar joints, the walls have a wonderful quality of texture and colour.

Although the triple-arched arcades and low, hip-roofed buildings on either side of the State House are new, they are restorations and conform to the provisions of the original plan. That plan called for such structures, and they were begun several years subsequent to the commencement of work on the main portion of the State House, but gave place at a later date to the hideous barracks, devised to meet the exigencies of public business, which endured till the last wave of restoration happily removed them.

The State House was designed to accommodate the legislative and executive branches of the Provincial government. The great east room, to the left of the door on entering, was intended for the use of the Assembly. In this room the Declaration of Independence was signed and in this room, also, eleven years later, the Constitutional Convention sat and framed the Constitution of the United States. Whether the west room, across the corridor, and communicating with it by three large open arches, was originally meant for the Supreme Court of the Province is uncertain, but, at any rate, it was in time appropriated to that purpose. The second floor has a long gallery running the full length of the building along the north side facing Chestnut street, and this apartment has been variously designated as “The Long Room,” “The Banqueting Hall” and by sundry other titles. Facing the south are two smaller rooms, separated by a spacious hallway or lobby, which also opens into the Long Room. One of these lesser rooms seems to have been intended for the use of the Governour’s Council.

Although the date of the building of the State House was 1733, its completion was not accomplished till eight years later. This fact probably accounts in some measure for the affinities of detail in the interior woodwork with the second Georgian type, alluded to in the chapter on Georgian architecture in Philadelphia and the neighbourhood. The doorway on the Chestnut street front, both by its proportions and its severe simplicity, belongs rather to the first type of Georgian as exemplified by Stenton, Hope Lodge and Graeme Park. Inside the building, however, we find the egg and dart moulding, modillion brackets carved with acanthus leaves, ornate cornices with triglyphs, dentils and mutules, fluted pillars and pilasters with ornate Roman capitals, rosettes, elaborately wrought modillion brackets under the treads of the stair, deeply panelled soffits and jambs, ornate pediments above doors and overmantels, and all the other details characteristic of the second Georgian period. In addition to being exceedingly elaborate, the woodwork of the State House is executed in a masterly manner and marked both by boldness and an unusual degree of grace.

At the extreme east and west ends of the

State House group, the two buildings projecting farther toward the street than the rest, are decent in appearance but quite unpretentious. Of exterior architectural embellishments, such as the State House can boast, they are innocent, save the cupolas, which are good. Inside, the woodwork detail is pleasing. The western building, Congress Hall, was erected in 1788; here Washington’s second inauguration took place and here John Adams was inducted into office as President. The eastern building, intended for the City Hall, was built in 1791. While Philadelphia was the seat of national government it was turned over to the Supreme Court of the United States and here presided Chief Justices John Jay, John Rutledge and Oliver Ellsworth.

In New England, the most impressive secular public buildings are the Old State House in Boston, built in 1728, Faneuil Hall, built in 1741, and the Bulfinch State House, on the summit of Beacon Hill, built in 1795.

The Old State House, a structure of peculiarly pleasing proportions and admirable poise, is thoroughly representative of the best Georgian feeling of the period of its erection both in manner of construction and detail. Its square lantern of three stages is particularly interesting as are also the stepped gables at each end, with the carved figures of the British lion and unicorn apparently stationed as heraldic supporters of the ornate apex with the clock. On account of these stepped gables the criticism has sometimes been advanced that the Old State House shows traces of Dutch influence in its design. While it is quite true that stepped gables are characteristic of many Dutch buildings, the attribution of Dutch influence in the treatment of the Old State House can scarcely be justified for there is nowhere else observable any suggestion of Dutch tendencies and the precedent for stepped gables in unmistakably English work of an earlier date is by no means wanting. Rich in historic memories, of which, perhaps, the Boston Massacre stands forth most vividly, it is deservedly cherished with civic pride as the ancient centre of Provincial life and it is gratifying to see how punctiliously and accurately it has been restored to its pristine condition under the able direction of Joseph Everett Chandler, to whose enthusiasm are due many other faithful restorations of seventeenth and eighteenth century New England architectural treasures.

Faneuil Hall, hard by, also worthily upholds the Georgian traditions of the mid-eighteenth century in its storeyed façades, its gracefully proportioned and detailed cupola and the excellence of its interior cornices, pillars and carved capitals. This “cradle of American liberty” is a truly noble building and a worthy setting for the stirring historic episodes that have been enacted beneath its roof or under the shadow of its walls.

The Bulfinch State House, a “model of classicality” as someone has not inappropriately called it, is an exceptionally impressive precursor of the Greek or Classic Revival. Designed at a time when the graceful interpretation of the Georgian style, introduced by the Brothers Adam, was still dominant, it combines the characteristic elegance of its epoch with the bold vigour of classic inspiration, drawn direct from the font of antiquity, that distinguished the best public architecture of the early nineteenth century. Despite the alterations and additions to which it has been subjected, its strong individuality still dominates the structure, of which the original fabric is now but a small part, and breathes abroad the ample spirit of post-Colonial dignity.

The original buildings of Harvard, or rather the worthy successors of the first buildings, none of which remain, exhibit, in their plan, proportions and general treatment, many admirable features quite comparable to those of the best contemporary large Georgian buildings in England and their substantial dignity, thoroughly in keeping with their purpose, reflects the greatest credit upon the Colonial officers and benefactors of the University.

Of the other Colonial or post-Colonial secular public buildings in New England deserving of admiration and close study, all of which it would be a congenial task to write about at length, did space permit, three especially must be mentioned before passing on to discuss those in another part of the country. They are the Custom House in Salem, which will always be associated with the fanciful melancholy of Hawthorne’s literary genius; the Town House or State House at Newport, built in 1743 from the designs of Richard Munday and, last of all, the Market or City Hall, in the same place, built in 1760 after the plans of Peter Harrison, sometime an assistant to Sir John Vanbrugh, whose close connexion with that eminent English architect and subsequent removal to the American Colonies throw an interesting side light upon the bonds linking Colonial architectural developments with their source of inspiration.

New York could boast the stately old building of King’s College; Fraunce’s Tavern, whose festive board, upon the occasion of balls and receptions, groaning with toothsome viands, caused the feasters to groan with gout the next day; the City Hall, begun in 1803, whose chaste classic elegance, surrounded by huge modern structures, still bears eloquent witness to the civic good taste of the period when it was erected. Henry James was greatly impressed with its “perfect taste and finish, the reduced, yet ample, scale, the harmony of the parts, the just proportions, the modest classic grace, the living look of the type aimed at.” On looking at such noble examples of the architecture of a past generation, one cannot but regret that the ruthless sweep of commercial progress has brushed aside and demolished so many monuments of the New York of Colonial days.

In Colonial cities and towns the town hall and market, usually found close together if not actually occupying the same building, according to old English custom, were so representative of the visible course of civic life that some account must be taken of their presence though few of them now remain. The old Provincial Hall or Court House in Philadelphia, erected in 1707, was so thoroughly typical of these combined judicial and mercantile structures that, although torn down many years ago, it deserves some notice in this place. It stood in the middle of Market street at the corner of Second and back of it the market sheds or shambles stretched away towards the west, occupying the whole middle of the street, and increasing in extent year by year as the city grew and more accommodations for the farmers became necessary. It was a substantial brick structure, built on arches, and was similar in character and appearance to the town halls of that day in many English county towns. “It was,” wrote a local antiquary, in one of his sketches, “an important place. Monarchs on their accessions were there proclaimed; wars were thence declared; and peace, when it came to bless the people, there found a voice to utter it. New governours addressed the people over whom they were appointed to rule, from its balcony; the emblems of sovereignty, the royal arms of England, were there displayed.” There centred all the official, legislative and administrative life of the Province, there the Provincial Council sat, there the elections were held and there were the gaol and those much dreaded but effective instruments of correction, the pillory, the stocks and the whipping post. The stocks, standing as they did in such close proximity to the market, the rougher sort drew not a little amusement from pelting culprits there confined with overripe vegetables and we are told, in the reminiscent notes of one who was a boy at the time of the Revolution, that “the whipping-post and pillory display was always on a market day—then the price of eggs went up much.” Such was the old Philadelphia Court House and very like it were the town houses and markets in the other Colonial cities. One good example of this type of building, still standing, is the brick portion of the market at Second and Pine streets, Philadelphia, which

nearly resembles the Georgian town houses that may yet be seen in quiet little English market towns. Very similar to this bit of Georgian excellence are the old Town Hall in Chester, Pennsylvania, and the Town Hall in Newcastle, Delaware.

In trying to form an adequate mental picture of the civic life of Colonial times, in relation to its architectural setting, we must not overlook the hostelries, theatres, schools and hospitals. The eighteenth century ordinary came into contact with the social and civic life of the period at every conceivable point. Thither came the most substantial citizens, there matters of public concern were discussed, meetings were held, entertainments were given, distinguished strangers were fêted and travellers found welcome hospitality. If one has a taste for poking about and nosing into out of the way nooks and corners, a voyage of discovery in some of our older cities will often be richly rewarded. On north Second street, in Philadelphia, one may still dive under arch-ways and find inn yards surrounded partly by balconied back buildings that stretch away in a string of offices and kitchens, partly by stables and waggon sheds. One almost feels that these inns have been transplanted bodily from old London, so like are they to their English prototypes and, we may incidentally add, in a much completer state of preservation. Just such inn yards as these served for theatres in Shakespeare’s day. It was from such inn yards, too, in the old staging days, that the mail coaches set out with cracking whip and blast of horn. The petty itinerant shows, that used to come occasionally to divert our Colonial forebears by the sight of a real live lion or bear or electric eel or any unusual creature that the showman had been able to acquire, availed themselves of the inn yards for exhibitions. In 1763, Elizabeth Drinker, then at Frankford, notes in her diary: “A lioness passed this road in ye morning. Paid 2d. for seeing her—a large ugly animal.” No doubt the “large ugly animal” had been previously exhibited in some of the inn yards on Second street, for out that thoroughfare passed all the traffic for New York and every place to the north.

Coffee houses, also, were favourite gathering places for conversation and refreshment and one of the most famous in Philadelphia—they were much the same in all the cities—was the London Coffee House or Bradford’s Coffee House, at the corner of Front and Market streets. It was built in 1702 and presented an interesting example of truly Colonial architecture in its striking brickwork, its penthouses and its jerkin-headed, gabled roof. It should be noted that the jerkin-head roof treatment, the plain survival of an English tradition, was to be found on a number of other early Pennsylvania buildings but the practice of building in this manner was soon discontinued. Watson in his “Annals” tells us that “at this Coffee House—the Governour and other persons of note ordinarily went at set hours to sip their coffee from the hissing urn, and some of these stated visitors had their known stalls. It was long the focus which attracted all manner of genteel strangers; the general parade was outside of the house under a shed of but common construction, extending from the house to the gutter way, both on the Front street and High street sides. It was to this, as the most public place, they brought all vendues of horses, carriages, groceries, &c., and above all, here Philadelphians once sold negro men, women and children as slaves.”

It is to be sincerely regretted that the London Coffee House, like its near neighbour the Provincial Hall, was torn down many years ago for, quite apart from its architectural interest, its historic associations were important and intimately connected not only with local events but with events that had a bearing upon the affairs of the whole country. One of these was the beginning of the opposition to the Tea Act which started in Philadelphia and not in Boston as is popularly supposed. “When the tax on tea was reduced to three pence per pound there seemed to be a general disposition to pay it. At this juncture, when the arrival of a fresh consignment from the East India Company was expected, William Bradford gathered at the Coffee House several citizens, whom he knew to be heartily opposed to the measures of the British Government, and together they drew up a set of spirited resolutions anent the tea question. On the following Saturday, October 16, 1773, a ‘large and respectable town-meeting,’ presided over by Doctor Thomas Cadwalader, was held at the State House and the resolutions were adopted enthusiastically. The same resolutions were almost immediately afterwards adopted, nearly word for word, by a town-meeting in Boston (November 5, 1773), where a disposition to receive the tea had become general, from an idea that an opposition to it would not be seconded or supported by any of the other Colonies.”

Until the middle of the eighteenth century, the American public had been without any organised effort to present dramatic performances and, consequently, there were no theatres to be numbered among public buildings before that time. Just after the middle of the century, however, a stock company came over from England and started upon a round of engagements in the different cities of the Colonies. By a portion of the people they were heartily welcomed but for the most part they met with an indifferent if not actively hostile reception. Nevertheless, despite all opposition, they persevered, and in time won an established position in the social life of the day. At first they made shift to get along with quarters improvised in storehouses or other buildings that might be temporarily adapted to their purpose but eventually it became necessary to have structures designed especially to meet their needs. In 1759 a small wooden theatre was built in South or Cedar street, Southwark, Philadelphia, but was used for only a brief period. Its place was soon taken by a second structure, substantially built of brick, farther up South street, above Fourth. This brick theatre was opened November 21, 1766, “and was the first permanent building used for theatrical purposes in America.” Both this building and its wooden predecessor were on the south side of South street and hence in Southwark, as the jurisdiction of the Philadelphia city authorities ended on the north side of that thoroughfare. There was more liberty of action in Southwark and both the first and second theatres were located there to escape the violent opposition of the powerful Quaker element which frowned upon dramatic performances and urged that “the practise of play-acting would be ‘attended by mischievous effects, such as the encouragement of idleness and drawing great sums of money from weak and inconsiderate persons.’”

To this Southwark theatre repaired all the wealth, beauty and fashion of Philadelphia, at that time the metropolis of the Colonies. There, until 1773, the “American Company” had its regular season and, despite Quaker hostility, Philadelphia was the most important theatrical centre of all the Colonial cities. During the acute troubles with the Mother Country prior to the outbreak of the Revolution and while that struggle was in progress the old stock company was driven from Philadelphia as most of its members were loyal British subjects. While the British occupation of Philadelphia lasted, Lord Howe’s officers gave amateur performances in the Southwark theatre, devoting the proceeds to the benefit of the “widows and orphans of the army.” The unfortunate Major André took an active part in these dramatic efforts, and not only acted but assisted in painting the scenery, and one drop curtain, bearing his name as artist, was used until it was destroyed by a disastrous fire in 1821. This circumstance and the fact that General Washington during his residence in Philadelphia, as President of the United States, frequently attended the performances, occupying one of the stage boxes above which the arms of the United States had replaced those of Great Britain, have lent an unusual interest to this first permanent American theatre. It was a rectangular building with a low pitched gable end towards the street front and devoid of any architectural pretension save three round headed windows above the door and a modest cupola on the ridge of the roof. Only the north wall of the old building still stands and is incorporated in the fabric of a distillery which occupies the site of the theatre.

In 1793, Charles Bulfinch built the first theatre in Boston and, in 1794, the “New Theatre” was opened in Philadelphia, at Sixth and Chestnut streets. It was designed in a far more pretentious and stately manner than the old Southwark theatre and showed the coming influence of the Classic Revival. In front was a long, pillared portico or arcade and the whole façade displayed a good deal of architectural enrichment of a formal kind. It may be regarded as thoroughly typical of the new architectural tendencies and representative of the best sort of play-houses that were erected for a number of years thereafter.

The Pennsylvania Hospital was the most notable eighteenth century structure of its kind and its sterling architectural excellence becomes ever increasingly apparent with the flight of years. The only attempts at embellishment are upon the central pavilion and are both well-considered and restrained. All the rest of the building was carried out with the extreme simplicity of the eastern wing which was the first portion to be built and was erected in 1753. One could not find anywhere a more striking example of the transforming power of a string course of contrasting colour upon a severely plain wall. The white string course, standing out in strong relief against the deep red brick walls and passing between the row of window heads on the ground floor and the window cills of the storey above it, communicates to an extremely plain exterior a charm and dignity of aspect that redeem it from the bald austerity of a factory or barracks. Save this string course and the cupola atop the roof, this oldest portion of the hospital and the corresponding west wing are devoid of architectural adornment but their just proportions and easy amplitude of dimensions are particularly satisfying to the eye.

Among the public buildings of the Colonial period, noteworthy both for their architectural character and for historic association, Carpenters’ Hall in Philadelphia, where the sessions of the first Continental Congress were held, demands the consideration of all patriotic Americans. Quite apart from its historic importance, Carpenters’ Hall challenges the admiration of every lover of Georgian architecture in its sturdiest manifestation. The State House in Annapolis, the Court House in Williamsburg, the Custom House in Charleston and other public edifices of similar character imparted to civic life in Colonial and post-Colonial days an element of dignity and poise.

The Classic Revival had one of its early significant manifestations in the buildings of the University of Virginia, a group for which we have to thank no less a person than Thomas Jefferson. The plan embodied the most comprehensive building scheme that had yet been essayed. To Jefferson’s discriminating architectural taste and conscientious devotion to his self-imposed task as architect and supervisor of the work we owe it that the University buildings worthily represent one of the best phases of revived classicism in America. There is a dignity and honesty in Jefferson’s conception of revived classicism and a thorough sincerity that often failed to appear in later work of the same school. The result achieved commands our respect and when we remember that the parts of plans and sections of details were jotted down on scraps of paper and the backs of scribbled memoranda we cannot help wondering what would have happened if the same seemingly careless and unsystematic course were pursued in our own day. It was doubtless the enthusiastic devotion of the architect and his constant supervision along with the conscientious efforts and pride of every artisan that saved the day as it did in so many other cases.

CHAPTER XII

CHURCHES OF THE COLONIAL PERIOD

For the sake of contrast, both historical and architectural, it will not be amiss to quote Captain John Smith’s account of the first Virginia place of worship so that we may fully realise the strides of progress made from the feeble Jamestown beginning in 1607. He says: “This was our church till we built a homely thing like a barne, set upon cratchets, covered with rafts, sedge and earth; so was the walls. The best of our houses [were] of like curiosity; but the most part far much worse workmanship, that neither could well defend [from] wind nor raine. Yet we had daily Common Prayer, morning and evening; every Sunday two sermons; and every three months the Holy Communion, till our minister died; but our prayers daily with an Homily on Sundaies we continued two or three years after till our preachers came.” The words “till our preachers came” mean, of course, the successors of the Rev. Mr. Hunt who had accompanied the expedition.

In tracing the history of the older parishes and congregations, it is the rule rather than the exception to find two or three successive houses of worship erected, as the means and growing numbers of the people made it possible or expedient, to replace former structures of meaner fabric which seem to have been regarded from the outset as merely temporary gathering places, meant to serve only until worthy edifices could be undertaken. Some of the earliest churches were merely block houses or forts, occasionally surrounded by stockades, proclaiming the ready physical as well as spiritual militancy of the worshippers within their walls, but these were abandoned so soon as the increasing prosperity and a greater sense of security from attacks by hostile savages warranted a more peaceful and comfortable type of building for religious purposes.

Of course, in the several parts of the Colonies, the character of the buildings erected for religious uses indicated the prevailing local ecclesiastical organisation. In the South, especially in Virginia and Maryland, where the Church of England was the recognised dominant body and Church and State were closely allied, we find the churches conforming to English ecclesiastical traditions. In the Middle Colonies, where religious liberty was freely permitted, we find a greater variety including the structures peculiarly adapted to the worship of the Church of England, Quaker meeting houses and the buildings designed to accommodate the different German sects. In theocratic New England, while Church of England edifices were to be met with now and again, the simple meeting house type, agreeable to the congregational form of worship, everywhere prevailed.

And now let us glance for a moment at the manner of people who frequented these churches Sunday after Sunday. We shall find among them the extremes of both worldly pomp and ostentation, on the one hand, and humble simplicity, on the other, as they went to the weekly discharge of their religious duties. Our Colonial forebears, however democratic some of them may have been in religious principle or however much some of them may have decried set ceremonial forms, were, almost without exception, great respecters of persons and in no way did they more fully display this common failing—it is just as prevalent in kindred forms at the present day—than in their methods of seating the congregations according to the accepted worth or dignity of the individual members.

In the South, the lords of the manors or the squires, just as in England, had their great square pews in the chancel or, perhaps, a whole transept would be reserved to their exclusive use for their family, dependants or tenants as was the case, for example, in Christ Church, Lancaster County, Virginia, where Robert (“King”) Carter, at whose charge the edifice was built, made such a reservation. The “King’s” own high panelled family pew, just before the pulpit, had a brass rail around the top from which hung damask curtains on all sides except that opposite the pulpit. This screened the occupants, when standing up, from the gaze of the rudely inquisitive.

Upon the removal of the seat of the Virginia government from Jamestown to Williamsburg, in 1699, Bruton Parish Church became the “court church” of the Colony and “official distinction was recognised and emphasized” in the order of seating. The historian of the parish, writing of the present building, which was completed in 1715, says: “To His Excellency the Governour and His Council of State was assigned a pew elevated from the floor, overhung with a red velvet canopy, around which his name was emblasoned in letters of gold, the name being changed as Spotswood, Drysdale, Gooch, Dinwiddie, Fauquier, Lord Botetourt and Lord Dunmore succeeded to office. In the square pews of the transepts sat the members of the House of Burgesses, the pews in the choir being assigned to the Surveyor General and the Parish Rector, while in the overhanging galleries in the transept and along the side walls of the church sat the Speaker of the House of Burgesses and other persons of wealth and distinction, to whom the privilege of erecting these private galleries was accorded from time to time.”

In city churches, because of the greater number of important folk, questions of precedence in seating were more perplexing than in the country. At Annapolis in St. Anne’s, in Christ Church at Philadelphia and also in the “court churches” in New York and Boston the Royal Governours’ pews were marked by appropriate symbols of the majesty of state, the royal arms carved in walnut that once hung above the Lieutenant Governour’s seat being still preserved at Christ Church in Philadelphia. The lesser dignitaries sat in due order becoming their station.

In New England it seems to have been the general custom in the earlier period for the men to sit on one side of the church and the women on the other. Afterwards, families sat together. In order to avoid bickering and contention about the order of precedence it was not an unusual thing to appoint a committee to “dignify the meeting.” The members of these committees were changed from time to time “in order to obviate any of the effects of partiality through kinship, friendship, personal esteem or debt.” A second committee was appointed to seat the members of the first committee according to their proper rank. In her charming book, “The Sabbath in Puritan New England,” Alice Morse Earle says:—