adoption of mediæval art in England, in the latter half of the 19th
century. This last is, to quote a well-known writer on art, 'the worship
of Gothic-run-mad' in architecture. It instals itself wherever it can,
in mediævally-devised houses, fitted up with mediæval chairs and tables,
presses and cupboards, wall papers, and window hangings, all 'brand-new,
and intensely old;' which feeds its fancy on old pictures and old
poetry, its faith on old legend and ceremonial, and would fain dress
itself in the garb of the 15th century--the natural reaction in a
certain class of minds against the mean and prosaic aspects of
contemporary work-a-day life.

The quiet contemplation of the old buildings in such towns as Pont
Audemer, Lisieux, and Bayeux, must, we should think, convince the most
enthusiastic admirers of the archaic school, that the mere isolated
reproduction of these houses in the midst of modern streets (such as we
are accustomed to in London or Paris) is of little use, and is, in fact,
beginning at the wrong end. It might occur to them, when examining the
details of these buildings, and picturing to themselves the lives of
their inhabitants, in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, that the
'forcing system' is a mistake--that art never flourished as an exotic,
and assuredly never will--that before we live again in mediæval houses,
and realise the true meaning of what is 'Gothic' and appropriate in
architecture, we must begin at the beginning, our lives must be simpler,
our costumes more graceful and appropriate, and the education of our
children more in harmony with a true feeling for art. In short, we must
be more manly, more capable, more self-reliant, and true to each other,
and have less in common with the present age of shams.

The very essence and life of Gothic art is its realism and truism, and
until we carry out its principles in our hearts and lives, it will be