BENNETT HOUSE, NEW BEDFORD, MASS.

Garden Front.

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE

A REVIEW OF DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE
ILLUSTRATED BY NINETY-SIX
HALF-TONE PLATES
BY
JOY WHEELER DOW
ARCHITECT

NEW YORK:
WILLIAM T. COMSTOCK
MCMIV

Copyright, 1904, By
Joy Wheeler Dow
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York

PREFACE

This review of American Renaissance originally appeared as a series of papers in the “Architects and Builders’ Magazine,” and the interest shown in them as they were brought out and the later inquiry for these numbers of the Magazine have led the publisher to suggest the propriety of putting them in more permanent shape.

With this in view the author has carefully collated the articles, added some new illustrations, and in some cases the plates have been enlarged where the subjects seemed worthy of fuller representation than was possible in the limited space allowed in the Magazine.

The book is intended to be an impartial outline history of American domestic architecture from Colonial times to the present day, and the salutary influence upon it of whatever has been good in past building epochs.

How well the subject has been presented, it remains for the readers of the following pages to judge.

The Author.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE

CHAPTER I
ETHICS

The magnificence of this subject, even of a single branch—the domestic phase—is disproportionate to a review in one volume, in the scope of which, I fear, I cannot achieve much more than a respectable introduction. But even an introduction, like the overture to an opera, is better begun at the beginning.

Civilized man, and especially one of Anglo-Saxon descent, is a home-loving creature. To him the dwelling-place stands for his most important institution. The arts, sciences and traditions he pursues, mainly as they are to minister unto it, and its fruition is the goal of life. About this dwelling-place, then, there must be a very great deal to be said, indissolubly associated as it is with everything in life worth having—one’s childhood, parents, children, wife, sweetheart, and next to these one’s own personal comfort—one’s hours of leisure and recreation. Therefore, just so much as domestic architecture departs in an impersonal, artificial way from whatever relates to or reflects these associations, just so much does it err—does it fail. It will be obvious, upon a moment’s consideration, that any cold-blooded practice or discussion of academic formulæ, alone, looking to the development of American domestic architecture, is hopelessly inefficient.

The home one builds must mean something besides artistic and engineering skill. It must presuppose, by subtle architectonic expression, both in itself and in its surroundings, that its owner possessed, once upon a time, two good parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, and so on; had, likely, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, all eminently respectable and endeared to him; that bienséance and family order have flourished in his line from time immemorial—there were no black sheep to make him ashamed—and that he has inherited heirlooms, plate, portraits, miniatures,

PLATE I.

IN AN OLD-TIME RENAISSANCE GARDEN.

THE GOVERNOR SMITH HOUSE, WISCASSET, ME.

pictures, rare volumes, diaries, letters and state archives to link him up properly in historical succession and progression. We are covetous of our niche in history. We want to belong somewhere and to something, not to be entirely cut off by ourselves as stray atoms in boundless space either geographical or chronological. The human mind is a dependent thing and so is happiness. We may not, indeed, have inherited the house we live in; the chances are we have not. We may not remember that either of our parents or any of our grandparents before us, ever gloried in the quiet possession of as ideal a homestead as is illustrated in [Plate I] to convey the atmosphere intended; but for the sake of goodness—for the sake of making the world appear a more decent place to live in—let us pretend that they did, and that it is now ours. Let us pretend that God has been so good to us, and that we have proved worthy of His trust. With this amount of psychological preparation, I believe it is possible for every cultivated American man or woman to approach the subject of American Renaissance architecture—domestic architecture—in the true spirit of understanding.

By American Renaissance I allude to no “American eclectic style.” That term “eclectic style,” which so frequently crops out in treatises upon architecture, were you to follow it up, would be found to signify, as a rule, merely American nonsense and aberration. And I suppose there is no nation which may show such an imposing array of architectural nonsense as the United States during the last fifty years of their independence. Certainly no nation has evolved a national style of architecture, intentionally, as is constantly urged upon American enterprise. Such a thing could have no historic value, while it could not escape being vulgar and monotonous. Characteristic architecture is of very slow development, and although there have been building epochs of remarkable activity, in none is the progress appreciable from year to year. American Renaissance differs from that of other countries only as it has been affected by the local conditions and requirements of America. Good Renaissance—I regret there is a sight of building that is bad—is like good-breeding, pretty much the same the world over, differentiated only by local color or custom.

PLATE II.

DOORWAY, WASHINGTON SQUARE NORTH, N. Y. CITY.

The predominant local color which distinguishes American Renaissance has been given to it by what has been our great national building commodity, i. e., wood. The Greeks and Romans built of stone when they had the money to pay for it, as does everybody else; otherwise, people in new countries fall back upon a less expensive material. Our less expensive material was wood. Both stone and wood have grain, and have to be used with the same careful regard to it. Whether we build our columns up of stone or wooden sections—latitudinal in the one case, longitudinal in the other—to support a cornice also constructed in sections according to the convenient sizes of commerce for the particular material, makes no difference to the canons of art so long as we are not trying to deceive or to imitate one material with another simply with that end in view. It is extremely doubtful if our American ancestors were ever guilty of premeditated deception. Their material was an honest material; it had to be fashioned in some way, why not after the manner of the Renaissance? In our own day of numerous short-comings in matters architectural it rarely enters the head to deceive upon this point. Notwithstanding the tremendous resources now at command we yet prefer wooden columns to stone ones for dwelling-houses. As national wealth has increased, however, there has been that natural tendency, of course, to carve the Renaissance details of stone, and the white marble porches of Washington square, North (see example, [Plate II]) may be cited as splendid bits of American Renaissance. But if we go further, and by reason of accumulated affluence erect the entire structure of the new Colonial house in stone—columns, cornices, window and door casings, etc., strange to say we lose an indefinable charm—a certain warmth and personality with which American history has invested wood. Besides, the fashion and style of Renaissance motive and detail is as suitable to wood as it is to stone; and if the first named material is not quite so durable it is much more easily repaired and replaced.

In English Renaissance, local conditions commonly restricted the use of wood to the interiors. In American Renaissance, the plenitude of this material enabled the Colonial builders to use it for the outside as well,

PLATE III.

PICKERING HOUSE, SALEM.

Erected A. D. 1649.

COLE HOUSE, FARMINGTON, CONN.

and with great advantage, for it permitted the Colonist to elaborate the elevations of his dwelling, gaining thereby warmth, cheerfulness and grace, and all easily within his means. Without the slightest danger of bankruptcy he could proceed to embellish the curtilage with arched gateways, ornamental fences, terrace rails and summer-houses ad lib. I have selected, to suggest such amplification, the photograph of an old-time Renaissance garden in the rear of the Watkinson house at Middletown, Connecticut ([Plate I]), also the photograph of an ancient house at Farmington ([Plate III]). The latter has a beautiful Renaissance gateway which would be an impossibility in stone. I believe it is called the “Cole house,” and that its owner is a cousin of President Roosevelt. It serves my purpose, too, on another count—its color scheme. I am not prepared to say just why two particular shades of common brown paint should be so effective for certain kinds of Colonial houses. Certainly, this one frankly disavows any allegiance to architectural stonework. It fairly proclaims itself to be a wooden building, while all we can say is that those unerring sensibilities within us by which we distinguish right from wrong are satisfied beyond the shadow of doubt, and so we have no great need to question the whys and wherefores upon a purely ethical point. In Salem, Massachusetts, there are numerous examples of brown Colonial houses. Extremely effective in themselves, they make the most beautiful photographs imaginable ([see Plate IV]). Within the radius of a few squares you may obtain half a dozen equally charming glimpses of Colonial scenery. Indeed, if you want atmosphere, and plenty of it—go to Salem.

Had America been settled and colonized two centuries earlier, under a Tudor king, most likely there would have been a Gothic influence in the early work. It is difficult to know in our day how it could possibly have been exploited in wood, and there is no excuse for our attempting anything of the kind at this time of unlimited resources in the building trade. Battlements, keeps and moats were Feudal protectory measures, and would have been worse than useless constructed of anything inflammable. About the only legitimate Gothic architecture expressed in wood which

PLATE IV.

IF YOU WANT ATMOSPHERE AND PLENTY OF IT, GO TO SALEM.

HISTORIC ATMOSPHERE IN A MODERN DWELLING.

“Silvergate,” Summit, N. J. (1901.)

has stood the test of time, is represented by the 17th and 18th century châlets of Switzerland, and I doubt if even Yankee ingenuity could have evolved anything half so good. As a matter of fact we have no ancient Gothic exemplars. It is said that the old Pickering house on Broad Street in Salem, built A.D. 1649 ([see Plate III]), was a replica in wood of a Jacobean tavern in England, namely, the Peacock Inn, Derbyshire. The venerable dwelling at Salem has passed through many vicissitudes, and in 1842, when the influence of John Ruskin was so misused in America, the Pickering house was largely remodeled, so that it is impossible to say, to-day, how successful an adaptation of Jacobean work this was. But even Jacobean architecture is scarcely Gothic architecture since England incorporates it with all the rest of her Renaissance.

Sir Christopher Wren was supreme upon the architectural stage of England when the prosperity of the American colonies was sufficient to warrant the academic study of domestic architecture upon this side of the Atlantic, and Sir Christopher was the very life of the English Renaissance in its stricter sense. During this great history-making epoch, the giant forests of America came into excellent play for following out—if often in a crude and kind of miniature way—whatever the prodigious architect executed in stone. There was no bit of classic detail from either Athens or Rome, transmitted to London through what I may call the “Florentine Clearing-house” presided over by Palladio, Sansovino, Scammozzi and their contemporaries, but what could be carved more readily in wood; and time and history have thrown a glamour over all this wooden development of ours, and established its right of succession with a hall-mark.

But the main point in favor of Renaissance architecture, it must be remembered, was that it lent itself extremely well to the Anglo-Saxon home-feeling. It emanated from a land that had reached the pinnacle of attainment in the arts of peace—Italy—and it was so easy to fashion and make minister to most Anglo-Saxon home requirements. Luckily, the Colonial builders were conservative artificers, neither so clever nor so restless as this generation, or they, certainly, could not have resisted the eloquence of false prophets and knavish architectural promoters and fakirs who came their way. And we should have been deprived of our illustrious inheritance, which, happily, cannot be taken from us now.

Fortunately for American architecture, Sir Christopher Wren was what we would call in our vernacular “all right.” He had a good thing, an inexhaustible mine for supplying ideas for all manner of buildings, and he worked it for the best interests of all concerned. His reputation and success have fired many a modern, would-be Wren to dare to try the experiment of some rival kind of architecture. Such is the aspect we have now of the late H. H. Richardson and his Romanesque style (Plate V).

Trinity Church in Boston was a superb design when it was finished, and continues to be so to-day. But its best influence, I fear, has been perverted forever. A quarter of a century ago Richardson was hailed as an apostle equal with Wren, and America went mad, not in a Romanesque revival, but in a carnival of it, by which I mean to say it was burlesqued. It is sad to reflect that such a genius as the man who designed the church in Boston should have allowed himself to succumb to the wiles of the flatterers enough to be drawn into the disgraceful saturnalia which followed so close upon his brilliant début.

Now the home of the Romanesque was not Florence. It pretended to nothing of the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent, which, if it stood for anything, was elegant living. Mediæval, benighted south of France was the home proper of the Romanesque, and its proper medium of expression—churches, cloisters, and monasteries. What could such a style of architecture contribute to the Anglo-Saxon home? Absolutely nothing. And when Trinity Church was finally completed, Richardson had practically exhausted everything there was in the newly borrowed style. He could have gone on, probably, raising ecclesiastic edifices, designing an occasional library or two in good form, without directly cribbing from his masterpiece; but neither he nor his imitators—and they were legion—cared a fig for the ethics or proprieties of architecture. They appear to have been actuated alone by the same principles of expediency which govern the

PLATE V.

SHIRLEY-ON-THE-JAMES. See Chapter V.

AMERICAN ROMANESQUE DWELLING, BY AN IMITATOR OF RICHARDSON.

Date about 1890.

“New Art” movement. They invented an exaggerated architectural grammar, without doubt derived from the old mediæval cathedrals in the south of France, but so vulgarized as to establish a clear case of libel for those eminently respectable prototypes. This grammar the rabid reformers proceeded to apply to every kind of secular building in America, finally to American dwelling-houses themselves. They did not reckon with their grandparents for an instant, not they. They apparently took the keenest delight in walking rough-shod over every sacred home memory. They openly insulted the very ancestors to whom they owed existence. But the balance of good and evil there is in the world cannot be disturbed so suddenly or arbitrarily. Outraged history was not slow to assert itself, and after a while would have no more of the dwelling-house Romanesque. I regret to say that Richardson’s imitators were not the last of their race, and that there have been other and as rabid architectural reformers, of whom I shall speak in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II
ART AND COMMERCIALISM

Not very long ago two enterprising architects in a Western State succeeded in inventing a characteristic style of architecture of some merit. I do not know its name. I am not sure that it has any. But as it is likely to be somewhat in vogue for several years to come, I may as well print herewith a simple recipe for combining its essential elements:

Recipe: First, you must endeavor to find some valuable fragment of ancient Greece or Rome, preferably a pedestal for a statue, base of a column, or even the shaft itself and capital, which should not be too attenuated, however, and is to be translated, if necessary, from a cylindrical form into a rectangular one. Now, here is the scheme:

Punch your elevations full of rectangular holes in seemly rows, divide them into latitudinal sections by

PLATE VI.

DOORWAY, BRISTOL, R. I.

several belt courses of East Indian flat-carving, and bore a semi-circular opening or a series of them (they may be semi-ellipses if preferred) upon the ground line or the projected edifice to afford a mode of ingress and egress corresponding, proportionately, to the same convenience designed for bees in a bee-hive. Next, pour in Alice in Wonderland’s “Drink me” elixir to make it grow, and await results of the magic drug. This is the critical moment. All must work harmoniously, and, having reached the height limit imposed by the elevator manufacturer, perhaps, quickly cap the building with some red, corrugated tiles, if you choose, in the form of a Moresque roof, ornament with lantern and flagstaff, and, behold!—the charm operates!—the great American “sky-scraper” of a commercial city has been achieved.

It is not within the province of this review to enter into a discussion of the problem of housing commercialism. It is odd that nobody hints how posterity is going to laugh at us, censure our cupidity, and eventually raze every one of our hideous “sky-scrapers” that shall be left standing. It is odd that the present congestion of Manhattan as a crime against decency, with all the idle land that is adjacent and available, is not painfully manifest in this so-called year of grace MCMIV. But it is within the province of this review to say that whenever the soaring kind of architecture precipitated itself upon the Anglo-Saxon dwelling-house there was a tremendous crash and revolution. It was telescoped, it was flattened—grotesquely flattened, but still it was remarkable for ingenuity, for cleverness, and, above everything, for novelty, as would be a dwelling-house loaned by another planet. So strange, indeed, this newly-invented architecture grew that it became simply impossible to prevail upon ancestral ghosts, legends and folk-lore, that habitually are part and parcel of the habitation of man, to have anything to do with a device à la mode that appeared to be in every way so very much better suited to the needs of a Roman bath-house after the manner of Alma Tadema. The following lines from Edgar Allan Poe’s “Ulalume” may aptly express the injured feelings of those sentimental amenities:

“Oh, hasten!—oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must.”

PLATE VII.

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE.

PLATE VIII.

THE NEWLY INVENTED ARCHITECTURE.

EASTOVER TERRACE AND PERISTYLE.

For convenient reference of the reader a sample of this newly-invented architecture is respectfully submitted ([Plate VIII]), and a very clever sample it is. The inventors of the style themselves could have done no better; only the irresistible melancholy in the rhyming of Poe’s poem is not easily put out of the head, especially when, as in this case, it happens to be extremely appropriate. So let us continue:

“And we passed to the end of a vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb—
By the door of a legended tomb.”

Certainly it is unfamiliar environment from which one’s mind naturally reverts to his childhood (you must have had a childhood)—reverts to the wondrous houses we visited in the impressionable days of long ago. Ah, they were a very different kind of houses, were they not?—houses with significance, houses with personality, if building material may ever be said to incorporate that. They had a history to tell. They had legends, too. As we think of them they seem to have been literally covered with legends, some of them cut with the jack-knife deep in the attic timbers. But they were all legends that appeal to happiness. They were not the legends of tombs. And the old sensations come back to us again. Perhaps it is just as the afternoon light begins to fail so that we can no longer read, and the sunset is very beautiful.

No, no, the vagaries of geometrical invention will never supplant those first loves!

For you, then, when your lamp is lighted—I hope it is not the dazzling, 16-candle-power electric bulb of commercialism, made still further terrifying by a gorgeous glass globe—for you I have a treat in store to soothe the nerves the newly-invented architecture has indescribably rasped. It is a “sure enough” old-fashioned house. To borrow the style of Ik Marvel in his “Reveries of a Bachelor,” I can see how you will carefully put this book where you will not miss it to show your architect in the morning. You will remember the number of the page that you do not waste the time of a busy professional man in finding the place; and this is about what you will say to him: “I do not know how good the architecture is, that

PLATE IX.

EASTOVER.

The Garden Front.

A modern development of Annapolitan architecture under the Colonial régime in Anne Arundel County, Maryland. Time of George II.

the old house on Benefit Street in Providence represents ([Plate VII]); but I do know it has just the atmosphere that reaches the inner man, and that is the atmosphere I want.”

But not every architect is able to give you this atmosphere ([Plate X]). None of the architectural schools teach it, and commercialism in some form usually doles out the architect’s bread and butter, so that he is accustomed in his work to reduce your proposition to a cold calculation of so much house for so much money. He is made to smile grimly (with Mr. R. H. Davis’s kind permission) over what he considers your sentimental impracticality, then says: “We build houses by the cubic foot, you know.” And after the size, position, number of rooms, etc., are determined, then, whatsoever art may be applied just as well as not without materially adding to the cost is made to serve as the meek handmaid of commercialism; and I must say of this applied art as we see it every day, exemplified in America, it certainly looks the part.

All through the Berkshires, wherever a commanding eminence rises in the midst of natural loveliness, the bristling odd conceits—they are not art—of the prodigious captain of industry who has made his money by always “driving three in a buggy,” testifies that even in his dwelling-place he calculates to get the worth of every dollar, and every dollar is made to show—a veritable monument to his commercial sagacity. But to my mind, Sharon in Connecticut, which lies some fifty miles, perhaps, to the southward of the Berkshires, is the most beautiful inland village we have in New England. Architecturally, it is not remarkable either for good or bad work; but toward the lower end of the main street there is one startling beauty in the fabric of the John Cotton Smith manse. (See illustrations, Plates [X] and [XXXIV].) As an appreciative tenant is about vacating, I suppose the envious eyes of commercialism will soon light upon this charming exemplar of Colonial days with an idea of adding extensions, verandas or what not to make it “real stylish like.” But for once, commercialism will be disappointed, for I am told that money will not buy the Cotton Smith house.

The despoiler of beautiful landmarks, however, is

PLATE X.

NOT EVERY ARCHITECT IS ABLE TO GIVE YOU THIS ATMOSPHERE.

MONEY WILL NOT BUY THE COTTON SMITH HOUSE.

rarely idle. He knocks first at one door, and then at the next. New houses or old, it makes no difference so long as the design be good, and worth spoiling. The Cotton Smith mansion is one bright particular exception that goes to prove the rule, for, ordinarily, commercialism suffers no rebuke, and especially is this true of New York City. Here, whatever commercialism wants it takes without more ado. A “sky-scraper” would pay the owners of the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighteenth Street much better than the admirable and famous twin mansions ([Plate XI]), that until lately occupied the site, so this good architecture was promptly sacrificed to an object which is sordid and mean.

But into what absurdities will the all-worshipful rate per cent. theory, which is conducive of such splendid quantity and such meagre quality, not eventually lead us? Already, we have a “flat-iron building” which I have seen measured by art standards in a contemporary review. I mean to say that such a thing was, in all good faith, attempted. We find the opinion expressed that the “flat-iron building” was a necessity, and as a necessity we should endeavor to make art harmonize with it somehow. In all the hardness of our hearts we accept the greedy commercial theory, as the people of Moses accepted the divorce bill, that “sky-scrapers” are a necessity; but they are not. We should be unquestionably better off without them. They are only the lame device of the epoch in which we live to facilitate business until such time as we shall interfere with our neighbor’s daylight beyond all endurance, and here we must perforce desist. Well, one may toady to commercialism himself, if he likes—if he conceives that such a course is really going to be to his advantage; but he cannot make art do it.

To the contrary, art is itself a very jealous god, and does not permit the serving of two masters, at least, two such antithetical masters as itself and commercialism. Art demands that there shall be, first, a sinking fund absolutely within its own control, irrevocable, and forever charged off the commercial ledger. Commercialism has no adequate sum of money that is available for the purpose. Because we define art as dexterity and as cunning, we have been determined to make it fit the exigencies of commercialism; but we

PLATE XI.

VICTIMS OF COMMERCIALISM.

The Belmont Houses, Fifth Ave. and 18th St.

CHIMNEY-PIECE, AMERICAN RENAISSANCE, MODERN.

Designed by T. Henry Randall, Architect.

PLATE XII.

THE SIMPLICITY OF ART.

The Wadsworth House, Middletown, Conn.

EFFLORESCENCE OF COMMERCIALISM.

have not succeeded. It is, indeed, a grand misfit, because we do not define art rightly. Yet people appear not to want to divine the true definition, no doubt on account of a well-founded premonition that it is going to be an unequivocal rebuke to the selfishness that exacts a certain rate per cent. of return out of everything. Commercialism may defer, but cannot defeat, the enevitable. Art means charity. Now if it were only that kind of charity which the lexicon of commercialism defines as the giving of tithes of whatever a man possesses to the poor, we could still manage as did a certain rich young man we have read about in the lesson. And like him, not being entirely satisfied in our consciences nor with results, we could demand, as did he, what we yet lack, what latent phase of cunning we have overlooked? And it will then become our turn to be the exceeding sorrowful party, for there is no cunning about it. What this generation yet lacks—we have quite everything else—is a sufficiency of the vast, comprehensive form of charity that was intended to be the end and object of every life. That is the synonym of art.

CHAPTER III
THE ANCIENT RÉGIME AND—ANDREW JACKSON

Veneration for ancestors, and for what ancestors knew, has not been regarded as an American virtue. Yet there was a time entirely beyond the memory of this generation when traditions were religiously handed down and respected in America. It is heresy to suppose that the Colonial builders were au fait in the science of æsthetics. They were not. There was more excuse for ignorance upon their part than there is for ignorance upon ours; but architecture as a fine art was as little understood by the farmer at large in pre-revolutionary times as is evidenced by the modern farmer whose concrete ideas upon the subject are so charmingly set forth in the curiosity I have been fortunate to secure for this chapter ([Plate XVIII]). Only, no Colonial farmer would have dared to perpetuate such originality, even though he dreamed it in his

PLATE XIII.

MANTELPIECE, AMERICAN RENAISSANCE. EPOCH 1806.

BOTH NAME AND IDENTITY OF ITS DESIGNER HAVE IN ALL PROBABILITY BEEN IRRETRIEVABLY MISLAID IN OBLIVION, BUT HE WAS AN ARCHITECT.

Orne-Ropes’ House, Salem.

dreams, which is the only way he could possibly have conceived it. The unalienable right of the American citizen to build whatever he pleases has precedents running backward only to the 4th of March, 1829, when that popular hero, General Andrew Jackson, was inaugurated. This appears to have been the red-flag signal of license for all the vast output of American Jacobin architecture, which, of course, is not to be confused with the Jacobean of England, the seemingly innocent contraction of the suffix having the effect of a disenchanter’s wand.

Previous to this advent of rabid democracy there lingered a vestige of a certain code of social restrictions which once regulated architecture almost as absolutely as it did the private affairs of every family in the land. Once upon a time the house-builder would have no more thought of departing from what I shall call “the straight and narrow path” of precedent in architecture than he would have been guilty of a religious defection such as wilfully absenting himself from meeting, or an ethical defection such as purposely remaining single. This abrogation of personal liberty bore rather roughly, perhaps, upon the individual; but it was the very salvation of architecture, being the censorship to which we are indebted for whatever true inspiration we are enabled to draw out of the Colonial exemplars. “Precept” was the word upon which the American Renaissance was founded. The Colonial builders builded as they were taught to build, not as they may have wished to experiment. And let us see, for a moment, who their masters were, that we may be in a position to understand something of the reason for their success.

While, in olden times, the architect and the builder were often united in the same person, it must have been a very differently equipped individual from the one who awaits his customers behind the pretentious signboard thus lettered which nowadays adorns the front of many a contractor’s place of business; because this legend has come to mean extreme mediocrity in both callings. Nor does the word “architect” alone signify everything it should in a great commercial era such as ours. I have heard the head draughtsman of a noted modern architectural office in New York City distinguish one of his principals from the other partners

PLATE XIV.

DOORWAY, MEANS’ HOUSE, AMHERST, N. H.

of the firm by a very significant expression, viz.: “Mr. —— is an architect.” And I am constrained to discriminate with equal severity when I see the illustration or the usual “modern American house,” so called, placed in “deadly parallel column” beside a Colonial exemplar erected a century ago. Nobody, as a rule, can inform us who made the drawings of our fascinating prototype. Both name and identity of its designer have, in all probability, been irretrievably mislaid in oblivion; but he was an architect! (See [Plate XIII]).

In some recent and necessary researches for this and other work I have run across the names of a few of these architects. Their biographies are not to be found in libraries, though they merit shelf-room beside those of our greatest heroes, statesmen and authors. Samuel McIntyre of Salem, Massachusetts, and Russell Warren of Bristol, Rhode Island, respectively, are two I could mention in particular that should be done up in full levant with notes and comments upon their work and times, edited by Mr. Russell Sturgis or some one else equally competent to do so. And then the fun of it was that many a most refined and skilful artificer of the ancient régime never considered the propriety of adding the word “Architect” to his subscription. I suppose he fancied he lacked his diploma or the requisite reputation afforded by some stupendous public work. Yet, Fouquet with his celebrated Vaux le Vicomte, or Louis XIV at Versailles had no better architectural advice than had the colonists of America. The greatest architects of the world really directed the planning of the Colonial houses. Unseen, the masterhands and minds were working through the agency of deferential and obedient apprentices.

These apprentices essayed no—what boys denominate—“stunts” ([see Plate XV]), and their masters, to whom they frequently served life-long apprenticeships, affected no “stunts” either. Sir Christopher Wren, himself, and Inigo Jones never tried “stunts” nor did Palladio in Italy, before them, nor even the great Michelangelo. Now, if there ever was an architect justified in exploiting “stunts” it was Michelangelo, to whom marble or pigments, chisels or brushes were as subservient as to magic. But what did this

PLATE XV.

THESE APPRENTICES ESSAYED NO STUNTS.

Munro-French House, Bristol, R. I. A. D. 1800.

AN ANCIENT FARMHOUSE AT DURHAM, CONN.

architectural giant do when summoned to Rome to look after the construction of St. Peter’s? In the eyes of American commercialism, he made a goose of himself, he simply missed the chance of his life. He waived jealousy, he waived ambition, patronage and emolument because he preferred the serving of God and of his art to the serving of self. Fancy such a thing in our day! Michelangelo requested that all the plans of his illustrious predecessor, Bramante, the original designer of the cathedral, be brought to him: and fully appreciating the responsibility of the complex work that had descended to him by the rightful heirship of true art, Michelangelo emphatically declared he conceived it to be his duty to carry forward Bramante’s design, and, moreover, that wherever the intercedent tinkers had departed from this design, just so much had they erred. How strange this policy sounds placed in contrast to the ethics of American expediency! No doubt, the mighty Renaissance fabric at Rome has lost inestimably because this remarkable man could not live to complete it. In our day, we have changed all that. The main chance is not now art—it is money. We are still the America of Martin Chuzzlewit plus population. Our greatest architect is our greatest “stunt-master” and bears to American commercialism the same relationship that a certain society leader bears to his equally noted patroness. And it does not require the perspicacity of a Voodoo woman either, to see how ephemeral, in comparison to the ages of good architectural development, is this modern American extravaganza, which, not unlike the airy creatures who enjoyed existence in the dream of the White-King in Lewis Carroll’s classic, “Through the Looking Glass,” is liable to go out of vogue bang! at any moment, upon his majesty’s—or rather upon true art’s—awakening.

In [Plate XV] there is presented a type of American farm-house of the early eighteenth century. Engraved upon a tablet let into the front wall of the chimneystack appears the impressive date 1727. This house is still standing in an admirable state of preservation nearby a quaint old village called Durham, in Connecticut. It was erected by a man named Miles Merwin, and a lineal descendant of its builder still occupies it. When he visited this house last summer the interior

PLATE XVI.

SO FAR AS TEACHING ARCHITECTURAL ART IS CONCERNED, IT MUST BE ADMITTED OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS HAVE BEEN A DEAD FAILURE.

TYPE OF FARMHOUSE, EPOCH END OF 18TH CENTURY.

impressed the writer fully as much as the exterior. It seemed to me that the same influence came back again that rushed over my senses when first I beheld the worn steps to the royal tombs at Westminster. It was so very old and replete with atmosphere! It had so much history to tell that one’s most natural inclination was to sit down quickly upon the roughly hewn doorsteps bedabbled by streaks of sunlight filtering through the foliage, and just listen. Ah, how ridiculous it would be to imagine that the wonderfully satisfying lines of the roof, the delicious overhang of the gable, the relationship of the stone chimney and the proportions generally were evolved by Miles Merwin himself, out of a printed book upon the æsthetics of design! For neither Miles Merwin nor his master-builder may be said to have originated the house they erected. I do not fancy, for one moment, that they ever contemplated such an ill-advised departure from precedent. They had been taught how to construct three or four different kinds of roofs, and they simply selected the one most suitable to the needs of this case. It was the influence and teaching of more than one great architect that designed the ancient farm-house at Durham. And now you need no longer conjecture why Colonial architecture is so good and remains in fashion. You know.

Select, if you please, the detail of the hooded entrance. A modern house-builder requested to supply some unique shelter for the doorway would understand you to mean that you wished him to invent something which, by the way, is a task infinitely agreeable to the modern practitioner. It is safe to aver that the adviser of Miles Merwin, whoever he was, had never invented anything in his life. He would not have dared to try the experiment in architecture, at any rate, more than had he been the indentured apprentice of a Florentine architect. Although I can, very easily, imagine him quoting his grandsire that this particular kind of hood he was recommending to his principal, with its deep cornice, was an exceptionally rigid and durable one. The truth of which observation time has sufficiently demonstrated. It was “Old Hickory” who issued the emancipation proclamation to young America absolving him from the time-honored and universal fealty to Art. But young America was deceived; it was a

PLATE XVII.

PERISTYLE TO A HOUSE IN WYOMING, N. J., 1897.

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE, 1899.

campaign lie. Young America was not emancipated at all. Another master was set over him, and that master was unrelenting expediency, who forthwith usurped the throne of deposed art. Perhaps we are just beginning to suspect the ruse after seventy-five years of license and anarchy in art matters. What we did was simply to exchange a legitimate sovereign for a coarse, unlettered and brutal demagogue, of whom every American, young and old, by this time, should be heartily ashamed.

And I think the present generation is somewhat ashamed notwithstanding the fact that our modern system of public instruction, liberal as it purports to be, is painfully lame in the department of the arts. They are like so many sealed books to the scholars who are expected to shape our history. The policy of Donna Inez in Byron’s great epic was to withold natural history only from her son’s course of studies. Our policy is to disseminate all the natural history available. The mixed class in physiology recites its lessons unblushingly. We encourage the sciences. The farmer builds his house, to-day, with the best of sanitary arrangements; they are nearly perfect, he installs hot-water heaters and electric lights, he keeps in touch with the moving procession upon all points save one.—What does he know about Art and American Renaissance?

The example of modern farm-house ([Plate XVI]) herewith respectfully submitted indicates the modern farmer’s limitations. So far as teaching architectural art is concerned, it must be admitted that our public schools have been a dead failure.

But let us not look upon these things too gloomily, and lest the reader, by this time, discover some sinister intention upon my part to slur the memory of the hero of New Orleans, I wish to state that, personally, I have only the greatest respect and admiration for a man who positively refused to be frightened. Like Napoleon, Jackson was unquestionably the man for the hour—the times, and devilishly bad times they must have been by 1837 to have grown inimical to the very commercial interests that had let them loose. By their aid, however, are we not permitted to see ourselves somewhat as others see us, so at last, we shall have discovered the true mission of these times in the economy of art?

PLATE XVIII.

DETAIL, PRINCESSGATE. 1896.

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not, the Pierian spring;
For shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again.

PLATE XIX.

WYCK, GERMANTOWN. EPOCH, A. D. 1700.

“The charm that is not deducible by mathematics.”—Miss Polly Fairfax.

CHAPTER IV
HUMBLE BEGINNINGS OF A NATIONAL SCHOOL

It is unfair to place these humble beginnings of American Renaissance beside such highly developed architecture, for example, as English “Country Life” exploits week after week, under its heading of “Country Homes, Gardens, Old and New” as to make one believe that England must have an unlimited store for the magazine to draw upon. And this is all the more remarkable because one’s recollection of English landscape as it reveals itself through windows of the railway carriages along the main routes of travel—especially along the Great Eastern road from London to Kings Lynn—distinguishes it little from that uninteresting stretch of country which lies between Trenton and New Brunswick on the Pennsylvania railroad. Evidently, all these magnificent halls were erected long before the advent of railways, and are in no way affiliated with the vulgar wake of commercialism. Accessibility, which governs so largely in America, must be a matter of supreme indifference to possessors of great estates in England, or, it seems to me, the railway lines would meander in such a manner as closely to skirt the confines of a magnificent demesne, occasionally. It is unfair to a country whose visible architectural development is barely two centuries old to bring it in contrast with one where no building is really ancient without a history dating backward three or four hundred years, at least.

We, perhaps, fancy we have in America some modern country estates quite worth while mentioning and which might easily withstand the odious ordeal of comparison; but can the reader name one in the same category with such a country seat as is illustrated in “Country Life” for July 12, 1902, described as “Osmaston Manor, Derbyshire” ([Plate XXVI])?—and this is a number of the periodical picked up without especial selection—“Biltmore,” in the North Carolina mountains, possibly, with the H. W. Poor house at Tuxedo, New Jersey, as an alternate choice, one French

PLATE XX.

“Extremely humble, yet genteel.”

DOORWAY, PHILADELPHIA CLUB.

13th and Walnut Streets.

Renaissance, the other Jacobean. But certainly, Newport, with its miserable crowding and elbowing of American pretentiousness, much of the pretentiousness belonging to the modern invention type of architecture, offers no comparison at all. The Hunnewell gardens and some others we have seen photographed and discussed of late look more like tree nurseries than Renaissance gardens, while nearly all the modern American show places illustrated from time to time in the different magazines deal only with that primitive kind of splendor indigenous to provinces.

No, we may not compare American Renaissance after this manner. We are entirely too young a nation for that kind of architecture which presupposes a renowned antiquity which we lack. But what we may do becomingly is to select the homely and humble cottages of Great Britain, such cottages as the one we are shown where lived the poet Robert Burns, for instance. Place those, if you please, beside the farmhouses of our Colonial régime, and then you may be surprised to find we have something to be proud of, even though it be the fashion to belittle these essentially good antecedents by modern architectural scholars. I am reminded herein of the story that is told of a noted professor of music—Kullak, who, having discovered that the number on the programme which the orchestra had rendered to the great delight of everyone, was a Strauss waltz (it must have been one of the less known as “Autumn Leaves,” it could not have been the hackneyed “Blue Danube,” which has been so much overrated), turned to his pupils, ever loyal to their master’s prejudices, beside him, and furtively whispered, “Well, don’t say anything about it, boys; but it’s awfully nice!” The sentiment thus expressed is the cultivated sentiment of the average architect toward the early Renaissance of America. He appears to be constrained by some artificial position—some pedantic make-believe that allows him to acknowledge the merit of a Witch-Colonial exemplar ([see Plate XXI]), with only the poorest kind of grace.

But I have already explained why the old stuff remaining in America is so “awfully nice” as to charm all unprejudiced artists who have studied our history, so that mystery about it, I trust, need be no

PLATE XXI.

DERBY-WARD HOUSE, SALEM, MASS. 17TH CENTURY.

SOUVENIR OF ABIGAIL AND DELIVERANCE HOBBS (TWO ALLEGED WITCHES), OF TOPSFIELD, MASS. 17TH CENTURY.

longer. The paramount business in hand is to get rid of American nonsense, to put it entirely out of the head, if possible, that nothing may stand in the way of returning meekly and in a receptive spirit to those ancient and honorable first principles of ours which were unerring. This surgical-like operation accomplished, let us see what may be done with the Derby-Ward house, erected A.D. 1680 in Salem (Plate XXI), to make it habitable, convenient and desirable to-day.

At this stage of the art of house-building, upon which subject there has been so much written and published, an architect would yet be considered plumb crazy who had the temerity to submit such a picture to a prospective client as the kind of house best suited to his needs. Yet, why not? Has the reader no imagination? Can he not see how, given a generous forecourt, with prim flower beds, a brick walk and box, this frowning prototype of “Scarlet Letter” morals and punishment would take on a very different aspect, its repelling severity mollified by a little gracious environment? And we do not stop here, by any means. We make a feature of the entrance, either by the aid of a true witch entry or a bewitching hood shadowing a roughly-hewn platform resting upon a wide step, say 16 inches, returned on two sides—the inviting kind. We repair the cornice and embellish the overhang with moulded or turned drops at effective intervals. We re-knit the rifts in the single chimney, making a clustered stack of it above the roof. We flank the main edifice with a becoming woodshed which deft handling will transform into a most delightful loggia. And then we visit the nearby shop of an upholsterer. If the tiny panes of glass in the windows have become through age iridescent, more delicate than that of Tiffany favrile manufacture, so much the better for the figured dimity or the bobbinet we intend to hang against them, perpendicularly, not looped, but simply hemmed, and with deep valance. By this time the scheme will have easily dawned upon the mind of the sceptical onlooker. No longer does he adjudge us entirely crazy. Why, no; we commence to be artists now—indeed, magicians! He quotes Kullak, involuntarily.

We have ordered a hot-water heater installed, likewise sanitary plumbing, and a range, these being the

PLATE XXII.

THE PIRSSON COTTAGE, WYOMING, N. J. MODERN HOUSE WITH GERMANTOWN HOOD.

MODERN COTTAGE WITH A DUTCH HOOD.

only contracts we have signed with modern invention. All the rest has been of the most conservative architectonic development.

“But the plans! One has to live in the house after it is built, you know. Can you make it liveable with only the one chimney, and that in the very centre?” we are asked. I think we can. Let me submit one solution of the problem, at any rate, and you are quite at liberty to take it home and improve upon it as much as you please.

These Witch-houses are the pioneers of the procession. Nothing older than they has been able to withstand the vicissitudes of our erratic climate’s racket, though contemporary with them are the early houses of Connecticut, which have been admirably described in a book by Norman M. Isham, A.M., and Albert F. Brown. The Sumner house at Middletown, illustrated herewith ([Plate XXIV]), exhibits a method of construction which I believe is peculiar to the State of Connecticut alone. It consists of a 3-inch offset at the second story, and continuing around the four sides, the gables projecting 3 inches more. A great central

A MODERN DEVELOPMENT OF WITCH-HOUSE—PLAN

PLATE XXIII.

GERMANTOWN MOTIVE APPLIED TO A MODERN COTTAGE.

TYPE OF EARLY CONNECTICUT HOUSE, STRATFORD, CONN.

PLATE XXIV.

TYPE OF EARLY CONNECTICUT HOUSE, MIDDLETOWN, CONN.

chimney again dominates the plan, which, it is true, taxes modern ingenuity to make a graceful feature of the interior. A relic of old Stratford ([Plate XXIII]) supplies another interesting type for reincarnation. It is more generous in the matter of chimneys, but has less pitch to the roof. The photograph reveals a texture to the shingled sides which we may hardly obtain in modern work, though at a small additional cost, for the sake of art purely, we may use the wide-gauge shingles, but must see that they line accurately, as they do on the old house at Stratford. They are an unwarranted affectation, the ragged butts generally used to obtain archaic atmosphere in the houses of our time.

We shall see that in New York State and in New Jersey the Dutch influences prevailed in the early architecture, and in Pennsylvania, the German. It is all good architecture, however. The Dutch hoods are habitually at the eaves, while the German hoods which separated the first and second stories were often carried around the entire building, as flounces upon a skirt (see Plates [XXV] and [XC]). The hoods are all fascinating, thoroughly architectonic, yet how little have they been studied and developed in modern design! The niceties of their application and use are little understood by the average architect, who, ordinarily, would think he was wasting his client’s money to exploit anything of the kind. You see, he forgets that his client has spiritual needs as well as physical ones. The gambrel roofs of the Dutch houses have come to be commercial commodities and are continually resorted to—no, are continually parodied, I mean to say—by modern builders who cannot tell what this immutable art principle we are talking about may be. They are simply magnificent, the roof lines of the old stone house at Hackensack, N. J., shown in [Plate XXV], yet they are not good enough for the modern inventor, he must try some fancied improvement in the way of a grotesque pitch, for which he racks his brain. Of these same fancied improvements I could supply examples ad infinitum, but they could only pain the reader, however great a favor I might be doing American commercialism.

And now I must pause again for the present, because I am come to the doorway of Wyck at Germantown ([Plate XIX]), and before it the architectural critic

PLATE XXV.

JOHNSON HOUSE, GERMANTOWN, PA.

HOUSE AT HACKENSACK, N. J. EARLY 18TH CENTURY.

PLATE XXVI.

HOUSE AT BOGOTA, N. J. EARLY 18TH CENTURY.

OSMASTON MANOR, DERBYSHIRE.

(From English “Country Life.”)

prefers to linger in silent admiration—to told his arms as the musical critics used to do when Patti was at the zenith of her powers, but while thoroughly enjoying every fine artistic nuance of the performance, a disturbing premonition reminds him—warns him that if paid to criticise and not to praise he will, in all probability, lose his employment. They have no bit of architectural detail in England that the Germantown doorway need be afraid of. Of course you will go into ecstasies over it; I do. But you will experience difficulty in finding an architect capable of grasping the idea sufficiently well for you to incorporate the charm of it in the new house you are planning to build. The modern dwelling-house is conceived so differently, plotted so differently, with unsympathetic T squares and triangles, and is governed so strictly by materials easily milled, and easily nailed in place by the carpenter, as to put that element of graciousness which signifies so much to our lives and happiness—that “charm not deducible by mathematics,” that makes us think, and whereby we eventually become better men and women in the world, absolutely beyond the pale of realization.

CHAPTER V
THE GRAND EPOCH

Then there came a time when the legitimate development and prosperity of the colonies produced, not what the forcing box of commercialism has produced—a moneyed class under obligations to no one—but an aristocracy whose noblesse oblige vouchsafed the encouragement of architecture in common with other arts and refinements. And if there remain to us, yet fairly intact, a representative town of this aristocracy that we may go to look at, to-day, to see what it was like, I should say it was Anne Arundel Town (Annapolis), the ancient capital of Maryland.

The best description of Annapolis in that relation which concerns us most—its fascinating old houses and their history—is written by T. Henry Randall in the “Architectural Record” (New York), Vol. 1, No. 3. Indeed, I regard this description as the most valuable

PLATE XXVII.

MOUNT VERNON ON THE POTOMAC. THE MOST ORIGINAL AND REPRESENTATIVE OF COLONIAL EXEMPLARS.

paper to American Renaissance that has appeared in periodical literature. Besides this article on Colonial Annapolis, wherein all its remarkable buildings are duly accredited and illustrated, editions de luxe in folio, on Colonial architecture, may also be had of the Bates & Guild Company, of Boston, publishers, containing splendid photogravures of the Chase house, the Harwood, Hammond or Lockerman house,[1] the Brice-Jennings house and other enchanting representatives of our most celebrated régime. These revered authorities, together with Westover, Shirley and Brandon—plantations along the James River—are so well presented in this way to architectural students that I have concluded to reserve the space at my disposal to other subjects which, while nearly as interesting, and exemplifying nearly as well the particular phase of our architectural history under discussion, have a decided advantage in that they have been little exploited (with the exception of Mt. Vernon) in books.

But no writer upon American Renaissance can afford to slight the subject of Annapolis in the letterpress of his work, for its didactic value is immense. The very plan of its streets was formulated according to the principles of art uninfluenced in the smallest degree by America’s ubiquitous ogre, commercialism, which was here relegated, by municipal ordinance, to certain extremely restricted sections of the city, beyond which it trespassed at its peril. The relation these patches of territory bore to the whole equalled, perhaps, one-fourth. In other words, the Annapolitans looked upon commercialism as the mere machinery of their household, and the idea was to sacrifice no more room to its offices than was absolutely necessary. Commercialism during the grand epoch was essentially a steward’s department, and the Annapolitans would have been the last people in the world to tolerate its meddling with architecture.

Moreover, Annapolis stands for the supreme moment of the grand epoch. It was here that the treaty of peace between Great Britain and the United States was formally ratified in 1784, and here Washington went through the ceremony of returning his commission as commander-in-chief of the army to the august

PLATE XXVIII.

MOUNT VERNON ON THE POTOMAC.

The West Front.

power whence it had come to him. The constitution itself owes its first glory to Annapolis, where the initial proceedings were held. Annapolis and American Renaissance are, therefore, indissolubly associated. You speak of one and the other follows as a natural consequence. The amplification of the American dwelling-house was here carried to a higher degree of excellence and refinement than has been elsewhere attained, before or since, for Annapolis was practically finished by 1770, and, happily for this generation, has staid so.

It is disappointing that there should be no good place to “sup and lie”—to resuscitate, a rather poetical archaism—in Annapolis, no snug old tavern with the king’s arms upon a sign-board still swinging over its door. And Annapolis, besides, is most inaccessible and expensive to reach; yet every student of American Renaissance should contrive to make, at least, one pilgrimage thither during his lifetime to gain, if possible, a better idea of the most characteristic development his national school of architecture has seen.

After Annapolis, the honors of American Renaissance are divided between a score of more or less historic towns, among them the Colonial capital of New Hampshire claiming especial recognition. Portsmouth also has the atmosphere which means the elixir of life to the housebuilder in quest of inspiration. To breathe this atmosphere here, at his ease, however, will cost him $4 per day at the Rockingham; but then, what enthusiast is there who would begrudge $4 for the sake of making the acquaintance of such a raving, tearing beauty as the house built by Capt. McPhædris in 1723 ([see Plate XXX]). I could tell you how the bricks to build it were all imported from England, only, this trite piece of information is so applicable to Colonial houses generally as to be of little real interest to the reader, who, I imagine, cares not at all whether the bricks were imported from Kamtschatka or manufactured in a nearby kiln. But when I say that his house cost Capt. McPhædris something like the equivalent of $30,000, I receive instant attention, because a modern admirer might think himself warranted in exploiting an adaptation with just about one-third that sum of money. Of course, he would fail, that is, to carry out the scheme properly. The principal rooms of the first

PLATE XXIX.

A SALEM GATEWAY. NICHOLS’ HOUSE.

HOPPIN HOUSE FROM THE CLOSE. RAREVIEW, LITCHFIELD.

story are paneled in wood from floor to ceiling, and the panels are beveled flush panels—the most expensive kind.

Here is a wonderful old house intensely affecting to stand and contemplate. It seems to be sinking into the earth, as many old houses in England have the appearance of doing, and possesses a tone like a Stradivarius violin, which cannot be counterfeited. The day in the summer of 1896, when I spent a delightful hour in its company, was a sort of reception day, I remember. There were many summer visitors calling, and they “de-ared” it and gushed over it as society people gush over a Chopin étude, because they think it proper to do so, without appreciating the subtle sentiment of the thing at all. It is not so much an affair of one’s education as it is an affair of the heart. People must have the right kind of a heart and the right kind of a charitable nature before they may really enjoy either a Chopin étude or the McPhædris house at Portsmouth. To quote the lines of Holofernes in “Love’s Labor’s Lost”: They

“Find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent.”

While Portsmouth is on the main line of travel north from Boston, it is still almost as much neglected as Annapolis, and it is a great pity that many of its once splendid mansions are falling into decay. The Governor Langdon house, the Ladd house and others should receive the attention they bestow upon such priceless relics in Salem, where everything of the kind is jealously guarded. But Salem is so distinctly illustrative of early nineteenth century work that I intend to refer to it later, under that head, likewise to Providence and Bristol, in Rhode Island, and Middletown, in Connecticut.

New York and Boston have practically nothing left of the grand epoch. The Walton house of Pearl Street and the Hancock house of Beacon Street, respectively, with all their less noted colleagues, have passed into history, the Walton house (i.e., in its original splendor) before the advent of photography; so that we have not even pictures of it of any value. The Jumel mansion (A.D. 1758) perched upon a dizzy height overlooking the Harlem, is a sole survivor intact whose permanency is threatened at the time I write.

PLATE XXX.

HOUSE OF CAPTAIN McPHAEDRIS, AT PORTSMOUTH N. H.

PLATE XXXI.

DOORWAY AT WARREN, R. I.

CHIMNEY-PIECE.

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE. 1899.

But Philadelphia, with Fairmount Park and Germantown contiguous, is still, historically, very interesting, the most celebrated relics of this vicinity being the Chew house at Germantown, and the Arnold-Shippen house (called “The Dairy”) in Fairmount Park. Presentments of the famous Chew house (still standing) will be found, however, in every illustrated history of the Revolution, including the popular juvenile, “Boys of ’76”; but pictures of Wyck, at Germantown ([see Plate XXXIII]) equally historic, are rare, as are also the pictures of some other places I shall mention, and which I have taken much pains to obtain for this review.

Wyck is the oldest house in Germantown, at least, part of it is said to be, and its extreme length, together with the great passage there is through it to an inner court or garden, make it the most curious as well. Stenton-in-the-Fields has many legends and things to commend it to the antiquarian, but it is not pretty at all, and does not appeal to the architect, who is much more attracted to the Wister house, numbered 5261 Main Street, and to the Morris house (both appearing on [Plate XXXII]), standing a little farther along upon the old turnpike, both of which, like the Strauss waltz I mentioned in a preceding chapter, are awfully nice. Germantown itself is much overrated and disappointing. It is not a picturesque town like Annapolis or Portsmouth or Salem, and lacks character generally.

Journeying into Philadelphia we shall find hidden away in the midst of a cheap, bourgeois neighborhood in South Eighth Street another Morris house ([Plate XXXVI]) belonging to the grand epoch. This stunning relic is rarely photographed, and then the professional photographer sets up his camera directly in front of it, uses his wide angle lens, which is sure to distort, and he cannot avoid cutting off part of its base line, and foreshortening the dormer windows. This Morris house has outlived all the friends and acquaintances of its youth. Down by the Delaware River there may linger a vestige, here and there, of the old-time gentry; but most of the architecture which may be called “old,” in Philadelphia proper, belongs to a later generation.

Again, let us turn in the direction of Annapolis, not

PLATE XXXII.

MORRIS HOUSE, GERMANTOWN.

WISTER HOUSE, GERMANTOWN.

because it is an irresistible magnet that the student of architecture feels, more or less, all his life, but because he cannot afford to miss Alexandria. And I do not mean Alexandria itself, for it is pathetically decrepit. The Carlyle house[2] is a wreck, and the Fairfax house is ugly. But I mean to say he cannot afford to miss Mount Vernon, which is usually reached via Alexandria. If time is limited in Washington, cut out the new Library of Congress, which is a political job, one degree more vulgar than a commercial one. Indeed, if worse comes to worse in the matter of time, cut out everything but the Capitol, only, be sure to see Mount Vernon! (Plates [XXVII] and [XXVIII].)

Familiar as everybody is with its pillared portico high above the Potomac, and good as many of the modern photographs are of this effective view of the mansion-house, he who has never visited Mount Vernon can form no idea of the enchanting beauty of that Colonial estate. The ride on the electric road from Alexandria is through a country scrubby enough and rough enough to send dismay to the most persevering tourist; but do not dismay, for at the end a transformation scene awaits you which you will never forget, and if you be an architect, will supply inspiration worth many times your travelling expenses.

Walking out upon the magnificent stretch of greensward that overlooks the river, one cannot but agree with Washington in preferring Mount Vernon to every other country seat of America. I can think of none that equals it naturally, while architecturally, it is thoroughly admirable from stylobate to cupola.