The Ionic architecture is only a modification of the Doric,—­its columns more slender and with a greater number of flutes, and capitals more elaborate, formed with volutes or spiral scrolls, while its pediment, the triangular facing of the portico, is formed with a less angle from the base,—­the whole being more suggestive of grace than strength.  Vitruvius, the greatest authority among the ancients, says that “the Greeks, in inventing these two kinds of columns, imitated in the one the naked simplicity and aspects of a man, and in the other the delicacy and ornaments of a woman, whose ringlets appear in the volutes of the capital.”

The Corinthian order, which was the most copied by the Romans, was still more ornamented, with foliated capitals, greater height, and a more decorated entablature.

But the principles of all these three orders are substantially the same,—­their beauty consisting in the column and horizontal lines, even as vertical lines marked the Gothic.  We see the lintel and not the arch; huge blocks of stone perfectly squared, and not small stones irregularly laid; external rather than internal pillars, the cella receiving light from the open roof above, rather than from windows; a simple outline uninterrupted,—­generally in the form of a parallelogram,—­rather than broken by projections.  There is no great variety; but the harmony, the severity, and beauty of proportion will eternally be admired, and can never be improved,—­a temple of humanity, cheerful, useful, complete, not aspiring to reach what on earth can never be obtained, with no gloomy vaults speaking of maceration and grief, no lofty towers and spires soaring to the sky, no emblems typical of consecrated sentiments and of immortality beyond the grave, but rich in ornaments drawn from the living world,—­of plants and animals, of man in the perfection of physical strength, of woman in the unapproachable loveliness of grace of form.  As the world becomes pagan, intellectual, thrifty, we see the architecture of the Greeks in palaces, banks, halls, theatres, stores, libraries; when it is emotional, poetic, religious, fervent, aspiring, we see the restoration of the Gothic in churches, cathedrals, schools,—­for Philosophy and Art did all they could to civilize the world before Christianity was sent to redeem it and prepare mankind for the life above.  Such was the temple of the Greeks, reappearing in all the architectures of nations, from the Romans to our own times,—­so perfect that no improvements have subsequently been made, no new principles discovered which were not known to Vitruvius.  What a creation, to last in its simple beauty for more than two thousand years, and forever to remain a perfect model of its kind!  Ah, that was a triumph of Art, the praises of which have been sung for more than sixty generations, and will be sung for hundreds yet to come.  But how hidden and forgotten the great artists who invented all this, showing the littleness of man and the greatness of Art itself.  How true that old Greek saying, “Life is short, but Art is long.”