Judging from the nature of the correspondence on architecture and the duty of architects which is frequently seen in the columns of the daily papers, the Times especially, it would seem that the popular notion of architecture now is that it is a study mainly of things connected with sanitary engineering—­of the best forms of drain pipes and intercepting traps.  This is indeed a very important part of sound building, and it is one that has been very much neglected, and has been, in fact, in a comparatively primitive state until very recent times; and therefore it is not surprising that there should be a reaction in regard to it, and that newspapers which follow every movement of public opinion, and try to keep pace with it, should speak as if the drain pipe were the true foundation of architecture.  I have a great respect for the drain pipe, and wish to see it as well laid and “intercepted” as possible; but I think, for all that, that there is something in architecture higher than sanitary engineering.  I wish to consider it in these lectures as what I think it essentially is, what it has evidently been in the eyes of all those of past days who have produced what we now regard as great architectural monuments, namely, as an intellectual art, the object of which is to so treat the buildings which we are obliged to raise for shelter and convenience as to render them objects of interest and beauty, and not mere utilitarian floors, walls, and roofs to shelter a race who care nothing for beauty, and who only want to have their physical comfort provided for.

Architecture, then, from the point of view from which I am asking you to regard it—­and the only point of view in which it is worth the serious regard of thoughtful people—­is the art of erecting expressive and beautiful buildings.  I say expressive and beautiful, and I put expressive first, because it is the characteristic which we can at least realize even when we cannot realize what can fairly be called beauty, and it is the characteristic which comes first in the order of things.  A building may be expressive and thereby have interest, without rising into beauty; but it can never be, architecturally speaking, beautiful unless it has expression.  And what do we mean by expression in a building?  That brings us to the very pith of the matter.

We know pretty well what we mean when we say that a painted or sculptured figure is expressive.  We mean that, while correctly representing the structure of the human figure, it also conveys to our minds a distinct idea of a special emotion or sentiment, such as human beings are capable of feeling and expressing by looks and actions.  Expression in this sense a building cannot be said to have.  It is incapable of emotion, and it has no mobility of surface or feature.  Yet I think we shall see that it is capable of expression in more senses than one.  It may, in the first place, express or reflect the emotion of those who