TREES IN ARCHITECTURE i8i 



at once the heart of the people and the form 

 of the edifice. The Gothic architecture arose 

 in massy and mountainous strength, axe-hewn, 

 and iron bound, block heaved upon block by 

 the monk's enthusiasm and the soldier's force ; 

 and cramped and stanchioned into such weight 

 of grisly wall, as might bury the anchoret in 

 darkness, and beat back the utmost storm of 

 battle, suffering but by the same narrow crosslet 

 the passing of the sunbeam, or of the arrow. 

 Gradually, as that monkish enthusiasm became 

 more thoughtful, and as the sound of war be- 

 came more and more intermittent beyond the 

 gates of the convent or the keep, the stony 

 pillar grew slender and the vaulted roof grew 

 light, till they had wreathed themselves into 

 the semblance of the summer woods at their 

 fairest, and of the dead field-flowers, long 

 trodden down in blood, sweet monumental 

 statues were set to bloom for ever, beneath the 

 porch of the temple, or the canopy of the 

 tomb." 



There is only one statement in this glowing 

 passage as to the literal accuracy of which we 

 need here, for our immediate purpose, express 

 a doubt. Is it not an overstatement to say 



