156 WINTER SUNSHINE 



Our climate has a much keener edge, hoth of 

 frost and fire, and touches nothing so gently or crea- 

 tively; yet time would, no doubt, do much for our 

 architecture, if we would give it a chance, — for that 

 apotheosis of prose, the National Capitol at Washing- 

 ton, upon which, I notice, a returned traveler bases 

 our claim to be considered " ahead " of the Old 

 World, even in architecture; but the reigning gods 

 interfere, and each spring or fall give the building 

 a clean shirt in the shape of a coat of white paint. 

 In like manner, other public buildings never become 

 acclimated, but are annually scoured with soap and 

 sand, the national passion for the brightness of new- 

 ness interfering to defeat any benison which the 

 gods might be disposed to pronounce upon them. 

 Spotlessness, I know, is not a characteristic of our 

 politics, though it is said that whitewashing is, 

 which may account for this ceaseless paint-pot reno- 

 vation of our public buildings. In a world lit only 

 by the moon, our Capitol would be a paragon of 

 beauty, and the spring whitewashing could also be 

 endured; but under our blazing sun and merciless 

 sky it parches the vision, and makes it turn with 

 a feeling of relief to rocks and trees, or to some 

 weather-stained, dilapidated shed or hovel. 



How winningly and pictiiresquely in comparison 

 the old architecture of London addresses itself to 

 the eye, — St. Paul's Cathedral, for instance, with its 

 vast blotches and stains, as if it had been dipped in 

 some black Lethe of oblivion, and then left to be 

 restored by the rains and the elements ! This black 



