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may be. Surely, what is least forbidding, what is least exclusive, in outward look, in other words, what is most beautiful and most attracting about the exterior of the church-most hospitable and invitingwill be most fitting, most in accord with the spirit of the New Testament, rather than that of the Old.

In the treatment of church exteriors there are certain most important general principles which should always be borne in mind, and should be applied, as far as possible, in each individual case.

The first problem in any typical case, and one in which the landscape architect has the keenest interest, is that of determining the precise location which, all things considered, the building may best occupy within the limits of the lot. The building being fittingly designed for its purposes and its situation, and being most conveniently and effectively placed with reference to the highway or highways, and at the most agreeable elevation above the ground surface, the treatment of a church exterior in any ordinary case may be said to have a threefold aim; namely, 1. To make the edifice itself appear to the very best advantage; 2. To render the available area of remaining land, so far as may be, practically useful; and 3. To give the utmost possible beauty to the grounds themselves. The first of these aims should always be the controlling one, and neither the second nor the third should ordinarily be allowed to interfere with its most perfect accomplishment. I conceive that the two most worthy motives for expending large sums in building churches have always been: 1. The wish to express, in a beautiful, monumental, costly structure, the reverence that its builders have shared for their God; and 2. The desire to attract and invite their brethren to share the comfort of His worship. In all this the grounds are essentially concerned along with the building, and the most worth-while use, then, of the grounds will always be, first of all, to afford the most effective setting possible to the building itself.

A church normally, and it seems to me very properly, dominates its surroundings, so far at least as these owe their existence to man's agency. The architect, in this respect, is properly freer than in designing almost any other building. The lines of permanent highways, however, and probable directions of most usual approach, are as important limitations upon the placing of the building as are the size and shape of the lot itself. And this is true not only in the matter of obtaining most convenient access, but also in the equally important matter of securing the utmost impressiveness or attractiveness of the building to those approaching; while all four of these considerations, namely, the size and shape of the lot, its convenient access and its effective ap

proach, properly influence both the distance back from the highway or highways at which it shall be placed, and the orientation of the building.

The unrestful appearance of many church exteriors is attributable in their setting to some one or more of the following three frequent causes: 1. Undue proximity to the highway; 2. Facing in an unreasonable or an inappropriate direction, being neither properly squared with the highway nor distinctly at an angle with it; 3. The unpleasant relation in elevation of the top of the foundation to the surface of the ground, that is, the first floor, through its corresponding external indications, may be too high or too low, and this unpleasantness is apt to be emphasized by the disagreeableness of the front steps, or the junction of the vertical walls of the building with the relatively horizontal surface of the ground is an ugly one through its baldness, and the sharp contrast along an aggressive line between the perfectly formal and the more or less natural. One thing, the building, rests on top of another thing, the ground, whereas, by judicious planting, the two may frequently be so blended into one whole that the eye passes pleasantly across the line of transition.

The two particular types of problem to which I now pass, I will call the old New England meeting-house type built of wood, and the more monumental city church, whether of brick or stone. Of course these are only two, and do not cover all cases, as, for example, the little modern country church which is not of the meeting-house type, and which is fast becoming, perhaps, the most common class. But to this class, what I shall say of the grounds of the more monumental city church will largely apply.

First, to consider the meeting-house type. We all know how attractive the ordinary wooden meeting-house is as seen from a considerable distance, dominating a little hamlet which nestles amid the hills. I am sure you will all agree with me that, at least as thus seen, it is most agreeable when painted white, with green blinds. As seen near at hand, it can never suggest anything but the sterner faith of our sturdy forefathers, whether Pilgrim, Puritan, Quaker, or what not, and any attempt to soften its severity by painting with color or much planting, even if the plants be chosen with restraint, is pretty apt merely to weaken its old expression without accomplishing a new one. The result is hodge-podge. Far better is it, as always where we can, to follow Pope's advice and "seek the genius of the place in all." In this case, then, it will be most effective so to select and dispose any planting we may use as rather to enforce the old solemnity of the building, its dignity, which

is often very considerable, aiming more to awaken respect, or it may be reverence, than to attract through lighter quality.

It would be hard to find a building more formal in its lines than the meeting-house we are considering, or any which more thoroughly dominates its surroundings. We recognize its spirit to be at once rigid and devotional, conventional but aspiring, a spirit which it expresses in every line of its not too attractive countenance. Fitness, harmony, demand thus at once and incontestably a formal handling of the immediate surroundings of such an edifice. Were the building of stone, it is true, judicious informal shrubbery-planting about its base might enhance the formal beauty of the building. Since it is of wood, this is not true, yet something of the actual forbidding quality of barrenness which many now feel, and justly, in many examples of the type, may in some cases be somewhat relieved by the temperate use of some good vine or vines of attractive foliage and flower — evergreen if preferred—the choice to depend on locality and other conditions of the particular case.

Instead of vines grown on trellises, a formal clipped hedge of privet, of arbor-vitæ, or of the fragrant box, around the base of the building and several feet out from it, will in some cases look well. Openings can be kept clipped opposite any basement windows.

Besides this planting close to the building, there is, in such grounds as we are considering, small need for planting, for, in general, wellkept turf, where the ground is not occupied by necessary areas of gravel road or path, will be much more effective than any other form of vegetation. But it is always desirable that the boundaries of the lot be clearly marked, and, whether or not there be a wall or fence, the planting of the boundary may add to its effectiveness. This planting, in the case of the grounds of the typical meeting-house, may often best be a formal clipped hedge in keeping with the rigid lines of the building; its formality will tend to increase the unity of the place. If the grounds, however, are of some extent, so that the boundaries do not count much in direct relation to the lines of the building, an informal border shrubbery will not be out of keeping, and will be far more interesting in itself, through its greater variety in outline, color, and texture. The use of trees in such grounds depends so upon the size and form of the area available that no general prescription can safely be made. In general, it is better to err on the side of omission than overcrowding, for in the latter case the strong, simple effect of the type is lost. On the contrary, where the grounds are large enough to permit, formal rows of trees along the boundaries, and even leading up to the main entrance, are sometimes exceedingly effective.

I ask your attention to several special possibilities in connection with church grounds, not yet taken advantage of, so far as I know. Where there is room, what could be more interesting or instructive to children of the Sunday school than actually to grow some of the plants of which they read in the Scriptures, or which have, through the ages, been elements of the landscape in Palestine? Surely, this would be good use of ground, and a space sufficient could very often be set apart for this use, without injuring the harmony of the whole. Happily, a large number of the plants native to the Holy Land grow here, or have close relatives here, as, for instance, the box, the irises, leeks, beans, coriander, thistles, wheat, melons, mandrakes, balsams, wormwood, and mustard, besides a good share of our common trees which could be grown until they became too large. Many other plants illustrative of the Scriptures will suggest themselves the minute thought be given to the matter. Many city children never see a flower. How like heaven would the church garden literally appear, full of strange blossoms!

THE EDUCATIVE POWER OF ORGAN MUSIC

MR. GEORGE A. BURDETT

ORGANIST CENTRAL CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Religion is the function of the soul; education - in its fullest and highest sense is the finding and unfolding of that function, the discovery and development of that soul. Music is its voice; the organ, its instrument. The educative aim and effort of church services, in every element thereof, is the outdrawing and nurture of man's soul-self, the breath of which is worship. Hence, with holy harmony of purpose and exertion, the study of all possible educative powers for church use is a most sacred and solemn duty. The pulse of the spirit is the ideal revealed to the spiritualized imagination, the eye of the soul. With this spiritualized and quickened imagination shall men, in some degree, see God.

In the early ages in times of war, the cloister was the refuge for scholars and artists of all sorts. Men of action fought; scholars thought; artists poured forth heart and soul. Fra Angelico was a type; Savonarola, no solitary exception. Music is a product of ecclesiastic nurture. So in the thirty-years' war in Germany, the organ was almost an asylum for musicians; they devoutly cultivated it, till organists were as vernacular to music as are pianists to-day. So abounding was this cultivation, that organs in themselves had become in the time of Bach a foremost force of spiritual influence. Candidates were not only carefully examined musically, but were catechised in religion, were pledged to sober living and conscientious performance of duties; they were then installed with musical ceremonials and exhortations from the pastor. The organ was the key to all of Bach's great works; the mold in which he thought and wrote everything. He greatly glorified this use in the service of God.

Countless are the testimonies in history to the power of the organ in divine service; a single example must suffice. Practorius - mighty man in many mental lines "thanks Almighty God that He has vouchsafed so great a mercy, so perfectum a gift to all mankind, so full of His praise and power to beget Christian contemplation."

Average people even instinctively recognize that the organ belongs in church. They will tell you, in a tone of voice that means much, that to them "there is something about an organ "generally they say no more; perhaps because they do not quite understand its power over

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