The Victorian public spirit, having taken the name of Prince Albert, built a memorial to itself in a corner of London where followers of the Victorian idea still congregate during the promenade season, rehearsing their attachment to a musical culture which is at once popular and sublime. Across from Scott’s scrupulously pedagogic memorial stands the Albert Hall, like a giant dish cover, with a ceramic frieze declaring that poetry, transfixed in pottery, is eternal. Next to it stands the Royal College of Organists, its facade veneered with embossed and painted tiles, each continuing the classical motifs which culminate in the Greek anthemions of the chimneys. In the background the red-faced mansion blocks stand in matronly postures, their balconies like folded arms, observing from high windows the order to which public and private make equal contribution. Wealth and achievement shine forth from every building, and the architectural forms are as near to civilization as mere education can come.

Only one detail mars the arrangement: the glass and concrete exterior of the Royal College of Art, built by Sir Hugh Casson to replace buildings thought to be inadequate to the increased social utility of this institution. Founded in the last century, the Royal College now devotes itself to graduate studies in a subject called “design.” It is not alone in believing that there is such a subject. At the dinner which marked the opening of the College’s recent conference on design methods, the guests included industrialists, chairmen of government agencies,