1853.]

I

HAVE no doubt that there is a great deal of humbug in all professions. But to my mind the architects profess most and perform least. When a man undertakes to build a house, or a club, or a palace, or an hospital, he enters into a tacit agreement to shelter the inmates from the weather; not to endanger their limbs by steps in unexpected places; not to tire them to death as they climb up stairs; not to promote collisions between human heads and stone walls, or to encourage the accumulation of dust and dirt by putting darkness where there should be light; not to stifle men for want of air, or suffocate them by smoky chimneys; not to regale them in dining-room, drawing-room, and bed-room by exhalations from

drains and sewers; not to collect pictures in galleries without light; or assemble men for discussion in halls ingeniously constructed to renderthe human voice inaudible. Now, there's Sir Charles Barry, certainly a man of taste, pre-eminent in outside and inside decoration, undoubtedly successful, as far as æsthetics are concerned, in almost every work which he has undertaken, and yet I would not trust him to build me a picturegallery, a music-hall, or any considerable place of assembly; and I certainly should look with suspicion on every chimney in any house which he might condescend to build for me. Take the Palace of Westminster as an example. Is it not notoriously a failure in almost every point of internal arrangement? I admit that we worried and fretted Sir Charles by giving him a learned Eolian pundit to do the ventilation for him, a work which it might well be doubted whether he could do for himself, seeing that the very word ventilation is said not to find a place in encyclopædias of architecture. But Dr. Reid was certainly not to blame for the construction of the Houses of Lords and Commons in reference to sound. It was not his fault that the peers are now generally inaudible, and the Commons could not make themselves heard till the roof of their house had been lowered. Sir Charles must bear the blame of VOL. XLVIII. NO. CCLXXXIII.

these offences against the laws of sound. As to the external features of the building I do not abuse them. Say what people will about the outside, they shall not put me out of conceit with that. It may be too low, too straight, too flat, and too ornate; but take it all in all, the legislators of England are not unworthily housed. Let any man, with half an eye for the picturesque, take his stand on Westminsterbridge, about one-third across, on a fair average English day, rather gloomy than otherwise, and tell me whether the long unbroken line of river front, with its terminal towers, and the central spire and huge square Victoria Tower rising high above them all, while the clock tower at the nearer end marks the great length and vast proportions of the structure, do not raise within him emotions of the sublime and beautiful. Or (better still), let him stand with me on that spot which commands the largest view of the Victoria Tower, and of the contiguous front stretching down to the river. Is there, I ask, anything in Europe finer than that great ornate mass, with its lofty arches, its fretted roof, its sculptured royal entrance, leading down by a line of stately pinnacles to the terminal tower on the river, placed there as if to measure and magnify the vast proportions of its gigantic neighbour? For my part, I never pass that way without stopping to admire, and never turn away without grumbling at Sir Charles. I should like to ask him one question. Have we not spent, or shall we not spend before we have done with it, at least three millions of money, not merely to house worthily our Lords and Commons, and receive in gorgeous state our sovereign lady the Queen, but to instruct and civilize our people through the sense of sight, and prove to all the world that England is not merely great in arms and glorious in empire, but rich in resources of art, and not altogether contemptible in taste? Such being the case, I want to know why my sight and taste, and those of my neighbours, are to be outraged by that zinc tube sticking up alongside

G

of the pinnacle of the terminal tower? Everything shows that the architect intended his roof to be as ornate as the rest of his building, and we know that the very style requires it; and yet we are to be insulted by this act of gross ignorance and negligence. He ought to have known and recollected that a chimney lying under the lee of a high wall will smoke when the wind is in a favourable direction. Or, if knowing this fact, he overlooked it in his plan, he was bound to repair the neglect in the best manner possible. Either the chimney ought to have been led into the pinnacle close to it, or an ornate stone chimney ought to have been specially built to repair the oversight. Don't tell me. I am not trifling. It is a serious matter; and Mr. Hume has done many a more foolish thing than move that this oversight should be repaired forthwith, in the most costly style, at the architect's own proper charge. If something is not done forthwith, we shall have the roof of this noble pile of building, before many years are over, bristling with chimney-pots of all sizes and shapes. It is no justification of Sir Charles Barry that other architects are guilty of the same omissions, entailing a necessity for the same unseemly reparations. The architect of the Palace of Westminster is a great offender, and must be put in the pillory accordingly, and well pelted, to discourage the smaller fry. I propose, therefore, that the zinc pipe which has called forth all this our indignation shall be christened and known henceforth as Barry's Chimney-pot.

By-the-bye, I see that Mr. Tite, who has been lately complaining, and not without reason, of those irreclaimable barbarians, the Gresham Committee, for sacrificing his building to the most paltry considerations of pounds, shillings, and pence, and perpetrating the most disgraceful act of meanness on record, has so mismanaged his chimneys that no less than five unsightly zine tubes have had to be reared, in view of every passer-by, close to the Clock Tower. Well! All that I can say is, that he almost deserves to be punished by those hideous shop-fronts. He has set an example of omission in the roof which goes far to justify the

committee's vulgar acts of commission on the ground level.

Seeing what is going on inside and outside the British Museum, I should not have been surprised to find the roof of the main building bristling with zinc tubes; and I must congratulate the architect that such excrescences are only suffered to appear on the detached wings, which being built expressly for residences, have, of course, been duly provided with several smoky chimneys. I conclude that an opportunity for at least two such addenda will be afforded by the huge blocks of granite which bound those monstrous iron gates in the centre. These sham blocks are, I see, to be real porters' lodges, with a door and window, and, I presume, a fireplace; and it would be only following approved English precedents, if, while the porter's face is grinning at the little window behind, a volume of black smoke were seen curling upwards, incense fashion, under the very nose of Shakspeare or Newton, Bacon or Milton, sitting, as I hear they are to do, in colossal proportion and imposing dignity above. I do hope that these statues will be more successful in their way than the funny little squat figures on the outer railing, which seem to be a bad cross between the true French poodle and the mythic British lion. I see that those facetious gentry, the gamins de Londres, have fully entered into the joke, and have plastered these funny faces with mud to their hearts' content. And I can scarcely blame them; for these droll figures are so placed as to offer an irresistible temptation to my young friends the street-sweepers. When a single flourish of the broom can perpetrate so pleasant a practical joke, who can find it in his heart to scold them? Would that all their doings were as innocent! The gilded dolphins, with up-turned tails, at the top of the gates, the vultures' heads peeping out among the flowers, and the storks, which are said to be ordered as a finish, are doubtless intended, like the crocodile's skull in the pediment of the building, to inform the public of the stores of natural history to be found within. So far the gates may be appropriate enough; but I should like

CHAPTER I.

one of the midland counties, IN some years ago there lived a gentleman of ancient family and large estate-a Mr. Orford.

Mr. Orford had married, early in life, a young lady of great personal attractions, the daughter of a distinguished general officer in the British army.

The issue of this marriage was numerous, but one only was reared, -a girl. Some had died very young, others had lingered on till they were six or seven years of age, and two had been taken away-a boy and a girl-when the former was fifteen and the latter fourteen. Emily, the sole survivor, was the last born.

With what anxiety did Mr. and Mrs. Orford watch this only child! Her every look was studied, every whim gratified, every want anticipated; and year by year this anxiety became more intense.

When Emily had completed her thirteenth year, Mr. Orford, who represented his county, resigned his seat in Parliament, and removed his family to the Continent. He had been advised that constant change of air and scene would be to his daughter's advantage.

For four years and upwards the Orfords remained abroad, travelling; and during that period they visited every place of importance on the Continent. When they returned to England, Emily was seventeen years of age. She was very pretty, and had remarkably pleasing manners. Her form was slight, but her figure well shaped and graceful. The sweetness of her disposition might be seen in her soft hazel eyes, the expression of her delicatelyformed mouth, and the intonations of her musical and unaffected voice. She was the beau ideal of a girl of gentle blood. Unlike what her mother had been, Emily was not a person of commanding beauty; but she was equally, if not more, charming in appearance and in manner. She was heiress to all her father possessed a very considerable fortune, not less than fifteen thousand a-year.

Amongst the many eligible suitors who visited at Orford Hall was a handsome manly person, one Charles Everest, the second son of a baronet whose estate joined that of Emily's father. She appeared to prefer him to all the rest, but her parents-determined that Emily's choice should be guided solely by her own inclination-neither encouraged Charles Everest, nor threw any obstacles in his way.

For a year Charles Everest continued to pay Miss Orford the most 'marked' attention, which she received seemingly with delight. At length he proposed to her; but to the disappointment of all who were interested in the matter, she refused to become his wife, though she acknowledged she liked him extremely. Sir George Everest took an opportunity of talking to Emily on behalf of his son, and did all in his power to induce her to accept him, but to no purpose; and Charles, dejected and abashed, removed himself from Emily's vicinity, and proceeded to London, where his father's interest soon procured for him an appointment-that of private secretary to a Cabinet Minister.

6

The next person whose attentions seemed far from disagreeable to Miss Orford, was a young barrister, in whose circuit' Mr. Orford's estate was situated. This gentleman was a very rising man," and Mr. Orford, who was now chairman of the Quarter Sessions, would frequently invite him to the Hall; and in vacation time the rising barrister used to spend some days with the Orfords.

Mr. Orford was about to stand once more for the county, which he had formerly represented in Parliament, and his friend the barrister volunteered to canvass for him. The offer was accepted, and on this occasion the barrister remained for a fortnight under the same roof with Emily, with whom he was passionately in love-not for the sake of the wealth she would bring him, but for the sake of herself.

Through the exertions of the barrister Mr. Orford was returned by a very large majority; and Emily naturally shared her father's joy on this

1853.]

event. Her lover observing this, made a declaration of his attachment in the most eloquent terms. But it is one thing to move a jury or a mob by figures of speech and impassioned discourse-it is another thing to create that strange mysterious feeling, called Love,' in a maiden's breast. Emily owned that she liked the barrister just as she had liked Charles Everest; but then she added, I could never think of marrying him, because I do not love him.'

Miss Orford's third suitor was an officer in the Coldstream Guards, Captain Deesing. He first saw Emily at a county ball, to which he had escorted his sisters. Deesing was a man for whom half the girls in London were breaking their hearts, contrary to the wishes of their mothers, for Deesing was in debt, and had no ' expectations' beyond those of being compelled to sell out in order to liquidate the demands upon him. Deesing's address was peculiarly captivating, and he had always at command a stock of fresh and entertaining pleasantries wherewith to amuse those with whom he entered into conversation. He could not only engage the affections of the fair sex with wonderful facility, but even men who had once spoken to him long after thirsted for his society. Witty, clever, shrewd, goodtempered, frank, generous, unaffected, Deesing's smiles were valued and courted by persons of all ranks. He had never thought of marriage; at least, he had thought that matrimony was not exactly suited to him, and therefore he had no idea of contracting it. In his own heart he fancied it would be a ‘sacrifice.'

Captain Deesing was no sooner introduced to Miss Orford than he conceived for her a regard which he had never felt for any other woman; and the morning after the ball he communicated to his eldest sister that he was in love with her friend. Miss Deesing extolled Emily, and dwelt on the vastness of the treasure she would be to any man fortunate enough to awaken her love.

I should have no difficulty in doing that,' said Captain Deesing; 'she's half in love with me, already.'

You are mistaken, Frank,' said

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Although Captain Deesing saw Emily Orford almost every day for three weeks, although he had played in a charade with her, wherein they were ardent lovers,— although his sisters had been loud in his praises-although he had escorted her in her morning rides, had walked with her alone in the shrubberies, had read poetry to her, had sang to her the tenderest songs; although he had striven hard, by exercising all his powers of fascination to win her love; still, when he proposed to her, she told him what she had told the others, she liked him very much, but she could never think of marrying him.'

This was a severe blow to Captain Deesing. He went to town; rejoined his regiment in disgust; and shortly afterwards, in a fit of revenge, as he expressed it, married a rich widow, and exchanged into a regiment of the line.