"THE LONELY FLOWER.

"Four thread-like stalks of dewy green,
Which little climbing leaves bedeck,
Each pendent head a pearly speck,
Backward upon the sunlight lean;
Then downwards stoop,
With languid drop

O'er edge of stone half hid with mossy green.

"What dost thou, here, oh, lonely flower?
Thy sisters sport in yonder bower:
The lonely flower was heard to say,
'My kin are fair, and therefore gay,
But I am mean in form-and here
Must be content to make my bier:
I'm lonely here, and sad, you think,
Upon this rugged granite's brink:

But there! what eye would care to dwell,
On me, who am not beautiful;

I should be trampled on-despoiled."
With that the lonely flower recoiled;
'No, here at least I know no scorn ;
I watch the rising of the morn,
For she on me

Smiles cheerily.

And I do watch Night's million eyes,
That on the meanest things look down,
Yet never grieve them with a frown:
The stars so rife with solemn thought,
With such mysterious splendour fraught;
The crowd of stars; that one by one
Unveil, when bold-faced day is gone,
And as around their pale beams steal;
Ah me! what wond'rous bliss I feel.
And in the drowsy sultry noon,
When stilled each wild Æolian tune,
Of ev'ry zephyr-ev'ry breeze,
And silence sits among the trees.
Then I repose, and then I dream,
Nor longer am the weed I seem,

Nor longer dwell in solitude;
For beings fair, and gay of mood,

Come dancing hither grouped in throngs;

To praise me in delicious songs,

To smile fond smiles, and speak fond words,
And break the dark cold grief that girds
And galls me in what times unknown,
The thought-that I am all alone:
And when my charming dream is done,
I wake-and lo, the dazzling sun
Shines o'er my head most gorgeously;
The birds sing glad on every tree;
And in the little stream below,
The fish dance blithely to and fro;
While insects each in fine array,
Are quaintly buzzing 'mid their play;
And downy breezes come to bless,
And fill me with soft happiness.
Have I not joy? have I not peace?
Then let your idle pity cease.
My sisters have admiring eyes,
And many hearts their beauties prize;
But He who made me did not leave
Me in my des'late lot to grieve,
I glad me in the Light and Air,
They love me e'en as I were fair.'

"Oh none may be more blest than they,
Who slighted by the proud and gay,
Look here for friends that ne'er deceive,
For lovers who will never leave,
For pleasures that do never fade,
From song or dance in noon-day glade,
From pensive moonbeams when night keeps
Its solemn watch 'neath frowning steeps,
From glorious morn, from thoughtful eve;
"Tis true-the heart will sometimes grieve,
O'er visioned hopes-but better so,

Than strive with worldly care, than faint 'neath
worldly woe."

We do not say that there is anything in this which ought to go far to make a poetic reputation; but it is at least beyond the average quality of juvenile versifying. It

is but fair that we now give a specimen of the muse of John Saunders, who, with less playfulness and apparent facility than his sister, has perhaps more of the higher qualities of depth and force. There is true tenderness in the following simple lines:

"TO

"If ever thou shalt truly love,
And not beloved be,

In thy heart's loneliness, look back,
And think of me.

If ever thou one hope shalt cherish,
Till that thy life shall be,

And see it in one moment perish,
Thou'lt think of me.

If ever thou shalt lay thee down,
Hating the light to see;

And thoughts of death no longer shock,
Then, think of me.

In illness, sorrow, want, or care,
Heart-gnawing misery;

Think-one would fly to share it all,
Think-think of me."

We have only room for another short piece, which of course the poetess must be permitted to contribute. We take the lines entitled "Love:"

"God hath given me store of love;

All the things that breathe and move,
I love, I love.

I love the earth, I love the sky,

The sweets that bloom, the sweets that die;

I love, I love.

I love the friends of love and truth,
The friends of flowers and ow'ry youth,
I love, I love.

I love old age, infantine glee;

All earthly things have charms for me;
But most of all, whoe'er loves me,
I love, I love."

The growth in human bosoms of a spirit, whether of poetry, or of religion, or of whatever other name or character, which begets and feeds such feelings as are here expressed, is a thing to be rejoiced in, and we wish we saw the blessing more widely diffused. Not perhaps for the sake of any accessions of high value which might be thereby expected to accrue to our literature, but for the increase of the general enjoyment which it would produce in another way, we should be glad to see many others of the same class following the example of John and Mary Saunders, and taking to the reading and writing of poetry, No matter though the verses which should thus be called into existence might not all of them acquire immortality; no matter though most of them should die and be forgotten within a week of their birth ;-they would still have done good service,-better, indeed, than most of the things that come into the world-if, in addition to the moments of pure pleasure they had given their authors in producing them, they had contributed, were it ever so little, to lighten or warm a few other hearts during the brief time that their novelty gave them a charm, or at least a claim to be listened to, within the family or the friendly circle. As for the present little volume, it has our best wishes, and it will be followed, we hope, some years hence, by another a good deal larger, and of which we shall have the pleasure of saying that it has fulfilled the promise held out by its predecessor.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.

WHATEVER reasons there may be for regretting on other grounds the destruction of the Houses of Lords and Commons, the mere admirers of architectural beauty can hardly be expected to look upon that event as a very great calamity. Considering the purpose to which they were applied, two more undignified rooms than our late legislative chambers, could hardly be pointed out; and in so far as the House of Commons was concerned, the mean appearance of the apartment was at least matched by its inconvenience and want of accommodation. An

effectual clearance must now be made: a fine field is opened for architectural speculation; and we suppose that most of the profession who are men of any likelihood have been dreaming ever since the night of the 16th, of senate houses and ideas for them. Next season we may expect to behold the walls of the architectural room at the Royal Academy teeming with designs for a new House of Parliament; and it is to be hoped that this occasion will elicit something more brilliant than most of the plans submitted last year to the Committee for inquiring into the expediency of erecting a new House of Commons. They were certainly not of first-rate quality in any respect; and although it must be admitted that there at that time existed numerous local difficulties, arising from the necessity for bringing in the projected improvements without disturbing the other parts of that complex mass of buildings, still we are of opinion, that some skill and taste might have been displayed. So far was this from being the case, that those whose names seemed to promise most, satisfied us least of all, and appeared to have bestowed least thought and attention on the subject. The most striking design, and that which most consulted the genius loci, was that of Mr. F. Goodwin, who proposed to unveil and restore the ancient Chapel of St. Stephen, and to convert it into an ante-hall, between which and the river would have been the new House;" while, extending in other directions would have been a noble gallery, serving as a general vestibule both to that and to the House of Peers.

St. Stephen's has now we believe disappeared; or at least what remains of it is beyond restoration, save by entire re-building, consequently quite valueless, except to those virtuosi, who are bitten by the-to us incomprehensible-mania of collecting bits of stones, with nothing to identify them, and which those to whom they shall be shown as hoarded relics, will be at liberty to believe or not believe actually belonged at one time to the structure they are said to have been taken from. Our enthusiasm cannot go quite such lengths, nor can we bewail the loss of an edifice which had virtually been lost to us for so long a period prior to the destruction of its fabric. Rather let us rejoice that Westminster Hall is preserved to us and our posterity intact, and that there is now the opportunity of making it the nucleus of a grand pile, presenting one uniform and dignified elevation towards the river, and made to combine, at the north-east angle, into one all compact whole with the front of the Hall itself.

In a letter which has appeared in the newspapers, Mr. Cottingham, the architect, states, that he is in possession of a series of drawings prepared, about a century ago, by Kent, for a new House of Lords and Commons.

on an occasion like the present, is natural enough; but we very much question whether they would, as designs, at all satisfy the demands of the present day. Few can now descry any particular merits in Kent's style, although it was by no means the worst of the period when he was the fashionable architect of his time. How far he warmed with his subject, and excelled himself when called upon to give scope to his fancy in an edifice which ought to rank foremost among the public buildings of a country, is best known to Mr. Cottingham, who, we presume, would not lightly commit himself upon such a point. Yet, until our scepticism be removed by stronger evidence than what Mr. C. is pleased to say in favour of them, we must be allowed to retain our doubts as to the actual merits of those designs. At all events, we do not think it would be particularly creditable to the existing generation of architects, should it be found that, after such a vast accumulation of studies in every department of the art, they were unable to compete, for taste and imagination, with one infinitely less favoured than themselves. Nay, judging from the designs he has produced, we can hardly think so meanly of Mr. Cottingham himself, as to suppose that he, especially with such assistance at his command, could not give us something for the purpose in many respects greatly superior.

Those who have not the opportunity of seeing how Kent proposed to treat the subject, may turn to the published designs of one with whom a "Senate House" appears to have been a favourite idea, and who has likewise projected various plans for extending and otherwise improving that unshapely and heterogeneous mass, of which so very large a portion is now reduced to ashes. In a folio volume published some half-dozen years ago, Sir John Soane gave us, in addition to a design for a senate-house

the fruit of his studies at Rome-several others, suggesting alterations at Westminster, and including some of the portions actually executed since by him there. They are indeed but mere sketches, showing the general disposition of the plans, and executed withal in a slovenly style, frequently exhibiting such gross violations of drawing and perspective, that it requires some effort of the imagination to do them justice. Much is it to be regretted that Sir John should have acted so ungraciously, and in such step-dame mood, towards the offspring of his own fancy. We suspect that with him charity does not begin at home; nor was its place supplied, in this instance, even by vanity, otherwise he would hardly have submitted his designs to the world in so crude, repulsive, and unsatisfactory a shape, when it was in his power to have sent them forth in a volume of first-rate splendour and beauty, worthy to rank among the prachtwerke-to borrow a German word, for which we have no single equivalent in our own language that adorn the architect's library. At present, some of the plates are such mere scratches, that they look more like hasty memoranda and hints jolted down by the architect, than designs upon which requisite consideration has been bestowed. This is particularly the case with the "Senate House" we have just mentioned, and of which little more than the principal feature is indicated, without either plan or explanatory description to clear up its obscurity, or even so much as a scale to mark its dimensions. The only assist ance afforded us is a bird's-eye view of the whole-the most injudicious and unsatisfatory mode of representation that can possibly be adopted; since, while it aims at combining, to a certain extent, both plan and elevation in the same drawing, it accomplishes neither, but rather gives a preposterous and distorted appearance to the whole, by rendering those parts most prominent which are,

* A good deal has been said, through the newspapers, about the magnificence and completeness of Sir John's own collection of architectural books; yet, unless it has been doubled or tre bled both in the number and importance of the works it contains, within the last few years, it is most miserably deficient, contain ing a great deal of common-place rubbish and trash, with hardly any one of the truly splendid publications we should expect to meet with in a collection formed by one who has ample means for indulging his taste for such luxuries. We have met with far more valuable and costly works than are, or were to be found, upon his book-shelves, in the studios of some to whom the acquisition of even a single volume of the kind must have been a formidable

expense.

in reality, excluded from view. As far as any opinion can be expressed of what is so indistinctly and imperfectly exhibited, the design itself is an exceedingly mediocre one, consisting, for the greater part, of that hackneyed pomp or pomposity which is mere architectural" claptrap.' With Sir John's later designs (made in 1794) for incorporating all the buildings attached to Westminster Hall into a single insulated pile, presenting four regular, although not uniform, façades, we are far better satisfied. According to this project, three of them would have been enriched with Corinthian colonnades and porticos, forming judiciously disposed and well-relieved masses; while the north front would have exhibited much picturesque effect, and, all circumstances considered, perhaps a very defensible contrast, the Hall forming a centre, rising insulated in its upper part, between the extreme pavilions of the east and west sides. Owing, however, to the absence of any kind of plan, and to there being only perspective views, showing the different fronts obliquely, we can estimate only the general appearance of the ensemble; nor do we, we must confess, exactly comprehend whether the architect intended the double colonnade, occupying nearly the whole of the river front, to be quite open, so as to admit a view through it into some court or open space behind. This might certainly have very easily been explained in the letter-press; but, unfortunately, like almost every one else who has published his designs, Sir John has not cared to reveal much beyond what can be made out by the plates themselves. However overweeningly their vanity may display itself in other forms, hardly one of the profession can be accused of descanting upon, or of even calling attention to, what he has aimed at effecting in his own designs. If we are right in our conjecture that the engraving is intended to represent two ranges of insulated columns one behind the other, relieved by light or shadow in the back-ground, according to the time of day, the character of this façade would have been exceedingly striking and picturesque-decidedly different from what we are accustomed to behold. Sir John might very well have been excused for adverting to such a circumstance, if really intended by him: whether he now deserves the benefit of a doubt we leave the reader to decide, as his good nature or the contrary shall prompt him.

There is a view of another design for the same purpose, somewhat more consistent than the preceding, because the aspect of the whole would have assimilated, as far as the leading traits of style go, with the Hall; yet it does not appear to us to be marked by anything very felicitous, nor to do justice to the opportunity afforded by such a site, and the scope it admits, when cleared of those excrescences and incumbrances wherewith it has been so long disfigured.

All that we can gather as to the internal accommodation intended to be provided by these designs, is what is briefly stated as follows in the text:

"One of the approaches into the House of Lords was to be through Westminster Hall, the Court of Requests, the Painted Chamber, and a spacious new vestibule. These rooms were to be decorated from time to time with painting and sculpture. The new House of Lords was to be situated to the south of the Painted Chamber, and the new House of Commons to the north of St. Stephen's Chapel. The Painted Chamber was to be reinstated, as near as possible, in its ancient character. The modern alterations in St. Stephen's Chapel were to be removed, and that superb structure restored to its ancient magnificence, as a chapel for the

use of the members of both Houses of Parliament."

It further appears, from what is subsequently added, that besides the apartments already mentioned, it was intended to adorn Westminster Hall with painting and sculpture, commemorative of great public actions and distinguished talents. This part of the architect's scheme was highly approved of by his then Majesty George III., nor would it be easy to point out a more appropriate place-one more worthy to become a repository of national testimonials to those whose services had earned for them the gratitude of

their country.

All the plans, it appears, were finally settled, and so far predetermined upon, that had it not been for the war in which we were then engaged, measures would have been immediately taken for carrying these extensive improvements into effect. The erection of new Houses of Parliament is now become a matter not of choice, but of positive necessity; and although the forty years

that have since elapsed must-at least ought tohave raised up architects capable of giving us something still better, the ideas thrown out by Sir John Soaneespecially as regards Westminster Hall-are not undeserving attention.

We now come to consider some of those alterations which Sir John actually executed, and a considerable portion of which is either destroyed, or so greatly injured by the fire, that, in all probability, instead of being restored, the whole will give place to whatever the exigences of a new and general plan shall require. In examining what Sir John Soane has here performed, we ought to look at it rather as an independent work, than as intended to accord with any other portions of the buildings, -as an anomaly, indeed, but one of a cluster of anomalies,-as one of the fragments of what was in itself a most discordant, heterogeneous, and planless mass. Regarding it in this point of view, we must admit that the whole line of approach, extending from the Royal Entrance to the Painted Chamber, displayed a rather imposing succession of architectural scenery-perhaps somewhat more ostentatiously fanciful than altogether befitted its purpose, yet cleverly managed, and certainly captivating. The architect seems to have made the utmost of the space allowed him; and, whatever objections may be made to particular parts, and to certain peculiarities, or even oddities of style, it must be admitted there was striking effect in every part,-a happy playfulness in the plan, that greatly aided and enhanced the accidents and combinations of the perspective, a glow, a brilliancy-a certain festivity of expression throughout, which, if they did not actually blind the eye of criticism to many faults of detail, and to not a few solecisms, still caused delight to preponderate over dissatisfaction. Incongruous as were many of the parts, finical as were many of the ornaments, the whole was finely blended into concord, and many things which would have been noted as mean and insignificant by themselves, here seemed to contribute to the piquancy of the entire scene. Hardly any one else, perhaps, would have ventured upon some of the incongruities we here met with; or, if they had, they would have left them glaringly offensive absurdities, instead of so redeeming them as if not to convert them into positive beautiesto render them so subservient to the general scheme, that although they ought, according to all established precedent and rule, to be recognised as faults, we were at a loss to determine whether they were not skilfully introduced as foils to set off the rest, and to give an additional poignancy and flavour to the whole composition. Let minute criticism urge what it may to the contrary, this surely is no small merit, and is, moreover, a merit entirely out of the beaten track; few care to attempt that wherein not to succeed is ignominiously to fail.

The wood-cut given in a preceding page, presents a ground-plan of the entire mass of building, so much of which is now in ruins. The shaded parts are those which the fire has destroyed; so that the delineation gives at once a view of the whole interior of the extensive pile, both in its present and in its former state.

STATE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

(Concluded.)

ANOTHER ruinous consequence of the puffing system has been the undue importance given by it to certain per formers. The names of half-a-dozen actors having been printed in large type for three or four seasons, the nights on which they are to appear especially distinguished by different-coloured ink, and every means resorted to by the manager to prove that "by the law of writ and the liberty these are the only men," is it to be wondered that the public take the manager at his word, and view with indifference the announcement of any entertainment undistinguished by the presence of these matchless individuals, who have been prevailed on to extend their engagements for a few more evenings," on which "the free-list must necessarily be suspended," and after which, of course, the theatre can be no longer worth visiting?

When the indignation of the press was provoked some years ago by the introduction of this "starring system," as it was called, the actors bore the blame. They were told they ought to be ashamed of themselves for ask