Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 361, Supplementary Issue (1829)», страница 3
The new Club Houses in St. James's Street, especially that near the southern end, present imposing fronts; and it may be added, that most of the other Club Houses have contributed very much to adorn their respective situations, and to impart a strictly architectural character to our street buildings.
The site of Carlton House, and its gardens, is occupied by a wide street, by a lofty terrace overlooking the Park, by club houses, &c. Two of the latter terminate Waterloo Place, and are appropriated to "the United Service," and "the Athenaeum;" the first built from the designs of Mr. Nash, and the latter from those of Mr. D. Burton.
From Charing Cross to Exeter 'Change an amazing improvement has commenced. All the houses on the north side of the Strand are taking down, and others raising, farther back, by which the street will be much widened, and the new buildings will assume better faces, if not better accommodation, for the tradesmen who occupy them. That museum of sheds, stalls, and filth, Covent Garden, is also to be cleared and cleansed, and respectable ranges of shops and warerooms are to be erected.
It is now confidently said, that "the King's College of London" is to be attached to the eastern side of Somerset House; and that Mr. Smirke is commissioned to make a design for the building.
In the Regent's Park a new Terrace and other buildings, are in progress; the great Colosseum is nearly finished, and the Zoological Gardens have excited unusual popularity. No less than 130,000 visiters have been admitted to view the gardens and the vivarium within the year 1828.
On the east side of the Park is a mass of buildings appropriated to St. Katherine's Hospital, consisting of a chapel in the centre, with a group of dwellings on each side, and a detached mansion for the master. South of this is a series of buildings, called Cumberland Terrace, raised from the designs of Mr. Nash, which is abundantly adorned with columns, arches, statues, and basso-relievo.
The Colosseum, in the same Park, is a building of great dimensions, and novel appropriation, and therefore calculated to excite very popular attention. Near this is the Diorama, an edifice of singular construction, destined for the public display of two pictures. A new line of communication from this Park to Pall Mall has been completed within the last few years, by a wide and handsome road called Regent Street.
London University—The situation of the first University founded in this immense city is most peculiarly favourable, being equally removed from the busy and confined part of the metropolis, and from the fashionable and idle; whilst it is not inconveniently remote from either extremity. The building was commenced on the 30th of April, 1827, when the Duke of Sussex laid the first stone, in the presence of a large concourse of noblemen and gentlemen. The design is by William Wilkins, Esq., R.A., who has evinced in the principal elevation and general character of the edifice considerable taste and science. When completed, it is intended to consist of a central part, and two wings projecting at right angles from the extremities of the former. The first portion only of this is at present finished. It extends from north to south 430 feet, with a depth, from east to west, including the two semicircular theatres, of about 200 feet. The elevation is at once classical and chaste, having a bold and rich portico in the centre, elevated on a plinth, to the height of the first story (19 feet,) and is approached by numerous steps, which are arranged to produce a fine effect. Twelve Corinthian columns support a flattened pediment, in the tympanum of which is to be a composition in basso-relievo, analogous to science and literature. Behind this pediment is a cupola, finished by a lantern light, in imitation of a peripteral temple, crowning and ornamenting a grand octagonal vestibule, or saloon. North of this is the museum of natural history, 118 feet by 50, and 23 feet in height, opening to the museum of anatomy, which latter communicates with two rooms for professors, and to one of the large theatres, or lecture-rooms. East of the vestibule is a large hall, and to the south is the great library, corresponding in size, &c. with the museum of natural history; the small library; rooms for the librarian, for apparatus, and also another large theatre. The ground-floor consists of rooms for lectures, the Professor's offices, laboratory, museum, a spacious cloister 213 feet by 24; rooms for the anatomical school, &c. In the basement are other apartments for the anatomical schools, for the chemical laboratory, the students' common room, kitchen, stewards' room, refreshment rooms, housekeeper's room, vaults, &c.
At the British Museum a new room, to contain the late king's library, has been built and fitted up from the designs of Mr. R. Smirke. It is the largest apartment in this country, its measurement being 300 feet in length, by 30 feet in width, and 30 feet high,
The St. Katherine's Docks, recently formed near the Tower, will increase this species of accommodation, and be a great improvement to a district where reform and alteration are much required. By a statement published by the Committee in October, 1828, it appears that "the first stone was laid 3rd of May, 1827," and that a grand ceremony was exhibited on the 25th of October, 1828, of opening the Docks. On that occasion, nine vessels, of from 516 to 343 tons burden, entered the docks to load and discharge their freights. Above 1,200 houses, warehouses, &c. were purchased and taken down, to make room for the new works. Accommodation is provided for the stowage of 210,000 tons of merchandize; and, from the improved construction of the warehouses, these goods will be always housed under cover. The fixed capital for completing this great commercial undertaking is 1,352,752l.
A Collier Dock, on a large scale, has been projected to be excavated and formed in the Isle of Dogs, near Blackwall for which Mr. George Rennie has made plans and estimates.
The New London Bridge, now nearly completed, is a work of great magnitude, science, and novelty. Its erection, in our times, and following the recent finishing of the bridges of Waterloo and Southwark, is a memorable event in the annals of London.
The projected Tunnel under the Thames is not only a novel object in this part of London, but, should it ever be accomplished, it will be a wonderful triumph of human talents over seeming impossibilities.
Although so many useful and even important improvements have been recently effected in the metropolis, there are yet many things left undone that ought to be done, and others proceeding in a manner that will neither be creditable nor beneficial. The widening and opening of New Streets from Pall Mall to the British Museum; from that national repository to Waterloo Bridge, skirting the two theatres;—from the Strand to Lincoln's Inn Fields, and thence to Holborn; and again to Covent Garden;—from Charing Cross to Somerset House;—from Oxford Road to Bloomsbury Square and Holborn;—from Blackfriars' Bridge to Clerkenwell, removing and clearing away that nuisance in a public thoroughfare, Fleet Market;—from Moorfields to the Bank, and thence obliquely to Southwark Bridge;—widening and opening the area around St. Paul's Cathedral,—are all calculated to be very beneficial to the public. Other essential alterations are still required; and the legislature, as well as all public-spirited individuals, should co-operate to promote them. The formation of open, respectable quays, terraces, and streets, on the banks of our fine river, is an event greatly to be desired.
The vastly-increasing population of London, has occasioned a great augmentation of Churches and Chapels, both for congregations of the establishment, and for dissenters. In consequence of urgent, and argumentative appeals by some truly pious and benevolent Christians, the legislature has granted a large sum for the purpose of aiding parochial committees, to build new churches or enlarge their old ones.
The New Post Office, in St. Martin's-le-Grand, is fast approaching conclusion, and will constitute one of the most imposing public buildings of the city. Preparatory to the re-erection of the whole of the Blue Coat School, or Christ's Hospital, in Newgate Street, a spacious and handsome Hall has been erected, from the designs of Mr. Shaw.
A new Chapel, of novel design, being of an amphitheatrical form, has been recently completed, from the designs of W. Brooks, architect. It is seated near the Catholic Chapel, in Finsbury Circus.
THE SKETCH-BOOK
THE FIRST AND LAST CRIME
[Blackwood's Magazine for the current month contains a sketchy article under this title, which displays much of the breadth and vigour of one of Maga's contributors. Our extract is in the form of the confession of a reckless, daring spirit, who being imprisoned for murder, commits suicide. The early developement of his bad passions is admirably drawn, and altogether this is one of the most powerfully written papers that we have lately met with.]
I was the youngest child of three; but before I had attained my tenth year, I was an only one. I had always been the favourite of both my parents, and now I was their idol. They hung upon my existence, as a shipwrecked mariner clings to the last floating fragment of the gallant bark that bore him; they lived, but while they held by me, in the rough tossings of the ocean of life. I was not slow to discover my value in their estimation, or to exercise, in its fullest extent, the capricious tyranny of conscious power. Almost the earliest impression which my ripening mind received, was a regal immunity from error—I could do no wrong.
My education was not neglected. Alas! the only use I have ever made of what I acquired, has been to gild my vices when acted, or refine upon the manner of acting them while in contemplation. I look back, at this moment, to the period of my life I am describing, as prosperous men recall the day-spring of their fortunes. They, from the proud eminence on which they stand, trace, step by step, in retrospective view, the paths by which they ascended; and I, looking through the dark vista of my by-gone years, behold the fatal series of crimes and follies that stained their progress, stretching to my boyhood. The gay and frolic irregularities, as they were gently termed, of that untamed age, were the turbid source of the waters of misery in which I am now engulphed, I was a lawless planet, running at will; and the orbit I described laid waste more than one fair region of peace and happiness.
My father had a brother, his elder by many years; a man of stern and rigid character, as I then considered him; but, as I would now call him, of upright, firm, and honourable principle. He loved my father, but did not love his weakness; and the display of it, in his indulgence towards me, was the cause of many a serious, if not sometimes angry, debate between them. Well do I remember (for it rankled like poison in my swelling heart) a declaration he once made in my presence. It was a fine autumnal evening, and he was seated with my father and mother in a balcony, which opened from the library-window upon a spacious lawn. I entered the room, and advanced towards them, unconscious, of course, that their conversation had been about me; but my uncle looking at me with a severe expression of countenance, and at the same time addressing his brother, exclaimed, "Well, James, neither you nor I may live to see it; but if the grace of God, or his own better reflection, as he grows older, do not work a change in this young squire, a duel, Jack Ketch, or a razor, will work his exit some day or other."
My father smiled—I saw my mother wipe away a tear—at that moment I could have struck my uncle dead. I muttered a few words—I knew not what, and left the room. Boy as I was, (for I had barely completed my seventeenth year,) I felt all the vindictive passions of manhood kindling within me. It seemed as if a sentence had been passed upon me, the more terrible, because a secret voice whispered to me, it was prophetic! That impression never forsook me!
I questioned my father haughtily, a few days afterwards, as to the reasons of his brother for thus speaking of me; and I even dared to insinuate, that, had he felt what a father should, he would have resented the indignity. He answered me (I write it with shame and contrition) most mildly, most affectionately. The gentle being—I see him now, as he tenderly took my hand—apologized to me—to me! who ought to have stood trembling in his presence! I followed up my blow. With cold, but subtle malignity. I played off my revenge towards my uncle, through the idolatry of my father's love towards myself. I barbarously gave him a choice of misery; for I disdainfully replied, that he must henceforth determine, whether he would lose a brother or a son, as I had determined to remain no longer under his roof, unless I had the assurance that I should never again see my uncle there. He looked at me. My God! what a look it was! so full of meek sorrow and appalling obedience! Without uttering a word, he sat down to his writing-table. The tears fell upon his paper; but they did not blot out a few bitter words addressed to his brother, which severed for ever in this world two noble hearts; cast, indeed, in different moulds, but which kindred blood had cemented, in the close bonds of fraternal love, for more than forty years.
