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The Tuileriea strikes me as an irregular mass of buildings with little pretensions to architectural beauty or effect. It has great capacity and nothing more. The Louvre is much finer, yet still not remarkable, but its wealth of Paintings by the Great Masters of all time surprised as well as delighted me. I never saw any thing at all comparable to it."
It seems rather odd to find the practical philosopher going into raptures over the severe column of Luxor, and reckoning its transportation one of the " greatest triumphs of human genius;" what will the old gentleman say, when he gets to Rome, finds a hnger one by half, standing upon bronze tripods, and yet seeming a pigmy milestone before the awful size of St. Peter's dome? However, there is no accounting for tastes; and ten to one, the object which will seem most admirable to Mr. Greeley at Rome, will be the Cloaca Maxima—the greatest and stoutest and oldest sewer in the world.
It will be a rich gratification to English admirers of the Royal Academy, and to American admirers of Calvary church, to hear the inner court of the Palace of the Louvre set down as "nothing remarkable."
Of French character and disposition, however, Mr. Gbeeley seems to have a very fair conception, as this bit of a late letter will show:—
"The Frenchman's pleasures are all social; to eat, drink or spend the evening alone would be a weariness to him: he reads his newspaper in the thoroughfare or the public
fardens: he talks more in one day than an Englishman in three: the theatres, balls, concerts, die., which to the islander afford occasional recreation are to him a nightly necessity: he would be lonely and miserable without them. Nowhere is amusement more systematically, sedulously sought than in Paris; nowhere is it more abundant or accessible. For boys just escaped from school or paternal restraint, intent on enjoyment and untroubled by conscience of forecast, this must be a rare city. Its people, as a community, have signal good qualities and grave defects: they are intelligent, vivacious, courteous, obliging, generous, and humane; eager to enjoy, but willing that all the world should enjoy with them; while at the same time they are impulsive, fickle, sensual, and irreverent. Paris is the Paradise of the Senses; a focus of enjoyment, not of happiness. Nowhere are youth and its capacities more prodigally lavished; nowhere is old age less happy or less respected."
We have taken our readers, this week, to the other side of the water, and hare mgrossed our columns so much with French topic, that we have no room for mention of what is stirring at home. We regret thii the less, however, for the reason that there is nothing of interest here to be noted, and our readers will surely agree with us, thst nothing can so relieve the heat of this Jnlj season, as a stroll among the haunt- -which are made grateful by French gayetv and French gossip.
THE BOOK WORLD.
Of Books we have scarce any thing to record. The monthlies of Riant, and SruiNOEE & Townsend, have made their appearance, and are made attractire hj very many articles, in the publication of which our journal had the good fortune to anticipate them weeks ago.
The booksellers of the town are sighk one and all, over deserted shops; and |3 the book-readers have given over their oca pation for the summer.
We are happy to see that the Currier det Etatt Unit, of which journal « have often spoken in terms of commendition, has become a daily issue. The axe paper advertises a detailed account of tfe remarkable trial of the Count de Boons
Mr. Barnes, the enterprising ptk
lisher of John-street, has just issued Be* editions of Walter Colton's "Ship ai Shore, and "A!hens and Conttantmfhi' (or, as it is now named.) "Land and 1# They are both of them charming records i travel, and with their salt air odorous atei them, will prove most delightful coolers fa a summer in the country.
Mr. Coltoh was a graphic narrator, sod joined to his moral teaching an occssietsi spice of wit, which is the very thing to p'J piquancy into a book for good people.
"Lady Willoughby's -Diary' of the
old time is just issued by the same boo* Its quaintness, good sense, and antsp phraseology will actually occupy the attec tion of all ladies who wish to eompare the mother of the seventeenth century with the mother of today. Mr. Pickereso's issue a the sam» book added quaintness of type S quaintness of matter; but the edition of* Baknes is neat, readable, and equal to »! of the reprints of the day.
One of the first objects of attraction in London for the stranger, must necessarily be the new Houses of Parliament. They are certainly the most noticeable of all the architectural displays in England.
Critics have quarrelled much with the finical character of the work, and with the profusion of ornament; but their purpose, their size, their cost, and their durability must excite always a great deal of wonder and of curiosity.
The present magnificent pile was erected after designs by Bae&t. There has been no limit in the matter of cost; the final and entire expense is estimated at sums varying from twenty to fifty millions of pounds.
The portions of the interior finished and accessible to the public are the committeerooms (occupying the greater portion of the river front) and the two legislative chambers, which are in the centres of the northern and southern halves of the building. The general public entrance, when complete, will be through Westminster Hall, up a flight of steps at its south end, into a square vaulted vestibule, called St. Stephen's Porch; thence, turning east, up another flight, and along the "St. Stephen's Hall," a fine passage, but a very poor substitute, alas! for the Edwardian chapel it replaces, into the octagon hall, in the centre of the whole edifice. This is about 60 ft. in diameter, and the same in height, covered by a massive Gothic dome, on which is to be raised a light open stone lantern and spire nearly 300 ft. high, which are an addition to the original design. From hence three passages will branch: that straightforward leading to the centre
of the long corridor of the committee-reoms, that on the north to the Commons' lohhy and House, and that on the south to the Lords. These splendid approaches occupy altogether fully fifteen times the capacity of either House. The royal approach ((ran the great tower at the southweit cons«| also fills about thrice the space taken It the House of Lords, and includes, beside robing-rooms, Ac., a splendid lobhy, ahout 45 ft. square, and a gallery 110 feet looj, 45 wide, and 45 high, being the largest r ■ in the modern palace. Its decoration i.' hardly yet begun. That of the House of Lords itself is nearly complete, and it his been used since April, 1847. It Hut he seen, during the session, on Wedoesdiji. between 11 and 4, by an order frem the Lord Chamberlain, (which is obtainahle U an office near the temporary entrance;I ■ without an order, on the days of hearia' appeals, when the House, being a judical court, is of course open. It is (if not intrinsically, at least effectively) the richest dauber erected since the fall of the meduenl church architecture; a gorgeous effect heiof, produced by gilding all the moulding (which include the whole of the stone mi most of the woodwork,) and covering lbs remaining surfaces with minute colored [*' terns. The House is nearly an exact doofe cube of 45 ft.; the ceiling divided by era? ing beams into 18 squares, correspondis; to the arched compartments of the WW which are all similar, except that the six on each side are occupied by windows ftt colored devices, and the three at eachetid by frescoes, a species of painting now W attempted in England.
also has been left to grow into a forest of the elegant and varied inventions of the chimney-doctor; it having by this time become an admitted and established rule, that these, and many other parts of buildings (in fact, to define them in short, all necessary or useful parts) were excluded from the architect's province—not expected to appear in his drawings, and, in the actual execution, made allowance for, as necessary evils, invisible to the practised and tutored eye, which is expected to see the building not as it stands, (and always will stand while in use,) but as it would appear with the necessary blots, the objects of vulgar utility, abstracted.
From Chamban' " Edinburgh Journal."
THE DESERTED HOUSE.
Having been detained by the illness of a relative at the small town of Beziers, when travelling a few years since in the south of France, and finding time hang somewhat heavily on my hands during the slow progress of my companion's convalescence, I took to wandering about the neighborhood within a circle of four or five miles, inspecting the proceedings of the agriculturists, and making acquaintance with the country people. On one of these excursions, see?ng a high wall and an iron gate, I turned out of my road to take a peep at the interior through the rails; but I found them so overgrown with creepers of one sort or another, that it was not easy to distinguish any thing but a house which stood about a hundred yards from the entrance. Finding, however, that the gate was not quite closed, I gave it a push; and although it moved very stiffly on its hinges, and grated along the ground as it went, I contrived to force an aperture wide enough to put in my head. What a scene of desolation was there! The house, which was built of dark-colored bricks, looked an if it had not been inhabited for a century. The roof was much decayed, the paint black with age, the stone steps green with moss, and the windows all concealed by discolored and dilapidated Venetian blinds. The garden was a wilderness of weeds and overgrown rose-bushes; and
except one broad one, in a right line with
the main door of the house, the paths were no longer distinguishable. After surveymg this dismal scene for some time, I came away with a strange feeling of curiosity. "Why should this place be so entirely deserted and neglected?" thought L It was not like a fortress, a castle, or an abbey, allowed to fall into ruins from extreme age, because no longer appropriate to the habits of the period. On the contrary, the building I had seen was comparatively modern, and had fallen to decay merely for want of those timely repairs and defences of the weather that ordinary prudence prescribes. "Perhaps there is some sad history attached to the spot," I thought; "or perhaps the race to whom it belonged have died out; or may be the cause of its destruction is nothing more tragical than a lawsuit I"
As I returned, I inquired of a woman in the nearest village if she could tell me to whom that desolate spot belonged.
"To a Spaniard," she answered; "but he is dead!"
"But to whom does it belong now T I asked. "Why is it suffered to fall into ruin?"
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, and re-entering the hovel, at the door of which she had been standing.
During dinner that day I asked the host of the inn if he knew the place, and could satisfy my curiosity. He knew it well, he answered. The* last inhabitant had been a Count Ruy Gonzalez, a Spaniard, whose wife had died there under some painful circumstances, of which nobody knew the partknlars. He had been passionately fond of her, and immediately after her decease had gone to reside in Paris, where he had also died As the place formed part of the lady's fortune, it had fallen into the hands of some distant relation of hers, who had let it; bat the tenant, after a residence of a few month*, left it, at some sacrifice of rent; and other parties who subsequently took it having all speedily vacated under one pretext or another, an evil reputation gathered round and clung to it so tenaciously, that all idea of occupation had been relinquished.
It may be conceived that this information did not diminish my interest in the deserted house; and on the following day I was quite eager to see my invalid settled for her midday slumber, in order that I might repeat