to think that, realizing the theory of Cicero*, they find in literature a consolation in adversity-even in exile and the dungeon. We have already † given an account of the work-small in volume, but considerable in talent and importance-which M. de Polignac felt himself called upon to publish last year, and that specimen makes us hope that he will give us a full history of his own administration and of that eventful crisis which terminated, by the same blow, it and-for a season, at least-the monarchy of the elder Bourbons. M. de Peyronnet produced an able tract relative to the trial of himself and his colleagues; and he has lately contributed some articles to the 'Livre des Cent et Un,' which latter, however, seem to us to partake somewhat of the pompous mediocrity of the work in which they are placed. We have reason to believe that Baron Capelle is the author of a volume published the other day at the Hague, and entitled 'De l'Origine et des Progrès de l'Esprit Révolutionnaire;'-a volume of which we shall probably have occasion to speak at large hereafter, but which a cursory perusal inclines us to pronounce creditable to his talents and character. M. de Montbel has put forth a kind of panegyrical life of young Napoleon, Duke of Reichstadt-an odd subject for an ex-minister of Charles X., and treated in a poor, flimsy, and affected style: as they say that some diseases are gotten rid of by communicating them to others, M. de Montbel seems to have consoled his own ennui by transferring it to his readers. We have not yet heard that MM. de Chantelauze or GuernonRanville have sought the same remedy; but the Baron d'Haussez has administered to himself-and unfortunately to his readers also a very considerable dose of the literary narcotic in the two volumes which form the subject of this article.

We opened them with every desire to be pleased-we had been accustomed to think favourably of M. d'Haussez-his moral character is, as far as we know, unimpeachable-he had the reputation of being a diligent and honest minister-we sympathize with his misfortunes-we approve and admire the mild and philosophic temper which seeks in literature some compensation for the frowns of political fortune — and yet, with all our good predisposition, we cannot speak well of his work. It is to a surprising degree superficial and inaccurate; and it is so, not only from the mistakes to which a foreigner is always liable in describing a strange country, but from, we are sorry to say, the absence of a spirit of inquiry, of deduction, of

* Hæc studia adolescentiam alunt-senectutem oblectant-res secundas ornantadversis perfugium et solatium præbent-delectant domi-non impediunt forispernoctant nobiscum-peregrinantur-rusticantur.-Cic. pro Archiâ. + Quarterly Review, No. XCV., Art. 9.

comparison,

comparison,-in short, of judgment, which we expected from a man who has had such a share in the civil and political administration of a great empire. He sees and notes many apparent discrepancies between the manners and habits of English and French society; but he does not perceive, nor does he take the trouble of inquiring into, the causes which produce and often justify or reconcile those variances. He very often expatiates on differences between the two countries which are merely formal, and where a philosophical mind would have seen that there is no substantial difference at all. M. d'Haussez confesses that his observations on England are free,' and hopes they may be found fair.' With their freedom' we are not at all disposed to quarrel. England is very tolerant of criticism even when severe, and M. d'Haussez's criticism is-whatever he may have meant it to be-by no means pungent. That it is fair' we cannot at all agree, and shall be obliged to disprove but indeed it was hardly possible that it should be fair; for when a writer undertakes to compare or contrast two countries, of which he knows one as a native, and the other not at all, it would be miraculous that, however good his intentions, he should succeed in giving an equally accurate picture of both. We therefore do not complain that he is prejudiced against us; but we must censure a great deal of ignorance and bad faith with which he endeavours to bolster up his prejudices. We do not blame him for being partial to France-'tis very naturalbut we do blame him for a flimsy affectation of impartiality which the whole spirit of his book belies. Whether from artful design or sheer ignorance, he occasionally makes minor errors in our favour; and on some topics he appears to give us an advantage over France which we certainly should not have claimed for ourselves: but whatever little concessions he now and then makes in our favour he very soon resumes, and, by a series of mistakes and mis-statements, ends by leaving us no merit whatsoeverexcept, we think, the having better roads.

We hardly know where to begin, or how to pursue our examination of a book which produces its topics in a very strange confusion; we believe it will be best to take them great and small, trivial and important, as they occur

'The small towns that you pass through (in England), from the irregularity with which they are planned, and from the fact of the houses being situate on the very borders of the road, or some few feet from it, with gardens or a patch of green before the door, have, in truth, the appearance of large villages. No public promenade, nothing, in a word, which on the continent gives to a collection of houses the character of a town, presents itself to the eye of a traveller.'-p. 3. Now here we have, on trifling subjects indeed, a specimen of M. d'Haussez' style.

We

We know not where M. d'Haussez landed, or by what road he reached London; but we do not perceive the difference which he finds between the small towns of England and France respectively. How, in the points alluded to by M. d'Haussez, do Amiens and Canterbury differ? Is not the plan of Abbeville infinitely more irregular than that of Chichester? Have the houses in English towns gardens before every door, and are not the houses of French towns situated on the very borders of the public way? Has Windsor more or less the appearance of a town than St. Germain? or are Edgeware or Hounslow more or less villages than Ville Juif or Moisselles? Then he thinks a public promenade essential to give a collection of houses the character of a town. In France, no place is strictly called a town which has not walls; and streets inclosed within walls are generally dark, narrow, and unwholesome; the inhabitants of such towns find an agreeable and almost necessary promenade on the ramparts where they still exist, or on the spaces where the ramparts once ran; and sometimes there is a place d'armes outside the walls which affords a promenade. Similar walks exist in many English towns, but are, in general, unnecessary-where airy streets with spacious trottoirs* and shops, gay by day and brilliant by night-or the suburban roads, furnished on both sides with gravel walks, and bordered by gardens and villas-afford much more agreeable walks than the formal and little-frequented avenues, alternately miry and dusty, with which the necessity of their position obliges a French population to be satisfied; but which, whenever the localities will permit, we observe that they are ready to exchange for a well-paved street, or a handsome quay or terrace within the town. Thus, then, because M. d'Haussez did not see at the gate of Canterbury or Chichester a gravelly quincunx of stunted trees, he pronounces that these cities are not towns, and that the inhabitants have no promenade!

His description of the first view of London is striking, and, for nine months in the year, just.

Something vague and confused, which one cannot account fora species of foggy envelope of vast extent, across which you think you can distinguish objects of a conical form, then an imposing mass which crowns the whole of this vaporous picture, fixes the attention of the stranger-it is London, with its sombre and smoky sky, its numerous steeples, and its majestic St. Paul's.'-p. 3.

But he proceeds to say—

'None of the long avenues, the imposing luxury of the approaches

It is singular that England has long had the thing, and not the word; France the word, and not the thing. However, trottoirs are now making their way in Paris and other French towns.

VOL. L. NO. XCIX,

to

to continental towns-none of those magnificent, yet often impracticable roads which conduct you to them: the only indications of a rich metropolis are handsome houses separated from each other by gardens, diminishing in extent as you approach, and disappearing to make way for the houses which form the suburbs of London; winding roads of unequal breadth, but bounded on either side by commodious trottoirs kept in admirable order, and filled with carriages of all kinds and fashions, circulating with inconceivable rapidity.'-pp. 3, 4.

Now what does he mean by the imposing luxury of the approaches to continental towns?' The straight, but often, as he admits, impracticable roads,' lined with trees which lead to most foreign towns may be very handsome; but have they anything of 'imposing luxury' to be compared with the miles and miles of villas and gardens which form the approaches of London, and, in a less degree, of most English towns? At last he reaches London.

'Here are new subjects of wonder, for everything is presented under a different aspect from anything in France which could form a subject of comparison. In London there is a crowd without confusion -bustle without noise-immensity with an absence of grandeur. One sees large streets ornamented with trottoirs, paved with slabs of stone. These are separated by iron railings from brick houses two stories high, devoid of style, symmetry, or aught that resembles architecture. Some compensation is afforded for all that is wanting in art by the existence of squares, whose centre presents a garden embellished by statues, flowers, and green sward, with the additional ornament of fine trees.'-pp. 4, 5.

Where were M. d'Haussez's eyes when he imagined that London consists of brick houses two stories high?' we doubt whether he could find in any street in London one brick house only two stories high. London houses have generally four stories, never less than three, sometimes five or six. But many of his remarks on our metropolitan architecture are correct. He does justice to the beauty of our bridges and most of our churches, and, above all, to Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's; and he is struck with the general effect of the new whitewashed architecture in Waterloo Place, Regent Street, and the Regent's Park. But he adds

'So much pains have been taken to reproduce the ancient style of architecture, that one might fancy oneself in an ancient Greek or Roman city there is not a house which has not a monumental cha

:

A ludicrous instance of this whitewashing abomination occurs in the great square above Charing Cross. The Union Club and the College of Physicians form one façade; but unluckily the Club is plaster, and the College stone. In time the colour of the plaster had assimilated itself pretty well with the stone, and the building looked uniform and handsome; but it seems the Club is bound by its lease to paint its front once every three or four years, and it has been lately painted of a colour as different as possible from its unvarying neighbour: and the façade is now divided-unequally too-into light and dark, like a scaramouch.

racter.

racter. The slightest examination reveals the numerous imperfections, the glaring faults of imitation without taste, without reason, and at variance with the commonest rules of art.'—p. 7.

This is but too true; it is impossible to look at the details of these lines of architectural façades raised over the huge staring windows of haberdashers' shops, without being struck with their absurdity and incongruity. What miserable poverty of invention in the architects, what an absence of good taste and common sense, to be able to find nothing more appropriate to a line of shops than the temples of Greece and Italy! Luckily, they are but lath and plaster, and this evidence of our absurdity will not last much beyond the present generation.

Among the public buildings to be excepted from this rigorous censure are Somerset House, the New Post Office, the Orphan Asylum, Newgate, the Mansion House, the Bank, and, in a less elevated order, some Club-houses, such as the Union, the United Service, the Athenæum, and the Travellers'. Three of the theatres, the Opera, Covent Garden, and Drury Lane, are deserving of notice rather for their vast proportions than for their architecture. The Colosseum, which contains a panorama of London, is a noble edifice: it has the appearance of being transported from the banks of the Tiber to those of the Thames.'-pp. 7, 8.

We fear that M. d'Haussez is here too indulgent: Somerset House has nothing but its size to recommend it,-it is only a heap of not inelegant details. The new Post Office (otherwise plain and respectable) is disfigured by two unmeaning colonnades at the wings. Newgate has no architecture, and ought not to have the Mansion-house is full of faults; and the Bank is at once paltry and extravagant. The Clubs are handsome, particularly the Athenæum, which seems to us the most beautiful of all our modern buildings for its proportions and its happy union of simplicity and ornament. We agree, also, with M. d'Haussez that the Colosseum is a noble edifice, but the last expressions of his sentence lead us to doubt whether he is aware that it is-and was meant to be—a fac-simile of the portico of the Roman Colosseum. M. d'Haussez asks

* not if there be a police in London, that question the appearance of the policemen in their uniforms renders superfluous;-but what the police does? Its interference is not visible in the cleaning of the streets, nor in the indication of their names, for the names are wanting at the end of most of the streets'-(we had not observed this) nor in the regulation of the crowd of carriages at public places-nor in checking the shameless obtrusiveness of a certain class of women -nor in abating stalls dangerous to the health and safety of the pubWe are not sure that we are quite right in calling them colonnades: impervious porticoes would be perhaps a fitter designation, and better express our objection. lic'

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