there seemed one buzz of out-of-door anxiety through the whole theatre, that we believed there must be something unusual going on without. Again we inquired, and again were told that the House of Lords, the House of Commons, and Westminster Hall were all on fire! Still it was difficult to believe; for there, two boxes from us, sat an eminent philosopher, whose residence is within the Hall itself, listening to the rumours all around him with his old, unmoved, half contemptuous, halfself-complacent smile. But we forgot at that moment that he was a philosopher, and that philosophy can control all things. He has seen too much, we presume, to wonder at anything more. "Wonder," says the poet, grows unnactive by excesse," and for those who have been through eighty years astonished at all sorts of astonishments, there can be nothing, we fancy, left, unless it be to express astonishment at being astonished no longer. Even this, however, the philosopher did not seem to feel, nor anything else. He heard everything and sat quiet. His manuscripts might perish ?--no matter, that is the world's loss, not his. Reverently we admit this, and we shall believe the pleasant essayist after this, who protested that nothing could move him, not even the universe splitting about his ears at breakfast

He unconcern'd would hear the mighty crack,
And fill his tea-pot midst a falling world*.

So, however, could not we, and off we hurried from the theatre to the scene of the fire. It was certainly the grandest thing, at one period, we have ever witnessed. The night, as on the night of the great fire of 1666, was a fine one, with a sharp wind and a very brilliant moon. At some distance from Whitehall, the struggle between the two lights in the sky had a very strange and emphatic effect. On the scene itself however the moon was vanquished, and " paled her ineffectual fire!" Along the whole frontage of buildings which enclosed the Parliament Houses glared a huge sheet of lurid flame. Occasionally the wind, shifting on uncertain points, rolled it back, then brought it again dashing forward towards the Abbey, while, in returning, caught as it were among the inimitable fretwork and tracery of the Chapel of Henry the Seventh, it lingered an instant with a sort of playful pause before the wind dashed it again upon its office of destruction. Then the Abbey looked for some instants over the scene in dark and frowning quiet, but soon to its highest pinnacles the wayward light again played over it. These contrasts were noble. All the triumphs of light and shade in Art had prepared us but poorly for them.-We must stop ourselves here, however, in consideration for the reader; some detail will be found elsewhere, and we must be merciful. The newspapers have rioted and revelled in this fire so much,

* Amidst loud crashes, and with flames bursting all around him, it may be certain that this eminent person ate his supper at home, on the evening in question, with most quiet composure. He took his candle with him, after he had supped, to light himself to bed, though the glare without was at that time abundantly sufficient to have penetrated the "blanket of the dark" within. While the safety of the Hall and of his house were yet unassured, while danger was waking all around, the philosopher slept. Was he with Plato in the groves of the Academy ?-in Elysium with his favourite Virgil?-Was he while the Hall, which had witnessed so many of their triumphs, tottered on the verge of destruction, discussing republics with Ireton, or framing, with Harrington, immortal commonwealths?

Nov.-VOL. XLII. NO. CLXVII.

2 B

have dallied so fondly with metaphors of all sorts-have lingered so feelingly among regrets, and tropes, and passionate phrases, and still carry their readers on so remorselessly from day to day through periods that have no end, and through passages that lead, as those of the Lords and Commons now do to nothing-that anything more in the way of description must prove for the present commonplace. It is enough to say that the fire was not arrested until all the buildings in the House of Commons and in the House of Lords were either destroyed utterly or burnt down to the naked walls.

No wonder! We beg the reader's attention to the following passage from a work, "Designs for Public and Private Buildings," published some years ago by Sir John Soane :-" In the year 1800, the Court of Requests was made into a House of Lords, and the old buildings, of a slight character, several stories in height, surrounding that substantial structure, were converted into accommodations for the officers of the House of Lords, and in the necessary communications. The exterior of those old buildings, forming the front of the House of Lords, as well as the interior, is constructed chiefly with timber, covered with plaster. In such an extensive assemblage of combustible materials, SHOULD A FIRE HAPPEN, WHAT WOULD BECOME OF THE PAINTED CHAMBER, THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, AND WESTMINSTER HALL? Where would the progress of the fire be arrested? The want of security from fire, the narrow, gloomy, and unhealthy passages, and the insufficiency of the accommodations in this building, are important objects WHICH CALL LOUDLY FOR REVISION AND SPEEDY AMENDMENT." This call, urged so strongly in this remarkable passage by Sir John Soane, passed of course without the slightest notice; and now at last his emphatic question has received its emphatic answer! What has become of the House of Lords, and its famous tapestry, from which images of the virtue of the dead had so often frowned into shame the degeneracy of the living? What has become of the Painted Chamber, and its famous tapestry, and the more famous figures behind from whence it had its name, exquisite in drawing and still almost fresh in colouringfigures which had been there for nearly five centuries-which connected us as it were immediately with the long insensible and silent, and seemed, as we gazed curiously upon them, some in the death throes of conflict, others in the quiet majesty of rest, to mingle themselves again with us in the world, and to join their passions, experiences, weaknesses, or desires to those which swell the living tide of humanity? What has become of the House of Commons, where so many illustrious deeds have been done-where so many great minds have made stand against violence and fraud in the cause of liberty and reason-in whose halls were hung armoury of the invincible knights of old"-where Pym, Eliot, and Hampden acted together in immortal fellowship-where Pitt thundered, and Fox persuaded, and Burke spoke daggers and flourished them toothat House of Commons wherein, whatever the monstrous wrongs that may have been committed there, the greatest and most awful decisions have been passed that appear in the annals of history? and never, in any history, has been brought to such decisions, in any place, a calmer reason—a firmer nerve-a policy more comprehensive and enlightened— a constancy more lofty and sustained. What has become of this House of Commons? What would have become of Westminster Hall itself, with its thousands of undying memories and glories, notwithstanding all

the honourable exertions that were made, if the wind had not suddenly and most providentially shifted still farther to the west?

The answers have been given in characters of fire. Such could never have been the so disastrous issue, had the emphatic warning we have quoted been attended to in time. But so it is ever, in our country, with all public improvements-something disastrous must force them on. A murder will do it, or a fire-nothing less. When a fire burns down a few old houses, our authorities begin to think that the street might be wider and more handsome-when an old tottering gable-end has toppled down and knocked out the brains of a few worthy citizens, our city surveyors think it right to point out the instability of gable-ends various. Before the fire of 1666 every body complained of the wretched and unhealthy narrowness of the streets-every body pointed out their danger-but nobody came forward with improvements. The great improver came in the shape of the Great Fire. The result was a new city, richer in wealth, in the means of health, in grandeur, and all the conveniences of life. Lord Rochester indeed had every reason on his side when, in answer to those who had charged that calamity as a judgment on the King and his court, he protested, in his witty and profane fashion, that Heaven had never showed a judgment of a better sort.

We cannot, however, speak altogether in this way of the present calamity. The reader will have seen, by this time, that we do not affect to disregard the memories and living records of the past. We cannot pretend to be masters over habit-far less over feeling and association. We hold that the cold and scornful temperament which some people call philosophy refutes itself by its own disdain. Heaven knows our passions are sufficiently engaged in looking about us,-let us not abandon the only control to this, the wisdom that would look back occasionally to the struggles of the past, and throw us forward on the hopes of the future. The past has been called the heir-loom of the world. The places, then, that have witnessed its deeds are to some extent, as it were, the freehold wherein that heir-loom should descend for the inheritance of posterity, It is very well to say that the words or deeds of distinguished Englishmen will be had in grateful remembrance, notwithstanding the ruin of the places where they were spoken or performed,―to a great extent we trust this is so; but it were very vain indeed to deny, that the existence of these places do not more immediately connect us with the actors of those words and deeds-do not impress us with a nearer and more personal feeling-do not enthral us with a dearer sympathy, and encourage within us something that is greater and more reasonable than reason-a fond and loving imagination. We hold that half the mischief that has been committed in the world, and that it is just now in especial danger of having committed within it, has resulted, and will result, from a want of imagination. Let us beware, then, how we loosen its bonds. Every blow that is inflicted on it "strikes to the seat of grace within the mind." It is, indeed, the cheap defence of nations. It is, in itself, the sustainment of that polite, as well as philosophic, spirit, which has been the ornament, the preservative, and the eternal honour of great states. When they have abandoned it for grossness or indifference, their greatness has surely left them.

Where we can preserve it, then, by preserving the food that sustains it, let us not fail to do so. We have a great opportunity even from this calamity,

The fire which has burnt down the House of Commons, has left almost entire the old walls of St. Stephen's Chapel,-the noblest remains, perhaps, of a certain style of architecture existing in the world. The inner box which held the benches of the Commons, burnt away completely, has revealed the original walls and proportions of the building, with much of the original mouldings and exquisite tracery, and with many of those curious paintings that had adorned the ancient chapel, and are records to prove that the art existed in our country at the very period in which Horace Walpole protested it had left no vestige of existence. Than these walls as they stand at this moment, we know nothing more curious or more interesting. It becomes, therefore, a matter of more than ordinary interest to watch the proceedings of those to whom the task is intrusted of rebuilding or destroying. We shall not fail to watch them closely, and we are glad to observe the same spirit of watchfulness already awake in some of the daily journals.

To say anything at present about the new buildings that have become necessary for the use of Parliament might be perhaps somewhat premature. We do hope, however, that no advantage will be taken to shuffle the monstrous Buckingham-Palace job from the Royal Possessor, for the purpose of saddling it on the nation. Westminster Hall might be admirably fitted up for the temporary want, and St. James's Palace still more admirably. Something of this sort should be done; let us expect that everything will be done fairly. And may the occupants of the new House of Commons, by duties justly estimated and well performed, deliver down to their posterity associations as noble, as those which, with all its faults, and follies, and weaknesses, and crimes, yet remain to hallow the recollection of the old.

Of the causes in which this fire originated, we have had a vast variety of versions. The only reasonable and sensible one we have already given. But Sir Harcourt Lees protests that it was the work of a Popish incendiary, and swears that an explosion of a most sanguinary and diabolical character is not far distant in both countries;" but poor Sir Harcourt has been long accustomed to dream thus of an afternoon

And in the fancied ferment of still air,
Call up a subtle Guy Faux from his lair!

The "Morning Post" is a little more reasonable, and only ventures to suppose the burning an ebullition of the Unionists. The positive Mr. Cooper (the ironmonger) of Drury-lane, who protests he heard the fire spoken of at Dudley three hours after its first breaking out, has given employment to these conjectures, and excitement to the very honourable and listless Lords of the Privy Council, for a whole week. The penny-aline men have been as learned as usual on the occasion, and have furnished historical parallels to Mr. Cooper's acute ear, from the period of the battle of the Nile up to that of the ninth book of Herodotus. We do not believe a word of Mr. Cooper's statement. A Commission should really be issued to inquire into his fondness for dreaming-or drinking brandy and water-or making himself notorious; either of the three explains everything. The Exchequer tallies were obviously the origin of the fire; or else it was, as has been suggested, an act of spontaneous combustion-the appropriate close of Lord Brougham's Session of immortality. These reports of a wilful origin have always been persisted

in after any great fire. People love the excitement of supposing it; we only hope there is no fear of such excitement giving birth to the object of its hopes in the shape of some youth, such as he that fired the Ephesian dome; or of some ex post facto criminal, such as the wretched person whom the reports against the Papists persuaded to come forward after the City was burnt, to pretend that he had done it. He got hanged for it. Nor were the Papists the only party then maligned. Though there were no unionists, there were republicans, and the Morning Posts of that day said that they had fired it. The Morning Heralds, on the contrary, swore it was the Dutch; and other zealous journals protested it was nobody but the French. The best reason, however, given at last, was, that it was a direful punishment for the sin of gluttony, because the fire began at Pudding-lane and ended at Pie-corner. This last was a suggestion moreover considered to be quite borne out by the looks and by the consciences of the aldermen of the city. Now really there is something on this score almost as guilty-like in the appearance of many members of the Lords' House, although the Marquis of Sligo had been removed beforehand. We leave the matter however, as it is, undecided. The flames certainly burst forth as ferociously, and blazed as fast and furiously, as though" sin and fire" had been burning together.

One word in conclusion. The loss from this calamity is stated at three hundred thousand pounds in the matter of buildings alone. The actual loss of private property is also great. But do the losses terminate here? We fear not. We observe an ominous advertisement in the papers stating that many papers have been lost from the Augmentation Office. Are not fines and recoveries deposited there? How many of these are missing? How many estates may be in consequence unsettled?

MONTHLY COMMENTARY.

The See of Bristol-Recent Defalcations-Unhappy Differences--An Apt Appoint ment-Murder of Mr. Southgate-The Birmingham Festival-The Indies, West and East-Mysterious Disappearance-A Planet-struck Heroine-Sorrows of the Sweeps-The late Conflagration-Death of Earl Derby-Bits of News.

THE past month has been unusually eventful, and demands a larger space than we usually bestow upon this department of the Magazine. One catastrophe claims the greater share of our attention, but, notwithstanding its paramount importance, we prefer taking it in its chronological order; because we are anxious to delay, to the last, our details, in hopes to be able, before we go to press, to afford our readers some satisfactory account of its origin.

THE SEE OF BRISTOL.-The country has experienced a very severe loss in the death of the exemplary Dr. Gray, Lord Bishop of Bristol, a man universally esteemed, not only for great talent, but for a zeal and affection to the established church, of which he was so strong a pillar, and so bright an ornament. His Lordship was the son of Mr. Gray,