But ere we enter, let us linger for a space in Palace-Yard, now forming the square opposite the entrance to this ancient hall. This spot has been rendered ever memorable as the scene of the execution of Sir Walter Raleigh; and I never crossed its well-worn flag-stones without recalling, in imagination, that memorable morning when the brave old knight came from the Tower to die, having proved by his serene piety and saintly patience during a long confinement, the truth of his own beautiful lines:

'THAT Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet, take

That for an hermitage.'

There was an anxious but orderly crowd in Palace-Yard on that calm, bright morning of the twenth-seventh October, 1618. Every window and house-top seemed alive with the populace of London and its vicinity. Through the long and narrow streets by which the mournful procession passed from the Tower on to the place of execution, was one dense struggling mass, who had come to see an old man, broken by the storms of fate, borne onward to his doom. It was nine in the morning when Raleigh ascended the scaffold. He had suffered some days from fever-and-ague; and lest the weakness of his body should be considered a weakness of the soul, he stepped forward immediately to the front of the scaffold, and addressing those around it, said: 'I desire, my friends, that you will bear with me withal, and if I should manifest any weakness, I beseech you to attribute it to my malady, as this is the hour when it is wont to come on.' After some preliminaries, he remarked to his friends immediately around him: 'I have a long journey to go, and will bid you farewell.' And so turned himself to make ready for his fate. Asking the executioner to show him the axe, and perceiving that he hesitated, he said quickly: 'Prithee let me see it, man! do you think that I am afraid?' The officer then handed it to him, and he, running his finger along the glittering edge, said smilingly: This is a sharp medicine, but a most sovereign remedy for all diseases.' Being asked which way he would lay his head upon the block, he uttered that memorable and beautiful sentence: 'It matters not, so the heart be straight, which way the head lieth.' Then bending himself to his fate:

'No man dared to look aloft,
For fear was on every soul;
There was another heavy sound,

A hush, and then a groan,

And darkness swept across the sky:
The work of death was done.'

The hoary head that then fell upon the scaffold, was carried away in a mourning-coach to his disconsolate widow, to whom he had addressed those beautiful and affecting letters from the Tower. She had it embalmed, kept it by her during life, and after death,

by her directions, it was placed by the side of her body in St. Margaret's Church.

A few years ago the vault was opened, and there, still enshrined in its casket, was found the embalmed head of the poet, philosopher, orator, and sage, possessing the countenance very little impaired and quite life-like.

But let us enter Westminster Hall, on our way to the chambers of the two Houses of Parliament, and in doing so, recall the leading incidents in its history. Looked at as a banqueting-hall, here have taken place nearly all the coronation feasts of England from the commencement of the fourteenth century, down to that sumptuous and magnificent feast on the coronation of George the Fourth, so graphically described by the historical painter, Haydon. Here, too, the ancient Parliaments of the realm were wont to sit, and here the first representation of the people assembled in Parliament as early as the reign of the Third Henry. Here Sir William Wallace was condemned for treason, here Sir Thomas More was arraigned, and Protector Somerset brought to trial,' with bills, poleaxes, and halberds attending him, while the clamor of the people might be heard to the Long-Acre, beyond Charing-Cross.' Here, more illustrious than all, Charles the First faced his accusers, and heard unmoved the sentence of death; and last, and more brilliant than all, here Hastings underwent his seven years' trial. Under its pavement, where the vaults are now, were the celebrated taverns, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory; frequented in the olden time by lawyers and lawyers' clerks. In Ben Johnson's 'Alchemist," Dapper is forbidden 'to break his fast in Heaven and Hell.' And Hudibras alludes to them in his lines:

'Faire Heaven at the end of Hell.'

The present law-courts are held in chambers on the western side of this hall.

A large arch-way on the left of the farther extremity of the hall, a stone stair-case admits you to the new structure, or Palace of Westminster, as it is sometimes called, and discloses to your view St. Stephen's Hall. Tread reverently, for you stand,_on entering here, upon the site of the old House of Commons. The space it occupies is as renowned in the world's history as old Rome's senate hall. A row of huge pedestals flanks the wall on the right and left, ornamented with statues of England's greatest and best. There you may discern the furrowed brow of Selden; the handsome, manly face of Hampden, with the rich curls clustering about his massive temples; the thoughtful countenance of Falkland; and the manly forms of Walpole, Chatham, Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and Burke, all standing there in mute majesty upon the very spot which, living, was the theatre of their world-wide fame. And see how those great compartments that separate the statues are eloquently alive with historic frescoes, illustrative of England's past glory. Here you may behold the sitting of the Wittenage

mote, the earliest Saxon council, and there the feudal system finds an illustration in the homage of the barons to William the Conqueror. On the one side, you have the crowning of Henry the Seventh at Bosworth over the dead body of Richard, when Lord Stanley, the descendant of Cadwallader, ascended the hill, now known to tourists as 'Crown Hill,' and proclaimed him conqueror and king. On the other side, the signing of the Magna Charta. Here the Reformation is typified in the incident of Elizabeth receiving the Bible in Cheapside; while in close vicinity, you may notice the burly form of Sir Thomas More, asserting and defending the privileges of the Commons against Cardinal Wolsey. Above these frescoes are ranges of windows of most cathedral-like proportions, gorgeous with stained glass, glowing in amber, violet, and ruby hues, and

'Filling the air around with beauty.'

The fact that this stained glass is the work of modern skill, refutes the common assertion, that this beautiful art is comparatively lost. The skill whose cunning fingers wrought these marvellous colors, might compass designs of any magnitude, either in the illumination of tracery, or the complicated groupings of history, without receding from the point of excellence attained by the most renowned masters. Indeed it may well be questioned, whether the annealing of glass in the age of Albert Durer, was comparable to those processes of modern chemistry, of which the latest glass-stainers have been enabled to avail themselves.

Passing through the magnificent arch at the other end of this superb hall, you find yourself in the central rotunda of the pile, whose exquisite proportions and enrichment excite at once your warmest admiration. It is octagon in its shape, while the grained roof, with its huge bosses, rivals any specimens of the Gothic in England, and I believe has the largest space of any in Europe; that is, of any composed entirely of stone, as this is. The massive walls divide the inner into eight principal divisions. Rich clusters of columns rise between each of the alternating series, and form round the entire hall eight grand arches. Every thing around breathes an atmosphere of richness and repose. Taking the archway on your left, you pass through a short but noble-looking corridor, with a most elaborately groined roof of stone. This corridor conducts us to the lobby of the New House of Commons. This lobby boasts a magnificent roof of carved wood, while the entire surface of its walls is enriched with the various resources of architectural taste and skill. That little green-baize door by the side of one of the arches, leads up into what is known as the Strangers' Gallery of the House of Commons. Ascend a few steps, and you are looking down upon a spot which occupies a most conspicuous place in the mental vision of the civilized world. It is a much smaller apartment than that occupied by our present House of Representatives at Washington, but infinitely superior to it, as far as

appropriateness and good taste are concerned. The size is as small as possible for speaking and hearing without effort, during the average attendance of members, in number about three hundred. I believe it is some seventy-five feet long, forty feet wide, and about forty feet high: in much better proportion than our American Hall, which, owing to its immense size, dwarfs the ceiling, and gives a crushed look, if I may use the word, to the whole chamber. The ceiling of the House of Commons is divided by massive ribs into compartments, filled with ground-glass tinted with the rose. Behind this are placed the gas-lights, with Faraday's patent ventilation, cutting off all connection between the gas and air of the apartment, the vitiated air being conveyed away by tubes into a chamber above the ceiling. The floor of the House is of perforated cast-iron, covered with matting, through which hot and cold air are admitted, by means of machinery below. The walls are panelled with oak two-thirds up, most richly and elaborately carved, and giving a grave and sober aspect to the whole chamber, suitable to the character of the deliberative body that occupy it. The windows are filled with stained glass of rather a cloudy pattern, while rows of emblazoned shields extend all round the chamber under and above the gallery, and are the only gleams of gorgeous coloring vouchsafed to the House. Upon three sides are galleries for members and strangers, the reporters' gallery being at the north end, over the speaker's chair, which is a sort of canopied throne, while still higher than the reporters' gallery may be noticed a latticed one for ladies, who look, through the bars, for all the world like the inmates of some Eastern Harem, from their guarded and iron-grated windows. Right and left of the public entrance on the floor, the benches or sofas of the members ascend amphitheatre fashion, covered with red morocco; but there are no desks, and therefore none of that school-room look presented by our legislative chambers. The ministerial seats, as they are called, are the front benches to the right of the speaker; the leaders of the opposition occupying the front benches directly opposite. Below the speaker's chair is the clerk's table, whereon, during the sittings of the House, is placed the speaker's mace; not, however, as generally supposed, the fool's bauble,' which Cromwell ordered to be taken away, but the mace that was made at the Restoration. Along both sides of the House are what are known as division lobbies,' ayes west, and noes east; a most capital arrangement.

·

Returning to the octagon hall by which we gained entrance to the House, and passing through a corresponding corridor, like that we have mentioned as leading to the Commons, we reach the lobby of the House of Peers, with gilded arch above arch, painted with the armorial devices of Saxon, Norman, Plantagenet, Tudor, Stuart, and Hanoverian lines, each surmounted by a royal crown. The windows above are richly painted with the arms of the early families of the English aristocracy. You pause, startled by the

magnificence that every where surrounds you. Colors glow and gilding burns. The windows are ablaze with glass stained with the richest hues: silver, crimson, and azure tints fleck the glowing encaustic tile-pavement at your feet; gold, crimson, and blue stain the walls that intervene between them. Gates of massive brass, and richly floriated design, eleven feet high, and weighing a tonand-a-half, open from this splendid lobby, to admit you into the

House of Peers.

And here nothing has been left undone that taste could suggest, or art perfect, to make this chamber a visible type of the order to which it belongs. The windows are twelve in number, glowing with glass of the richest pattern. The massive ribs of the ceiling are like so many bars of gold. At the upper end of this magnificent chamber is the throne, elevated on steps, covered with a carpet of the richest scarlet, powdered with white roses, and a heavy rich fringe of gold. Beneath its light and elegant canopies, you notice the central chair for Her Majesty; that on the right for the Prince of Wales, and that on the left for Prince Albert. The Queen's chair of state rests upon four lions couchant; the back is bordered with large egg-shaped pieces of crystal, within which are the royal arms of England embroidered on velvet.

At each end of the chamber, over the throne, and over the corresponding lofty canopy facing it, three arches of most stately space enshrine frescoes emblematic of some prominent event in English history, while between the windows, and in each of the four corners, in appropriate niches, are colossal statues of bronzegilt, of those brave Barons who wrung that great concession of Magna Charta from King John. The body of the chamber is occupied with sofas for the Peers, covered with rich crimson, and similarly arranged with those of the House. At the south end is the clerk's table, and beyond it the wool-sacks, covered with crimson cloth, upon which the chancellor reposes when he presides in the House of Peers. Lord Campbell tells us the origin of this remarkable piece of furniture. Having premised that there are wool-sacks for the judges and other dignitaries, as well as for the Lord Chancellor, he says: "They are said to have been introduced as seats for honorable men, out of compliment to the staple manufacture of the realm.'

Such are the chambers where the Two Houses of Parliament legislate. It would take a volume to describe the reading-rooms, libraries, committee-rooms, the speaker's chambers, refreshmentrooms, and halls, composing this vast pile. They are all of corresponding splendor with those I have described, and the entire structure is in every way worthy the power, magnificence, and wealth of the great nation that created it.

Burlington, N. J.