swept; and when the first excesses of reac-esting to stand in this Hall at four o'clock in tionary frenzy had spent themselves, it was the afternoon of some important debate; judged a wise act to adopt and legalize, if while statesmen whose names fill the Europe they required legalizing, all the laws passed of to-day pass by into the House of Comby the Parliaments of the Commonwealth mons, and at the same time the thoughts are and the Protectorate, and thus the parlia- carried back to the days when the two mentary history of England regained and houses were assembled to frame the timecarried forward the unbroken sequence of honored laws under which we live-here in its progressive career, till the work begun by this very Hall. It is not less interesting to Stephen Langton and Richard, Earl of Pem- ascend the magnificent flight of steps at the broke, in 1215, was consummated by Earl south end of the Hall, and turning to the left, Grey and Lord John Russell, in 1832; the to enter St. Stephen's Chapel. Here then is authors of the Reform Bill proving them the spot consecrated to the genius of free selves worthy descendants of the champions institutions. This is the Chapel which King of Magna Charta. This was the last great Stephen built and dedicated to his patron step; doubtless there are others yet to come. saint; which Edward III. endowed; which To one who on a fine May evening walks Edward VI. allotted as a place of meeting to from Charing-cross through Whitehall and his faithful Commons; where the faithful Parliament street to Westminster, by the Commons have consulted ever since till within Admiralty, the Horse Guards, and the public the last twenty-one years. offices, amid a crowd of cabs and omnibuses, a throng of passengers, mitred and coroneted carriages bearing temporal and spiritual peers to their places in Parliament, while busy members for Manchester or the West Riding push along the pavement to a similar destination, it is difficult to recall the time when from this now bustling metropolitan street, London was nearly two miles distant; when there was but a rough road leading through the meadows by the river towards Thorney Island, amidst the thickets of which the towers of Westminster Abbey rose in solitary smokeless magnificence; while beneath their protecting shadow, within the shelter of their sanctuary, lay the humbler buildings where the king held his court, where his great council, the Parliament, tendered him their petitions, and his officers administered justice. Thorney Island is drained, solitude has departed, smoke has come, but the theory of the English constitution remains the same. Her Majesty may indeed reside at Buckingham Palace, but the royal presence is still regarded as the centre of authority present in the new palace of Westminster; there the Queen's judges still sit and administer justice in the royal name; there the Sovereign still repairs to sanction the acts, sometimes to receive the humble petitions and advice of her assembled Parliament. In happy fulfilment of this just idea, Westminster Hall was made the vestibule of the new houses of Parliament. Whatever may be said of the building as a whole, none can impugn the happy thought which suggested the present use to which the Hall is applied, or the admirable skill with which the thought has been put in execution. It is truly inter In 1834, when the Houses were burnt down, this chapel was among the first of the buildings that fell in. But the place had become consecrated with a higher unction than that bestowed upon it by Stephen's priests; and although the walls and roof were hopelessly gone, the site was preserved with jealous care: walls of the same height, a roof of the same pitch-were again erected; and a chamber new yet old, the exact verisimilitude in length and breadth and height, occupies the very same space, and we may say, in all but the identity of the bricks and mortar, is the very same room as that in which Elizabeth's Commons joined heart and hand together to support their royal mistress in repelling the assault of Spain; where Hampden protested against the illegal payment of ship-money; where Falkland lamented his country's wrongs, and repudiated his party's crimes; where Walpole for so many years resisted all the efforts of the ablest and most factious opposition ever perhaps combined against a single minister; where Pitt, the great Commoner, hurled that thunder which shook with fear the hearts not only of parliamentary opponents but of the foreign enemies of England; where Burke declaimed in a higher than parliamentary wisdom to an inferior and inattentive audience; or denounced Warren Hastings with a ferocity of invective that made the great Governor of India quail before his own conscience and his unsparing persecutor; where Sheridan spoke on the same Eastern question with such overwhelming eloquence, that the House, distrusting its own power of judgment under the influence of so potent a spell, deliberately adjourned its decision to a calmer hour; where Pitt the younger and Charles James | tion of domestic or foreign executive policy, Fox opposed each other with a rivalry not to his first impression is that the debate is be quelled till the time when they should strangely irrelevant, that old forms are very both sleep together in the adjoining abbey; much abused; but being better advised, he where Canning wasted his splendid talents in recollects that this is one of England's best defending a policy which he did not approve, privileges, this right to redress grievances. and vindicating a party with which he could in more modern phrase, to obtain informanot sympathize; where Wilberforce and Fow- tion from Government before granting supell Buxton delivered their testimony against ply. He sees a mild gentlemanly man in a crimes which England has since acknowl- grotesque costume, armed with a sword like edged, repented of, and repaired; where a lath, but he does not smile, at least not in Peel commenced that career, the end of contempt, for the very name of Serjeant-atwhich has so endeared his name to the grate- Arms is suggestive of the hardly-won and ful recollections of his countrymen; where rigidly-maintained privileges of the Comlastly the great battle of the Reform Bill was mons; of struggles with the court on behalf fought and lost, and fought again and won. of liberty; of commitments to the Tower; in a word, of the material force which is at hand to enforce the rights of the people's It was well to preserve a chamber rich in such associations, and though no longer itself the Commons House, it serves as an appro-representatives. He sees lords and honorapriate entrance corridor, adorned by the statues of Hampden, Clarendon, Falkland, and Walpole, destined to receive hereafter the effigies of other of the great worthies whose names are written in the book of English history, whose works have followed them in the roll of English liberties. bles upon the benches below, and he hails it as a consequence and memorial of that fusion of ranks by which the son of a peer becomes a commoner, and all ranks are bound together by a common interest. A message is brought down from the House of Lords, the respectful salutations made by the bearer of it to the Speaker provoke him not to ridicule, but to a comparison of the time when both Houses sat together, and the voice of the Commons was utterly lost in that of their acknowledged superiors-the Lords. Scarcely a quarter of an hour passes but his attention is arrested by some minute form, often troublesome, often tedious, often grotesque, but never omitted; and in its patient performance he acknowledges a profound wisdom, for he knows that easy as it is to laugh and be witty at the expense of ancient forms, these are notwithstanding the only limits by which popular discussion can be controlled, the only conditions under which a popular assembly has ever greatly flourished. He is aware that some of the greatest politicians* of continental Europe delight to dwell upon these forms with all the energy of half-envious admiration; politicians who have learnt by experience how hard, how impossible, it is to manage, or to create, popular assemblies without the safeguard of time-hallowed and deeply significant, though to a superficial observer unmeaning, forms; in a word, in the jealousy of ancient form, which hedges in and regulates but does not cramp a debate upon a modern Reform Bill, the educated or thoughtful observer perceives that careful clinging to the golden mean between perma Passing through a door at the end of this famous chapel, the parliamentary student who seeks to understand the old by the new finds himself in the central hall, from which corridors lead to the House of Lords on the right hand and the House of Commons on the left. Taking the latter direction, he passes through one more door and enters the lobby. Here truly all is modern. It is impossible to associate the post-office, the electric telegraph office, the illuminated clock, or even the surpassing insolence of the white-headed door-keeper, with the dignified simplicity of our remote ancestors. But let him pass on into the gallery of the House itself, and there he may con his historical lessons with full profit. The arrangement of the House, the Speaker in the chair, the clerks at the table, remind him immediately of quaint old woodcuts which he has seen in magazines, representing the Parliament of centuries ago; the mace lies upon the table; he remembers Oliver, and "Take away that bauble." He hears the words, "That this bill be now read a third time;" he recognizes the wise jealousy of hasty legislation which has interposed so many stages between an act introduced and an act passed; he hears further the question put by the Speaker, "That I now leave the chair," as preparatory to going into committee of supply; and when upon this question a discussion arises not on matters of supply, but on some ques-sity. * Such as Professor Dahlmann, of Bonn Univer WE present, with this number, a portrait of the poetess and journalist, ELIZA COOK, whose position in the world of letters is both honorable and well defined. First introduced to public notice by her poetry, she acquired a name which will be associated with those of Hood, Mackay and Elliott, more conspicuous for vigor and earnestness than for beauty. Her poems are remarkable for their life, and flowing and facile versification, and for the strong good sense with which they abound. Though sometimes delicate and tender, her muse more frequently delights in the sensible, the sarcastic or the humorous; much preferring to hit a foible than to disclose a beauty-to knock down a vice than to embellish a virtue. Some of her poems are peculiarly memorable in their way, and will not soon be got out of the remem (brance of those who admire honest feeling and strong good sense. Miss Cook has also figured largely, and with credit, as a journalist. She founded, and for many years conducted, a weekly periodical, Eliza Cook's Journal, which for variety, piquancy, and benevolent aim, hardly had a superior. It was, however, not appreciated; after a noble struggle, it fell; and since that time, the accomplished editor has not been much before the public. Her features disclose a masculine character, which her writings do not belie. Strength rather than beauty is her characteristic quality. On retiring she was afflicted with painful disease. With the removal of that, it is to be hoped that her vigorous pen will resume its activity. LORD PETER ROBERTSON.-Lord Peter Robertson, whose death is announced in the London papers, was one of the few intimate friends whom the late Mr. Lockhart, of the Quarterly, had in Scotland. They had known each other when both were young and briefless barristers, and the proud and sensitive Lockhart, who wished, it was said, after the death of his great father-in-law, Sir Walter Scott, to drop all acquaintance with Scotland, Abbotsford, and Scottish companions, preserved and cultivated the friendship of the jovial Patrick. There is a story current to the effect that the latter, after perpetrating the enormous folly of writing and publishing in his old age-two successive volumes of verse, happened to visit London and to dine with the editor of the Quarterly, to whom the second volume was dedicated. The humorist had become unusually sentimental, and begged that, after his death, his host should honor him-not with a biographybut with an epitaph. Lockhart extemporized the following felicitous couplet: Here lies the Christian, Judge and Poet Peter, Who broke the laws of God and man-and metre. From the New Monthly Magazine. SOME OF THE INCONVENIENCES OF PAYING ONE'S DEBTS. This is a serious business. All's Well that Ends Well. nature. Ir is much to be regretted that virtue | a man should remain unmarried-it was a should have its penalties as well as its pleas- shame! Depend upon it there must be ures. I have myself been a martyr to one of something wrong." Fortunately there was its lowest forms: a martyr without any of no tangible spot upon my character; but the the honors of martyrdom. Paul Pry's ex- usual machinery of "" we would an' if we clamation that "he would never do a good- could," and "such ambiguous givings out" natured thing again as long as he lived," were put into requisition; and although was an expressive phrase of unrequited kind- nothing was said, it was taken for granted ness; but mine were not even acts of good- that a great deal might have been said, "or Mr. Blank would not have looked so serious, or have avoided the subject so pointedly as he had done." I had formed an innumerable speaking acquaintance at clubs, and libraries, and public places; and one of the great pleasures of my morning walk was to have a talk with them all; but now I was either coldly bowed to, or passed without notice. I was also designated as a shabby fellow, who had the means but not the inclination to be hospitable; and this was assumed merely because I had adopted the practice of paying my debts. As long as I moved ambiguously upon the surface of society I was comparatively happy. It was only when I had taken a good house and adopted the habit of regularly paying my debts, that I began to be miserable. In no other way could I have been reputed wealthy. No one knew my income. Secretiveness was one of my largest phrenological developments, and my affairs had always been studiously kept to myself. It was solely, therefore, because I was in the habit of paying my debts that I brought upon myself all the penalties of reputed wealth. The "world" argued that any one might take a good house; but that to live in it, and continue to pay one's debts, was proof that there must be what is called a handsome property. Of this one of the first painful consequences was an universal desire to make my acquaintance. I became suddenly appreciated: Others could see, although myself could not, I was indeed "a marvellous proper man." But all this was incompatible with my habits. I preferred making my own selection; and dire was the offence. Mothers had sought me for their daughters' sakes. In vain I honorably refused attentions for which I could not make the expected return. In vain I assured them that I was really not a marrying man. Every one whose overture was rejected became an enemy. "That so wealthy The next evil consequence was, that I became the prey of every designing philanthropist. If I attended a religious or charitable gathering, to amuse myself by listening to some celebrated speaker, I was sure to be waited upon the next morning by one of the gentlemen who had done "the heavy business" of the previous day-usually a clerical young man in black, with a long neck carefully done up in hot-pressed white-who, referring to "our very interesting meeting,' had called for "the favor of a donation or subscription." Every Mrs. Jellaby who had concocted a pet scheme of piety or charity, after inflicting upon me the reading of a long prospectus and correspondence, "had no doubt she should have my countenance and support." The common-places to which I was doomed to listen, while they were read to me with all the aggravations of exaggerated emphasis, would of themselves have been a grievous affliction. "It is our duty to do all in our power to promote the welfare of others ;"—and then the reader would fix a pair of fiery gray eyes upon me, and wait for my assent to this obvious truism. But the attempt was not only upon my patience, but my money. Excellent in themselves, but endless in their number-Baths, Washhouses, Ragged Schools, Mendicity Societies, Hospitals, Female Refuges, Reformatory Establishments, Sailors' Homes, Protestant Alliances, Irish Missions, Home Missions, the Conversion of the Jews, and a long et cætera -all had their claims upon one who was accounted wealthy, merely because he was in the habit of paying his debts. The only thing to which I contributed with unmixed satisfaction was the poor box of a police-office; for in that case I saw nothing of the recipients, and had not been asked to give. What I had done, or what it was hoped I would do, led on to another infliction. My committee and board meetings were so numerous that I was induced to take into my service, as amanuensis, an ingenuous and sharp-witted juvunile delinquent, whose principal employment was to keep a record of my engagements and appointments. How that ended it would be premature to say. for My servants complained that their time was wholly occupied in admitting applicants my namee-which they assured me would be of special service-as a subscriber to Encyclopædias, Dictionaries, Gazetteers, Illustrated Scenery, Tables chronological, historical, biographical, or genealogical: Cathedral Antiquities, Lodge's Portraits, Casts from Shakspeare's Monument or the Elgin Marbles, and every form, in short, in which the ingenious make war upon the wealthy. The agents of every wine-merchant upon the Continent waited upon me for orders. Whenever any real property, or an eligible investment was offered for sale, I was specially invited to be present; and estates were strongly recommended to me which would have been cheaply purchased at fifty thousand pounds. I felt that I was occupying a false position; but it was no fault of mine. I had never pretended to be wealthy. I had merely been in the habit of paying my debts. The whole world seemed to have conspired against my peace. The exhibitors of circuses, plays, panoramas, dwarfs, wonders, objects of art, and assaults of arms, all came for my patronage and my money. If a musical pro fessor had made his expenditure harmonize so badly with his means as to have incurred the threats of his creditors, he hoped I would lend him fifty pounds. If an actor had become "the unhappy victim of unforeseen circumstances," he threw himself upon what he was pleased to term "my well-known kindness and generosity." If a shopkeeper had eaten up his capital in the shape of hot suppers and champagne, he trusted that I would not refuse to assist him with a small sum to meet his Christmas engagements, which I might depend upon his repaying in three months: and in less than one he was in the Gazette. If some fellow, through illusage or neglect, had lost his horse or cow, he seemed to think it nothing more than reasonable that I should give him the means of replacing it. If a bankrupt porter dealer had obtained the situation of tax collector, I was asked to be his security for five hundred pounds; and in six months he had absconded. Useless wives who (muddling away their husbands' gains) Spent little yet had nothing left. -daughters, as they assured me, of parents who had been in affluent circumstances ; the idle, the helpless, and the profligate, all found their way to the wretched being whose California, merely because he had been in the purse was believed to be the poor man's habit of paying his debts. Shut, shut the door, good John! was unavailing. It did not succeed even when Pope himself was the appellant. Life became intolerable; and I could see no remedy for its evils but to break up my establishment, and fly for refuge to the Continent. Furniture, wine, horses, pictures, articles. of "bigotry and virtue," were all brought to the hammer, with an effect that was instantaneous. The opinion of the "world" was changed as by the pantomimic wand of a magician. It now held that I could never have had much of an income," and must have been living upon my principal; but it admitted that, at any rate, I had been in the habit of paying my debts. Of this, the last and most grievous consequence was a long and unwished-for exile. |