Canada and Nova Scotia in their present difficulties, and that they await with deep anxiety the action that may be had thereon, by those patriotic and long-suffering people."

We cannot close this article without stating, that the other British North American Colonies are also at issue with their respective local oligarchies. Nova Scotia has just passed a series of resolutions, the last of which is in favour of an elective council. Newfoundland, in its demands for reform, makes an elective council a sine quâ non. Prince Edward's Island has also pronounced herself in favour of the same wholesome measure. All these colonies have serious differences with the ruling power. In New Brunswick, we are not aware that the elective council question has been broached; but of this we are quite certain, that New Brunswick is highly discontented, and has lately succeeded in driving an obnoxious governor out of the colony.

Here, then, we have a million and a half of people, ripe for revolt—a number not very far short of the population of the old colonies, when "the troubles commenced," and yet our ministry, with Tory obstinacy, seems determined to bring about a similar result.

Separation is perhaps a contingency inseparable from colonies; but there is no reason why it should be violent. A wise minister would establish such a colonial government, as would insensibly lead to independence. For this sacred purpose what so obvious as institutions purely elective? Not that independence would so soon occur, as in consequence of a system of coercion. The duration of the colonial connexion will be in the inverse ratio of imperial interference, and it might be almost perpetual, by leaving the colonists entirely to themselves.

We now close this somewhat long article, by declaring our solemn opinion, that unless ministers entirely abandon their system of colonial policy, they will one day be surprised by the apparition of LE JEUNE CANADA.*

ART. V.-Londres: Voyage contenant la Description de cette Capitale, avec les Moeurs, &c. &c., par Albert Montémont. Paris.

HE remarks of foreigners on our institutions are often more instructive than the opinions of native critics: habit renders the latter less liable to observe general defects, while the

* See Postscript at the end of this Number.

VOL. III.-NO. V.

I

unvitiated eye of the former immediately detects a fault. The generality of tourists are so superficial in their knowledge of the countries they describe, that we cannot rely implicitly either on the accuracy of their statements or the infallibility of their judgment; but when there are points on which they are all agreed, it must be confessed that the concurrence of opinion adds considerably to its force. If, moreover, to the written observations of individual travellers, is added the verbal testimony of foreigners in general, we must allow that there is some foundation for their remarks, whether they contain praise or blame; and as the former is frequently bestowed, we ought not to complain when the latter is occasionally applied. Strangers do not deny the wealth of England, the importance of her colonial possessions, the extent of her trade, the industry of her manufactories, and the general activity of all her people: these are sources of greatness which are averred, proved, and uncontested; but there are other claims to rank as the first of civilized nations, which, though boldly put forth by patriotic eulogists at home, are not readily admitted by unprejudiced observers abroad.

In the work before us we find the following rather extraordinary sentence:- Speaking of London, the writer describes the buildings as a "mensonge d'architecture, comme la constitution est un mensonge de liberté, la religion une simagrée de piété, et les mœurs un mensonge de pruderie.'

On the architecture of a town depends the first impression a stranger receives on his arrival; and to the inferiority of London in this respect we attribute the disappointment of our traveller. The foreigner who has passed by the Arc de l'Etoile smiles at the arch at Hyde Park Corner; accustomed to the Tuilleries, he is astonished on his first visit to Buckingham Palace; and when asking for the Louvre of London, can scarcely believe the cicerone who conducts him to the National Gallery. It is the size, not the beauty, of London, which strikes the foreigner; he admires the width of the streets, but looks with contempt on the houses which compose them-small black buildings, as our author describes them, "made of wood and brick, without height or beauty-temporary abodes, which, like tents, are destined to endure no longer than the lease on which they are built." Paint and plaster have done their best to conceal the poverty of the materials, but neither paint nor plaster can correct the proportions, or give elevation to the structure. With the exception of Apsley and Burlington, Northumberland and Lansdowne houses, the stranger looks in vain for the nobleman's palace, or wealthy commoner's hotel. Two-story houses, with small windows and narrow doorways, are the town-residences of

the rich and haughty aristocracy of England. The public buildings are scarcely more remarkable for their elegance than the private houses. Their number is very small considering the size of London; and the close neighbourhood of other buildings prevents the little merit they have from being sufficiently remarked. The bridges alone stand pre-eminent in the world for beauty and solidity. The broad Thames is shut out from the view, and the irregular wharfs and warehouses on its banks evince neither taste nor plan in their erection. The public offices are not distinguished for their splendour, and when we compare the Admiralty in London with the Admiralty in Petersburg, or the treasury of the former city with the new Hotel erecting on the Quai d'Orsay at Paris, we must confess that the government houses in Whitehall and Downing-street are not in proportion with the importance of the business which is transacted in them. The late houses of Parliament caused respect in the English antiquarian, but only disappointment to the foreign traveller. The Royal residences are pitiful, and, with the exception of Somerset House, not a building in London deserves the title of Palace. Some authors attribute the deficiency in regal grandeur to the limited nature of the monarchy, and others trace the unclassic character of the public buildings to the commercial disposition of the people. Neither is the real case, for millions have been voted for royal palaces, and the abortive attempts at architectural ornament prove that not the wish but the genius is wanting. Venice and Genoa are cities of palaces, but both Venice and Genoa were raised by a mercantile and commercial people. A third and still more ridiculous excuse has been grounded on the cold and ungenial nature of our northern latitude. This plea may be justly urged as far as statuary is concerned, for the delicate work of the chisel, and the material it requires, may be unable to resist the corrosive damps of our variable and humid climate; but neither the coldness of the climate, nor the commercial spirit of the nation, can be admitted as excuses for the bad taste of our buildings. The East India Company of merchants have raised in Calcutta, perhaps, the noblest building in the British dominions; and there is no reason why the banks of the Thames should not be lined with palaces, as well as the still colder shores of the Neva. Other causes than these must exist; and, perhaps, we shall be nearer the truth if we attribute the mean appearance of our town houses to the general prevalence of isolated domicile. The English system of one family occupying an entire house may possibly have encreased the cleanliness, but certainly has destroyed the grandeur of our domestic buildings. The number of houses in the

chief towns, and tlie number of families who inhabit them, are given in returns made to Parliament, pursuant to an Act for taking an account of the British population. According to these tables, there are in London 171 families to a hundred houses; in Liverpool, 131; Manchester, 116; and Birmingham, 105; whereas in Paris there are at least five hundred families to a hundred houses. According to another statement, there are ten persons to one house in London, twenty to one in Paris, and more than forty-seven to one in Petersburg.* The consequence of this difference is evident: the size of the habitation is in proportion to the number of individuals who occupy it; and the houses in Paris are superior to the houses in London, inasmuch as the expenses and incomes of twenty persons are greater than the expenses and incomes of ten. Want of space, and density of population, cannot be urged as objections to the adoption of the Continental system, for supposing one Paris house to occupy the same ground as three London houses, the three London houses would be tenanted by three families, while the one Paris house, being three stories high, would be occupied by the same number of families. The advantages, as far as regards architectural grandeur, are too evident to need further comment; but there is another consideration which ought to be duly weighed before we give either system the preferencewhich of the two customs contributes most to the health and convenience of the inhabitants. The above-mentioned returns state the proportion of deaths to the population; and, though the results are not uniform, a general inference has been drawn, that mortality decreases in proportion to the increasing isolation of domicile. This conclusion is perfectly just, as far as regards England; but in France, and other continental countries, where a different system exists, and several families inhabit the same house, the average of mortality is no higher than in the most favoured towns of England. The disparity of the buildings in England and the Continent reconciles the apparent inconsistency of the different results; and if, instead of the half-ventilated cottages which compose our streets, the lofty buildings of Paris or Genoa, Florence or Petersburg, were substituted, many families might lodge beneath the same roof without detriment to their health, or inconvenience to one another.

Another cause of the superiority of Paris to London in

architectural beauty, may exist in the discretionary powers of the Directeur-Général de Ponts et Chaussées, and the obligatory inspection of the Grande Voirie. Government in France has the sole direction of various works, which in England are left to the judgment of independent companies. The Minister of the Interior, and under him, the Corps Royal de Ponts et Chaussées, are intrusted with the design and execution of every public building; a power and responsibility greater than those possessed or required from the Commissioners of Woods and Forests. Temporary buildings answer the purposes of individual speculators, and the rapidity with which they are raised in England has caused the French tourist to remark that the English know how to build towns but not houses.

After the architectural appearance of a town, the next subject which attracts the attention of a stranger is the character of the public amusements of the people. The traveller, if a Frenchman, must find in this respect a melancholy contrast between the British metropolis and his own gay and amusing capital. Instead of the well-regulated theatres and innumerable concerts which occupy the leisure hours and refine the habits of the Parisians, he observes in London puritanical affectation, or the most unsophisticated depravity. The dead and cheerless Sunday, the absence of song and dance, the suspension of all innocent amusements, make him regret the moody and unsocial character of the English, or, like the author before us, consider their religion une simagrée de piété, and their customs un mensonge de pruderie.*

The heavenly dispensation which makes light the burden of the oppressed, and cheers up the gloomy abode of misery, is in direct opposition to the spirit which dictated the Sabbath Bill, and attempted to deprive poverty of its only consolation. Heaven designed the seventh day as a day of rest, and not of privation— a day of prayer and rejoicing, not of gloomy meditation and unsocial seclusion. Fanatics, however, are found in the senate of the nation, who have attempted to pervert the generous commandment of God into a mandate of austerity. Their misguided zeal would fill to the very brim the bitter cup which misery holds to the lips of its victims. Let us reflect for a moment on the results which would accrue from the pharisaical observance of the Jewish Sabbath, and, if our religion is not shocked, our humanity at least will be moved.

For six days the poor man toils; his body is bent with labour, and his mind exhausted by constant application. The seventh

The statute-book has been disgraced, since the reign of George the Second, with restrictions ou the most innocent and least expensive amusements of the people.